“We also request that you submit a brief author bio (roughly 50 words) and an author head shot to be published with your work. Publication is contingent on receipt of your contract and these materials.”
As I sit here with my stomach rotting and my eyes moldered shut, both somewhat worse than yesterday and I somewhat sicker than I’d hoped to be today, I wonder on how to get this head shot that seems so important. I know zombies are in, but I’m not sure how “in” are zombie-like convalescents.
I also undermine the achievement of being accepted with the thought that if they are willing to toss me out for lack of a picture then they mustn’t really care that much about my piece. My piece has the same worth as a selfie, something for which there is a program that briefly displays, then annihilates for eternity a hundred-thousand times a day. Is “Panvermiphobia’s” publication really meritocratically on par with a Snapchat? (Full disclosure, I don’t know what part of speech “Snapchat” falls into or how one describes a singular snapped chat from there-in. My awkwardness with the word is part of the humor, yes? No? Well who asked you anyhow?)
Such is the nature of things, I suppose. People (not me “people,” but other “people”), want to connect the image of an author with the thing he or she’s written.
Truly, of all the myriad of qualms I’ve had with the writing-to-publication process, all the issues I’d anticipated and been blind-sided by, getting a professional three-quarter angle picture of myself was not one I’d considered.
C’est la vie. I think my web camera is around here somewhere. Maybe I can drape a sheet over my bookcase for a backdrop…
I wonder if they’d just accept me under the sheet?
Ooooo-ooo, spooky author!