Checking in

 Hi, there.

I know, I know: The radio silence has been deafening. I apologize. I’m sure you’ve all been aimlessly wandering around and wondering how you can possibly fill the void left behind in the absence of these rambling, word-bloated updates. That, or “Saturday” and your support thereof has slipped completely from your mind like that one show…what was it called again? It had that one guy. Anyway.

Don’t worry: I haven’t forgotten the people who helped get me this far, and I want you to know: As soon as I’m a mega-colossal-superstar, I will.

So, I’m going to try to send out updates more often. Don’t worry: you can always unsubscribe whenever you like. But if I were you, I’d keep watching. Mostly because this is going to be like one of those crazy Japanese game shows or an episode of “Cops” where the people involved will have awkward things happen to them over and over again. You watch and wonder as they’re humiliated repeatedly and shout at the picture tube, “Don’t you ever learn from any of these experiences?” But they never do. If you’re anything like me, there’s part of you that finds that delightful. Only this time, it’s at my expense. Which is even more delightful. But only for one of us.

Lately, I’ve been working on a presentation to give to bookstores when I visit. “Saturday” isn’t really a “read-aloud” book, so the speech is about how “Saturday” got started, the process, and the like. I’ve only given the speech once and it went…well, it went. I prepared for weeks. Ten people showed up. 20% of those in attendance were my parents. I was close to going out and paying homeless people to sit in the audience. But I’m an illustrator, so I didn’t have any cash on me right then and there. Or anywhere else.

I’ve been invited to speak at a TEDx conference. I’ve also been invited to have a show at an East Coast college in the spring. Both of these things are because of the book. I’m grateful for the opportunities, but they’re also terrifying. Having people look at me while I say words is not my favorite. But I suppose I’ll have to don my big boy pants. It’s just that, when there’s a group of people looking at me, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing my big boy pants. Or any pants at all. And that’s awkward for all of us.

I’ve also been contacting bookstores to see if they’d like to carry “Saturday”.

Approaching bookstores turns out to be a lot like dating. My experiences with dating, at any rate.

Here’s an phone exchange I actually had trying to date in high school. I wish I were making this up. For the sake of privacy, let’s call the girl Bee Arthur. And we’ll say my name is Burt Reynolds. No, wait. You already know who I am, so I don’t need a disguise.

Bee Arthur: “Hello?”

Me: “Uhh…Hi…Bee?”

Bee Arthur: “Yes?”

Me: “It’s me, Noah, from school?”

Bee Arthur: “Yes?”

Me: “Hey…I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime and hang out.”

Bee Arthur: “Why?”

Me (confidence evaporating): “Uhhh….so we could get to know each other. You know…uh….and be friends.”

Bee Arthur: (Sharply) “I’ve got friends.”

Me: “Uhh…ok. Well, uh…cool. I’ll see you at school or something, then.”

Click.

Turns out Bee Arthur was kind of a jerk. Actually, that’s not really fair. We were in high school, after all, when social skills are usually…underdeveloped. And she just got a call from some guy she didn’t know who was asking her to hang out, which was probably off-putting. Fortunately, I forgot completely about the whole thing and I haven’t held on to that confidence-ruining moment all these years like a jalapeno eating at the lining of my emotional stomach.

(Cries quietly).

Anyway, I’ll meet a bookstore I think is interesting and find out we have a lot in common. Then I’ll think, “I could try to engineer a ‘chance’ meeting by showing up and pretending it was a coincidence, but that feels a little like stalking. Better to just be honest and upfront. I’ll call and let the bookstore know I’m interested. “Saturday” has a lot of good qualities, after all. If I could just get the bookstore to notice those qualities.”

Then I call. Just getting people to look at the book is difficult. And the rejections still sting like getting Clorox brand shampoo in your eye. “We don’t have the space for your book” feels a little like “I have to wash my hair”. “Well”, I think, horribly butt-hurt, “if you’re not going to be honest, I hope you use Clorox brand shampoo when you’re washing your hair. And I hope you get some in your eye.”

That’s not fair, either. Rejecting someone, particularly a sincere someone, is awkward. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve only ever been on the receiving end of said rejections.

(Cries quietly.)

I’ll keep at it, even though I’m starting to feel like Jack Lemmon’s character in “Glengarry Glen Ross”. I’m not sure who Alec Baldwin’s counterpart would be in this scenario. Anyone competent to do the job of marketing, probably. I’ve also decided I’m going to enjoy the marketing and promotion side. It has to be done, after all. It would be silly to spend pert near a decade on a book and then not bother to let people know it exists.

Yup, here I go. I’m a gonna enjoy this awful marketing. Sorry, that ‘awful’ just slipped out. Ok, enjoyment of stupid marketing starts now. Shoot. Actually, I’ll tell you how I’m going to enjoy the marketing of “Saturday” with a joke:

How do you fit an elephant in a Safeway grocery bag?

Answer: Take the “S” out of “Safe” and the “F” out of “Way”.

I’ll give you a minute to consider that one.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep at it. I’ve got two scoops each of stubborn and stupid, after all.

