An Honest Lie: The First Meeting

So last night, or July 20th, Monday, I met the folks at Open Heart Publishing who are about to make the An Honest Lie Anthology a reality.

See us here: http://openheartpublishing.debrincase.com/

And here: http://debrincase.com/blog4/

Our graphic artist carries batteries in her purse. I didn't ask, or maybe she didn't tell. Hell, maybe I don't want to know. Artists, eh. She can sing, too.

The girl in the yellow jacket, she's cute and all, looks like she's made out of vanilla icing with cherry-sprinkle freckles, but she drinks black-and-something beer, and her story involves a coffin and a guy who "is most-definitely still alive, his watch even has the right time," she says.

Our editors are a mother-daughter team. The Sr. Ed., she's evil. Not really, she's a sharp-witted editor, and it's her job to dissect the story and make it readable. I'm looking forward to letting her rip out and devour my soul. In the name of good reading, see.

Our Jr. Ed. is a sweet librarian who's also contributing a story to the Anthology. She'll probably eat what's left of my soul after her mom gets tired of chewing. What's left after that, she'll probably feed to her cat. Librarians, eh. She probably had batteries in her purse, too.

The guy to my right -- no, left, the Jr. Ed., the sweet librarian, she's on my right -- is a college guy who wrote a story of preposterous proportions about a giant jellyfish. He's a brave man to write such a big story. He's nineteen and published. How's that for success.

Then there's the self-help coach. Her story's got a hint of truth in it, and the publisher said that when he first read her story, he cried. He doesn't look like a crying-man -- self-help, pow, right in the kisser -- so she must've said something profound, eh.

Of course there's the publisher, a man who knows good pubs, and has an aggressive business model planned for 4Q09 and 1Q10. We'll be storming through Dallas, soon, keep an eye out.

Then there's me. I'm the guy at the end of the table in a pumpkin-colored polo. Me and that yellow-jacket girl sure lightened up the pub. Turn out the lights, and she and I would glow, we were both dressed so bright.

"So what's your story about?" they ask me.

"An apple tree, that's not an apple tree."


- Eric