Don’t Fuck with the Fat Kid
Last year I wrote a book about a group of kids who accidentally start a second American Revolution. In January, I was signed by a literary agent. And last week she accepted an offer on my behalf from one of the Big Six literary publishers.
My head is still reeling. My book will be published. So will its sequel because: two book offer. My most prominent thought over the last couple weeks has been “holy shit.”
Just before my book sold, when I was in the waiting-forever throes of being absolutely sure it never would, Neil Gaiman tweeted about Matthew Lillard’s Kickstarter page to crowdsource distribution money for the film he made based on K.L. Going’s book Fat Kid Rules the World.
I did what I always do. I read the book.
You should read the book, too. And watch the videos on Kickstarter. So cool.
There aren’t a whole lot of books out there, especially not young adult books, where the fat kid is the centerpiece, and the fat kid doesn’t lose weight to make his or her life all better. What this fat kid realizes is that he is punk rock, just like he is, and that everyone really isn’t looking at him, unless they want to hear him beat his drums.
Pretty soon people are going to look at me. Not all the people, but some of them. Like when I go to a conference in July and meet my agent and publisher. Or when I do book signings at some point in the future. Or when I have to send my publisher a picture to slap on the back of my book. And no matter how many pounds the devil’s calculator in my brain insists I could lose by then, I will be fat. Fat and looked at.
When that gets scary, what I want to hold on to is that I am already punk rock. If people are looking at me, it’s because I’ve got something to say and they want to hear it. And if my ability to do that makes even one kid, who reads my book and comes seeking me out, be able to do it, too — holy shit. Don’t fuck with the fat kid!