There are few things in the world I love more than thrift store shopping, and most of those things are best enjoyed naked.
I was fully clothed and shopping with a friend recently when we came across a special piece of merchandise:
"I can't tell you how often I've wished for a lamp that doubles as a cheese grater," I told my friend.
She laughed. "Let's rub it and see if a genie comes out."
"I'm not touching anything that comes out of that lamp unless I get rubber gloves and a tetanus shot."
"I'm wondering about the drugs you'd need to take to make you look at this and think, 'that belongs in my living room.'" She poked a finger through the front. "Maybe that's it – they used this lamp as a place to stash drugs."
I peered at the price tag, a little dumbfounded. "$35? Are you kidding me?"
"That seems reasonable. It is art, after all."
I suppose so, now that I think about it. I can (and did) look at that lamp and laugh, but someone, somewhere, thought it was beautiful. Or at least a desirable component of one's household decor.
This is what people mean when they tell you feedback from editors, agents, and readers is largely subjective. One person's ugly lamp is another person's glorious treasure. One editor might tell you romantic comedy is dead, and the other might call your agent gushing that they've been desperate to find a hot new romantic comedy author.
That's pretty much how things unfolded when we landed this three-book deal two years ago, and I'm grateful for it every day.
Got an ugly lamp story of your own? Either a real ugly lamp, or something metaphorical wherein one person's trash was another person's treasure? Please share!
Is it wrong that I kinda regret not buying that lamp? I wonder if it's still there...