I was listening to this NPR piece today on the closing arguments of the Da Vinci Code trial, and my ear was caught by a passing mention of some of the stranger denizens of the courtroom circus. (Warning: I’m about to change metaphors with the speed and grace of a passing freight train.)
Apparently, not only is the court liberally laced with opinionated conspiracy theorists, there’s also a fair sprinkling of would-be thriller authors brandishing copies of their manuscripts in the hopes that one of the many publisher’s representatives called to testify will agree to take on their work. I can’t imagine what predatory yet completely delusional state of mind someone must be in to think this is a good idea, but it certainly put a most amusing image in my head.
It also made me feel a little better. After all, I would never stoop that low (and I give you permission to smack me upside the head if I ever start talking about it). In fact, I actually feel pretty confident that I can eventually get a book published the usual way. I breathed a sigh of relief that I’m not yet at the point where I feel driven to prostrate myself in a totally inappropriate setting just to avail myself of a -50% chance to get some publisher’s attention.
Um, yeah, predatory AND delusional. Mostly delusional. VERY delusional.
Egads.
That just means more room on the courtroom benches for me, you fools! Can I bring anyone back fish and chips? bangers and mash? some lint off Dan Brown’s tweed jacket? a three-book deal?
Gosh, if anyone actually comes away from this with a deal, I will… be quite violent.