My agent just sent my first novel out to publishers, and while I wait for the rejections to start pouring in, I can barely read. That deeper part of me that needs to engage with a book, is too consumed with anxiety to be available to a novel. In my predicament, stuck with this wrought mind zipping around like a rat on steroids for something to feed on, I came across a volume of Sherlock Holmes.
The Hound of the Baskervilles is the only thing I’ve been able to read for weeks. Not only is the dialogue snappy, the suspense enticing, and the mystery compelling, but in 2012 I no longer picture Sherlock in his tweed london coat with the funny hat, but rather a svelt Robert Downey Jr bantering with the never-hard-to-look-at Jude Law. These classic tales take on a contemporary feel with these faces planted on our old friends.What does this say about me and literature? I’m a whore, in Los Angeles for a day and I hired body doubles for Sherlock and Watson, a couple of hotties to spice the series up. That’s how completely disabled I am while waiting to learn the fate of my novel. I cannot read without Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law. It’s a sad state of affairs, but it’s my state of affairs, and so I’ll continue with the series and try not to expect too much of myself.
In the meantime, you can send good wishes to the publishing fairies on my behalf. When I can pick up War and Peace (under my bedside table) or the Short Stories of William Trevor (also under the bedside table), I’ll know that your collective efforts have worked, and that on some far away desk, someone, somewhere, has picked up my novel and has turned another page and kept reading.