Dear Cancer Frog Blog Readers,
It has been two years since my last post. Why did I stop? There are a few reasons. One, I started to dread thinking about cancer all the time. I wanted to think about the rest of life. Instead I had drawn a really ugly scary cartoon about hope and death and thought “Who wants to look at that?”
Two, I got lazy – I had framed all the cartoons and had a show of them at a local gallery. Many of my friends generously came to the opening and bought the framed pieces (which I was not expecting – I sort of forgot that the art was for sale and that the gallery wanted to make some money). After all this excitement and a return to work and recreating, I didn’t feel like staying up till 1 in the morning to work on the blog. I became a couch potato. The last reason is the most embarrassing to of all. I got scared. Here is why – this was written at the time it happened:
I continue to write down the names of famous people who die of cancer, Jill Clayburgh, American actress, of Leukemia, Maurice Lucas, basketball star, of bladder cancer, Pete Postlethwaite, British actor, unnamed cancer. This gets tiresome, seems elitist, not to mention wearing. So many people are dying of cancer everyday.
Chronicle Books has a fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity. Make a donation and you can present your book idea to an appropriate editor. I print out some of the frog blog illustrations and three entries of text. It is a rainy day in San Francisco. I wear an ultramarine long raincoat whose fabric flows artistically. Chronicle’s small retail store serves as the waiting room and many eager writers mill around, reading titles, leafing through books. I imagine the Cancer Frog Blog imprinted and bound professionally between two hard covers with amphibian textured end pages. What an honor, what a coup, what a perfect ending to this ordeal! I look at my notes for my Pitch. I feel a hot flash coming on but don’t want to take off the attractive raincoat, as though the bright blue will help me get published.
Just before my turn to approach an editor in the Living and Style section, another candidate approaches me and we exchange book ideas.
“Oh, I had a friend who had cancer. She just died, four years after her diagnosis.”
“What kind of cancer did she have?”
“Same as you,” she says. My blood pounds in my temples and I am suddenly so hot, there is no question of leaving on the raincoat. I take it off, juggle it with my cheat sheets and blog excerpts. My name is called. I approach a small table and sit in front of a young woman with cropped dark hair, hip casual clothes. She is half my age. The raincoat slithers out of my grasp and puddles to the floor. My faces flushes. Instead of cool blue I present her with freaked out red.
I hand her the proposal with 3 pages of text and 15 printed illustrations from the blog. I stammer something about a memoir about cancer using a frog as the protagonist. She looks through the art. She does not read a single word. “I don’t see how people could relate to a frog,” she says, “and the quality of the art . . . Furthermore you have no platform.” Later a friend of mine who is a published author tells me that editors these days are all looking for an author’s “PLATFORM,” like a diving board from which the work can soar with a fancy sequence of commercial gymnastics. “Have you seen Marisa Marchetto’s book, Cancer Vixen?” My face flushes again. I hear: “You are a nobody. Your art sucks. Marisa is a famous New Yorker cartoonist. Her book is being made into a movie starring Cate Blanchette. Even Kermit wouldn’t want to star in a film about you.” To this young, ambitious and determined editor, I am just a statistic who will soon die of cancer.
“Who is reading your blog?” she asks.
“Friends, other people who come upon it or are referred to it. Everyone seems to like it.”
“Well just keep writing it for your friends. Thanks for coming by.”
I try to smile graciously but feel my eyes shrinking into dark little beads of humiliation. I grab my notebook and the raincoat, which keeps snaking off my arm. I am so hot I don’t try to wrestle it on as I hurry past the tidy shelves of smug published books into the drizzle. A car honks at me as I dodge blindly across the bustling San Francisco traffic.
End of the post. So the young editor’s opinion was enough to scare me into inactivity. Because of the disappearance of the blog, people have even wondered whether I have died. Well I have not – yet. And the Cancer Frog Blog is back!!!