Monday, May 09, 2005I was a Middle-Aged Drug DealerYesterday, on Mother's Day, my mom asked where I was getting all this money from -- a concept, I should note, that's inversely proportional to reality. Hardly missing a beat (as I'm used to these departures from logic) I replied that actually I'm dealing drugs these days to supplement my income.She didn't quite disbelieve me. At first I found this highly disturbing, that my mom really might believe such a thing of me. Then I found it really funny. Then I found it disturbing again. She knows so little about my life. Maybe it's possible, in her mind. She knows I have the things that make me respectable -- job, kids, house, car. Those things are OK. She knows I'm the technical director for Opera A La Carte because, after 21 years, it's been kind of hard to conceal why I occasionally go visit the coal mining communities of Northern Colorado, or spend a weekend in Peoria or Galveston. I simply ran out of lies to cover that gig. She doesn't know I do martial arts, though. She doesn't know I let my kids cuss. She certainly won't ever know about the Nelly concert we're going to this Friday. And she has no clue whatsoever that I'm writing a book. My writing has always been a source of confusion and dismay for my mom. She doesn't get it. She doesn't like it. She has never read the words I've presented to her, and I don't think she ever wants to. It's sort of like I really am a drug dealer. I like this. I am in the business of taking people out of their realities for a short while. I do aim to amuse and entertain. I do want to make you laugh with what I do. I do want to make you cry. Check out my excerpts. The first ones are free, my friends. Read the preview book. It's true, you will need to pay a price of admission to read the whole thing. Not much, but I am in business and it will cost you. But what you'll get is something, I hope, that you'll be able to hook up to time and time again. What I'm offering is something that will heal your spirit, not fracture it into splintered pieces. I won't dispense street-quality shit, if I can help it. I am working on a product that isn't stepped on, that is pure and clean. I want to get you high. I want to get you off. I want to blow your mind. Words are a drug and a book allows you to modulate the flow. If you can't handle the intensity, you can close the cover. If you're a junkie, you can read until you pass out. Is it enjoyable? Please, yes, let it be. Is it safe? I truly hope not. So I'm proud of myself. I've managed to not entirely lie to my mother. I strive to provide escape, entertainment and elightenment. I want to get you addicted. I want you to be sleep-deprived on my account. I want you to walk around with your head still spinning with my reality. I want my stuff to be so high grade that you just can't live without it. And if I can figure out how to avoid the taxes, too, we're really going to be in biz. # posted by Katherine Doughtie Nolan @ 1:58 PM  
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