Plans for the book tour, y’all (huh; she owns an RV) (see what I’m doing here?) (Isn’t it fucking lame?):
a. Some say the Book Tour is old-fashioned. Not me! I plan to conduct a
MASSIVE 15 city book tour, by driving my Happiness RV (Yes, I own one,
and yes, it will be mentioned in the book) across the country, doing
publicity, tv spots, throwing book parties, readings, signings, speaking
engagements and book related events.
b. The Happiness Book Tour will also include ﬁlming for my YouTube
happiness series and/or my documentary and/or my tv show (more on
that in the tv section).
c. I am a 2013 Intel advisor (they have half a dozen each year) and this is
exactly the sort of thing they sponsor, so likely it will be sponsor by them. But even if it’s not I will pay for it out of my own pocket.
Always a winning strategy in a book proposal to misspell the name of one of America’s seminal novelists:
EXERCISES will include:
– Creativity Booster Strategies that don’t suck, inspired by Roger von Oech’s Creative
Whack Pack (which was recommended to me by Tim Ferriss)
– Adult Arts & Crafts time (inspired by my friend Brit Morin, who is the Martha
Stewart of the Facebook generation, and loves to inspire fully grown adults to get in
touch with their latent creative sides by making things – yes, MAKING STUFF! Not just
Amazon Prime’ing it. Old school!)
– Six Word Story Time (Ernest Hemmingway’s famous 6 word story always gets me.
“For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Used.” Write your own! They’re really not that hard …)
Haters, there are parentheses WITHIN the parentheses. I shit you not. It is really the biggest, rambling mess of self-absorbed, aren’t-I-clever-and-adorable shit that I have ever read. And I have read a lot of shit in my life. I haven’t noticed any footnotes to the footnotes yet, but they surely loom on the horizon.
From the Sample Chapter, which is a hilariously melodramatic pity party about NOTHING but me-me-me-me-me-me-my feelings-me-me-me-me, just a complete word-vomit typified here:
The oddest emotion came over me when the ﬂight took off about an hour ago … I
looked out the window and thought, “oh my god. This entire time I’ve thought I
was so strong, but really, I just built up walls and defenses and mechanisms for
keeping people who could hurt me at bay, when in actuality, I’m one of the most
fragile, most sensitive, easily hurt people I know. I bruise like a ripe apple. I just
want to please and to make people happy. I just want them to love me, to ﬁll this
void inside of me.”
We made it into a footnote, haters!
24 I have, in fact, You know how people say “Don’t worry! No one is judging you as much as you judge yourself.” Oh boy, were they wrong about this. I’ve been judged for things I didn’t even know
could BE wrong with a person. A partial list: My “sausage” ﬁngers. My giant “stumpy, tree trunk”
legs. My “cankles.” My enormous calves. My teeth. My “rough, old” face. My “ﬂabby” upper arms.
My “raft” ass. Actually, I don’t think there is a single body part they haven’t critiqued except
maybe my elbows, but I’m sure they’ll get to those eventually. Beyond my body, they’ve said I’m
lazy, I’m a liar, I’m unethical, I’ll never land a man because I can’t cook or keep house (yeah, I’m
not s–ting you, they really said that, apparently it’s still the 1950s), I’m a loser, I’m broke, I’m a
mooch, I’m a “moron” and a “horrible” writer. They have called me both frigid and a slut (ah, the
old can’t-win-dichotomy trope!) and postulated that I “must be terrible at sex in general.” They
have said that I set women back and I’m not a feminist. They call me a hypocrite and a talentless
hack. They tell me to shut up, be quiet, get off the internet and get into therapy. Sometimes, for
fun, they compare me to a dude, a drag queen, a transvestite, or – their favorite – a donkey. One
just wrote me the other day, “You are a disgrace. You need to reevaluate your life choices.
Congrats, I hope you work out your issues soon.” At least we’re on the same page there; I hope I
work out my issues, too!
Look, I can’t anymore. I just cannot. I got to page 75 and had to stop. Basically, in addition to all the new horribly written batshit bullshittery, she has also included what seems like every “Guinea Pig of Love” column. It’s pretty much every one of those columns, with a bunch of rambling parentheses-riddled bullet-pointed excessively foot-noted insanity stringing it all together. Not only would I reject this proposal as a potential publisher, I’d set it on fire.