So this past week, I got back from the copy editor the manuscript for my upcoming book Speaking Ill of the Dead: Connecticut Jerks—due out from Globe Pequot Press on September 4. (Mark you calendars now, although I may mention it again before then.) The good news is that there aren’t a whole lot of corrections that need to be made, doubly good considering my daytime gig is as an editor.

I also got some positive feedback from my faithful project editor Lauren (although as I’ve known her for a few years prior to her position at GPP, she’s hardly objective). Apparently, those who have read it so far have enjoyed it, always a good sign. Now the key is to get the general public to willingly part with their hard-earned cash in order to read it—always a challenge.

Anyway, since this book is about Connecticut jerks—a title for which I’m clearly overqualified—and that it may not completely suck, it seems apropos that I start acting like a true jerk now in anticipation for when I’m rich and famous and stuff.

To that end, I feel as though I should be thinking about some outrageous demands, you know, such as the ones rock stars and pop divas make.

So, here are:

My Top 14 Writing Demands

1. I’ll only read and edit manuscripts transcribed by Tibetan monks on albino tiger skin. You know, so the text will really pop.

2. When editing I require a 2-quart bowl of M&Ms, but rather than the brown ones picked out, I’d like the candy shells cracked.

3. Also when editing: A single can of Coke Classic per day, to be served at precisely 2 p.m. by Elizabeth Banks in a Princess Leia metal slave girl bikini. (Salma Hayek, Amy Adams, Tina Fey and Kaitlin Olson are all acceptable substitutes, although I’d prefer for the last one to give birth first.) [Side note: Just another reason to love The Man in Black.]

4. No clowns within a 25-mile radius of my work space … well, for lots of reasons.

5. No television evangelists, either. See previous.

6. My grandmother’s chicken francaise—but since she’s gone, I’ll settle for fried chicken from Drum-Stik BBQ in Bridgeport, with a side of the green coleslaw.

7. Colin Mochrie on 24-hour call so I can be entertained whenever whimsy beckons.

8. A Blu-Ray version of Dodgeball because nothing relieves stress like watching a dodgeball coach get crushed by two tons of irony. (“Cram it up your cramhole, LaFleur.”)

9. Every night, I want a single red rose left on the grave of Mindy Cohn. (Sweet, misunderstood Natalie …)

10. A cat o’ nine tails fashioned from the hair of Mary Roach, Lucinda Williams and Christopher Moore … you know, for inspiration.

11. A button attached to a truck battery with jumper cables hooked to the genitals of Tony Danza … you know, for inspiration.

12. The outdoor temperature in Connecticut should be kept at a comfortable 75 degrees during the day and 55 at night, with zero humidity. Rain, when necessary, may fall between the hours of 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. EST.

13. No one may make eye contact with me while working, visiting or during book signings, nor may they speak directly or indirectly to me.

14. Like Mary J. Blige, I demand a brand-new toilet seat every time I need to use the bathroom. Blue or white preferred, absolutely no orange.

Let’s just hope the toilet paper isn’t the pages of my book …