I saw one of my novels at a yard sale last week, and it appeared to have been used as a coaster. The interior was quite pristine, but there were rings on the cover where wet glasses had been set. It was on sale for 35 cents. Had I known I was only writing a coaster, maybe I wouldn’t have worked so hard on the themes and motifs, the connotations and so forth, but that’s just the way life is. There’s a lot of wastage. No way around it.

Read the full column at the Chicago Tribune’s site →

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