I won the Foreword INDIES Book of the Year Award for Science Fiction—gold level! I feel like a soft and middle-aged Olympian, standing on the podium along with other word nerds. Now that I'm a big shot, the media is nipping at my heels for interviews. You can read this interrogation hot off the press:
FIJ (short for Fake Indie Journalist): What will you do with your monetary windfall?
Me: I won no cash, although two editor’s choice books will receive monetary prizes. So what did I win? Cachet among library professionals, booksellers, and mysterious industry professionals. Oh, and bragging rights that I can tag onto every social media post forever and ever. I’m positive that a million-dollar contract with Simon and Schuster is pending as we speak. Indeed, a movie deal will levitate my way like a bird in a wind tunnel.
FIJ: How hard was it to win?
Me: There were 2,400 entries, all judged by booksellers and librarians. I don’t know how many Science Fiction writers entered the contest, but I do know I’m a winner, winner, chicken dinner, and they are chicken poop.
FIJ: What will you do now that you are an award-winning writer?
Me: I plan to move to Cano Island off the coast of Costa Rica and drink like a Hemingway disciple. I may buy the island since boatloads of money will surely rain upon me. I’ll continue to write novels like Chorus of Crows and The Savannah Book of Spells, which I bet will get five stars and glowing reviews from everyone worldwide. The prickly reviewer trolls that plague other writers won’t pester me because I’m an award-winning writer! (Ha!)
FIJ: Do you have any advice for wannabe writers?
Me: Fame and riches can and will be yours if you persevere like I did. Don’t worry about the millions of books published yearly; your hard work will pay off. You don’t need luck, schmuck; just read, read, read, and write, write, write!
"You're about as useful as a one-legged man at an arse kicking contest." Rowan Atkinson
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