You may have noticed the skeleton on my home page. In this post, I have transcribed the exchange which lead to me acquiring my brilliantly charming (his words, not mine) mascot, Rocky the Skeleton. It all began one fine day when I was hard at work editing Ribbons and Ropes: Hard to Starboard…
Knock, knock. I finish reading the sentence on my screen and glance at the door. “Who is it?”
The portal creaks open. A pale, thin chap pokes his head inside. “My name’s Rocky.”
I eye him with suspicion. “Rocky who?”
“Rocky the Skeleton. I’m here to apply for the position of your mascot.” His smile is so wide I can see all his teeth. I frown.
“My mascot? No. I didn’t advertised for a mascot. I don’t need one; I’m a writer.”
“Don’t need one? But all the best writers have a mascot.”
“I can’t think of one writer with a mascot. Frankly, the idea seems like the cheap gimmick of a talentless scribbler.”
“Or, perhaps other writers don’t have one because they’re not good enough to draw potential candidates. My application is a great compliment to your work, you know.”
I shake my head. “Alas, dear Rocky, I fear your presence speaks more to my state of mental health than to the quality of my compositional skills. I appreciate the offer, but no. A serious writer doesn’t use a mascot.”
Rocky steps behind me and reads the words on my screen. I shift slightly to the right to give him more room. He chuckles. “Your pirates are arguing over the existence of bananas.”
“The subject matter in no way diminishes my dedication to the craft. I intend to make a career as a novelist. And a proper writer absolutely does not have a mascot. So, again, thank you, but no.”
“Is it because I’m not a pirate? I could wear a one of those black hats if you want. You know, the ones with a little white skull. I look amazing in hats. They bring out my cheekbones.”
“My decision has nothing to do with your lack of a hat.”
“An eye patch, then?”
I shudder. “No. It’s much too overused in pirate tales. No pirate in my stories will ever wear an eye patch.”
Rocky pats my shoulder. “Let’s not be hasty, now. I agree you should avoid it in the first couple of books, but you might find you need one in the third. Maybe a woman catches an arrow in her eye during a battle. What will you do then, just let her walk around with an exposed socket? Believe me, you’ve not had a brain freeze until you’ve rounded Cape Horn missing an eye.”
“There will be no arrows in my stories.”
“Did you know Fiona would have a blunderbuss hiding beneath her pillow in chapter two?”
“Not until I had typed the words.”
“I see. But you’re absolutely sure there will be no arrows?”
“Yes.”
“Uh huh.” Rocky stands quietly, looking like he’s considering any number of arguments. “Well, what if a gull swoops down and plucks out an eye, eh? The poor girl will surely want an eye patch then.”
I raise my brows with purposeful haughtiness, thinking Robert North would be impressed if he could see me now. “There will be no gulls.”
“Oh, okay, if you say so. And when exactly did you know Adalia would be standing on the beach in chapter three, ready to join the crew?”
I slowly count to ten. “We digress. I don’t require a mascot.”
“Is it because I’m a man and all your pirates are women? You want a mascot who reflects your story.”
“I don’t want a mascot, at all.”
Rocky hangs his head. “I see.” He shuffles to the door. “I suppose you’ll find another element to make your website stand out from all the other author sites. You could use something exciting like a big rock or a little, bald mountain.”
Ugh, he’s right again. My website has been looking a little bland. “What would you suggest I do?”
Rocky grins. “Post pictures of your mascot wearing a hat and looking so debonair, readers everywhere think, who’s this writer who can afford to have such a charming character on her payroll? I must pick up one of her books.”
“If I use a mascot, which I haven’t decided to do, it would be a volunteer position.”
“I accept.” He hops up to sit on the table next to my computer. “Now, what about a cannon ball right in the face?”
“She’d have bigger problems than needing an eye patch.”
“How about a wild fork?”
“A wild fork?”
“Yes. The women are sitting around eating and chatting. One of them – Brianne, perhaps – swings her hand to emphasize a point and the fork goes flying. Ah, crap. There goes Meg’s eye.”
I smirk. “They eat biscuits and smoked meat. No forks. Besides, the women are too smart to be accidentally flinging utensils.”
Rocky snorts. “As someone who’s read your book, I have to disagree, but moving on.” He stares off into space, his fingers rhythmically tapping against his thigh. “A woman falls out of the rigging and into the water, smacking her face on a jumping dolphin right before she goes under. The others manage to safely scoop her out, but… uh oh, no eye.”
I heave a sigh. “Fine. If any of my characters lose their eye to a dolphin’s fin, I’ll give them an eye patch.”
My new mascot grants me an approving nod. “Never say never, that’s all I ask. We’re going to make a great team.”
