Oh, hi there.
You
ever have one of those days where it seems like you’ve been doing
nothing but assembling boxes and making labels in order to ship out your
over-sized book about a creative and depressed little girl named India
McGreevy?
No?
Huh.
Well, I have. A bunch of them, as a matter of fact. Stacked one right
on top of the other like…like cardboard boxes. I’ve been so wrapped up
in the rigmarole and mishigas of preparing to ship that I completely
forgot to bore you all to tears with a long-winded, hyper-verbose and
over-hyphenated update.
Well, let’s rectify that right now, shall we?
First
off, I’d bet you’ve been just dying to hear about boxes. “Oh, man,” I
hear you gripe to your significant other/cat/potted fern as you pace a
hole into the orange shag carpeting/linoleum/floor of the International
Space Station, “if that guy…what’s his name? Doctor McDraws-a-Lot or
something? If he doesn’t tell me about those boxes pronto, I’m going to
write a sternly-worded letter to my congressman/member of
parliament/fiesta cruise director.”
Calm down, Sir/Madam/Your Grace. The boxes are done. 145 (insert colorful descriptor) boxes. Finally assembled.
Assembled while I watched TV.
Assembled while I had my tea.
Assembled and it was a bore.
I do not want to do no more.
I’ve also just finished the labels. Take a look at this:
 |
| Each dot represents 10,000 books (minus 9,999 books). |
This
is everywhere the outbreak has spread. As you can see, major parts of
the Eastern Seaboard have been heavily infected. Wait, that’s for a
different presentation. Disregard. These dots are everywhere a book is
going. I have packed them each a little snack and pinned mittens to
their tiny jackets because books are dumb and often lose their own
mittens, regardless of how many times you remind them not to.
29 states (U.S.) and 16 countries.
It’s
been super cool to see how far away the book is going. The number and
variety of locations is fascinating to a bumpkin like myself. Of course,
there is some unpleasantness: There are many parts of the world where
no one wanted a book. Entire continents, in fact. I’m looking at you,
Greenland. Ahem. And don’t give me that crap about your Internet being
down, either. What? You’ve got Comcast? Oh. Well, I guess that’s a
different story. Carry on, then.
Speaking of things sent overseas, look what came in the mail last week:
 |
| That glare is the spot UV. It cost extra. You're worth it. And you smell nice. |
Calm
down, that’s just the advance copy. And there’s only one. BUT, I DID
finally hear from the printing company. The full shipment of books is
supposed to arrive at my door November 20th.
Now, there’s a big asterisk next to that date. Things happen. Shipments
get delayed, clerical errors are made, there are sea monsters that look
like weird, badly-drawn pigs with horns that spout water and sometimes
attack seagoing vessels according to this map I found in an old book.
You know: the usual stuff.
But
if I actually do receive the books around then, I should be able to
send them on to you a few days after. Which is why I’ve spent the last
several weeks entombed in cardboard boxes like a grouchy pizza.
What
will I be doing in the meantime? Customs forms! 30 individual
government forms in triplicate so that I can send “Saturday” off to
distant lands.
Grousing
aside, have I mentioned that I’m fairly allergic to expressing sincere
emotions? I am. But here goes anyway: Thank you once again, to everyone
who supported the campaign and is excited about the book. It’s coming
sooner rather than later.
Ok, I have to go grab my epi-pen.
Sincerely,
The Grouchy Pizza
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