Back when I was hawking my first book, GenderQueer (at that time with working title The Story of Q), I decided after a long run of querying it as a memoir with no serious nibbles to try selling it as a work of fiction. "Consider Rubyfruit Jungle", I'd say to people. "It's categorized as fiction but it's pretty clearly Rita Mae Brown's own story
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Somehow I've made the time to read your other books (because they're fucking awesome), but I'm wary of committing to read your next one as a test reader right now because my life is about to become so fucking busy for a month. Sorry for the "fucking"s.
I don't think of you as a nobody.
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