Sally the Bag Lady

My name is pronounced, Sally Uh-pock’-uh-dock. That last name is the one my husband gave me when we got married and he was an Aleut man born and raised in a small Alaskan village. So, no, the name is not Greek, but if you guessed that you are in the majority.

I’m an unpublished novelist. I love what James Frey has to say about that in his book, How to Write a Damn Good Novel. He says:

“Being an unpublished novelist has about as much social acceptability as being a shopping bag lady. Should the word get out about you, your friends will snicker. Your neighbors will whisper about you. You’re Uncle Albert will try to talk you into becoming a chiropractor. Your Aunt Bethilda will take you aside and lecture you on the grim realities and responsibilities of adulthood. Your creditors will break out in hives. Your mother will be sympathetic, but late at night her eyes will flood with tears as she tries to figure out where she went wrong.”

All I have to say is that Mr. Frey has some pretty mean friends. Mine don’t snicker. Not to my face, anyway.