Welp, I think that about wraps ‘er up. I think we’ve all learned something here. And I think I’ll let Corey Hart tell you what that is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4pg6Jh94Lo

Thanks, Corey. BTW, if anyone reading this plays a mean sax, I’m looking for a good solo to accompany a montage of me looking back over my shoulder with as much dreaminess in my eyes as I can muster.

Cheers.

What Now?

 Ah, New Year’s Eve.

We’re just about to turn out the lights and lock the doors for the last time on 2015. This time of year is calm like a flat tire: quiet and motionless because all the air has been let out and it ain’t goin’ no further. It’s a great time to sit and reflect. Or, if you’re anything like me and you’re terrified at the torrent of existential thoughts that rush in to fill up the vacuum of silence, it’s a great time to do busy work with the radio on while you tap your fingers nervously and your left eye twitches.

We always claim that the end of the year sneaked/snucked up on us. But it takes an entire year for it to do so. If the end of the year were a monster in a horror movie and took an entire year to chase us down, I’d be rooting for us to have our faces eaten. I’d be yelling at the screen and pointing, certain that the characters inside the magic talkie box can hear me: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU! AND IT HAS BEEN FOR LIKE A YEAR!” Plus, the end of the year happens, like, every single year. Why are we always so surprised?

Mebbe because we never really know what the year is going to throw at us. I’m also always surprised by how much gets crammed into a single year. Like Mary Poppin’s carpet bag (if her bag contained things like holiday travel and colonoscopies instead of lamps and other household durables). For instance, here’s 2015 in a nutshell:

-Finished the book.

-Got rejected by like a million publishers.

-Put together and ran a (successful thanks to you) Kickstarter campaign.

-Printed the book.

-Sent the books to you.

-Had my first book signings.

-Got engaged.

-Learned peanuts grow underground.

So…what happens now?

Welp… I’m not too sure. See, we’re past the part where I know what the eff is happening. I mean, at least when I was working on the book or trying to get it printed, there was a clear-ish start and finish. But now it’s this big, open-ended…thing. I guess it’s a process? One where my connections and social capital are really going to come in handy.

So…if any of you happens to own a large publishing company and you’d just plum forgotten up until this moment, drop me a line.

While I’m holding my breath for all those mucky-mucks at the publishers to come crawling back, I’ll continue to do signings and promoting the book where I can. It’s now available for sale on my website (there’s also a list on that page of the other outlets where “Saturday” can be found) if you know of anyone who’s looking for a book that’s non-standard in just about every way.

http://www.saturdaythebook.com/p/m.html

There’s a part of me that’s super cavalier. There’s also a part of me that’s fairly cautious. Maybe a big part.

The latter is like having a driver’s education instructor constantly inside my head, depressing the passenger-side brake pedal every time the car is in any gear other than “park”. I picture him as having a well-trimmed mustache and wearing a tie with a short-sleeved shirt. He has my safety in mind and means well. But were said instructor to have control of the wheel, I’d never get anywhere interesting.

He’s fond of rules. And following them. There’s a set of rules for just about everything. Here’s the set he wrote about books (this is in the manual under “Creative Endeavors”, Chapter 64, subsection C):

1.)   Do not attempt to write and illustrate your own book.

If you decide to disregard Rule #1 (doing so may invalidate your warranty and result in serious injury or death), be sure to read, understand, and obey the following rules:

1.)   Choose an acceptable, pre-existing genre and subject matter.

2.)   Decide the size and format of the book based on ease and cost-effectiveness of printing.

3.)   Choose your target audience and tailor every element of the book to their interests.

4.)   Send the idea out to agents and publishers for vetting. If the idea does not garner interest, shelve it. If an agent is not interested, no one will be interested.

5.)   NEVER SELF PUBLISH.

But, like I said, he doesn’t have control of the wheel. I do. And it’s about time to get back on the road. I kinda feel like starting on that next book. And not paying much attention to the manual (again).

I’m afraid of a lot of things. Spiders. Clowns. Contracts that involve a lot of legalese that I’m expected to sign. Responsibility. Germs. Clown germs. But when it comes to drawing, I’m not afraid of much. Not because I’ve carefully considered the dangers and know how to diffuse them. Not because I’m brave. It’s because I know there’s fun to be had. My pursuit of that fun is stronger than my fear of what might happen if it goes wrong.

There’s nothing wrong with the rules. But I don’t think that following them will get me anywhere that interests me. There’s fun to be had in another direction, so I’m headed that way.

It’s just that, because of that passenger side brake, I’ll be going there very, very slowly.

Cheers.

This and That.

Hiya,

Just wanted to send out an update and give everyone the skinny. You know: the scoop, the D.L., the Q.T., the juice. First off, my 1950s slang class is going really well.

Also, I had my first book signing at our local bookstore (Bookpeople of Moscow), who were gracious enough to fit me in during a pretty busy season. It went very well. It was short, but there were loads of people who said nice things about Saturday right to my face, which is where I prefer nice things to be said. Granted, A.) I knew most of the people who came and, B.) They have to continue living in the same small town with me and so are socially encouraged not to be super mean because I’ll see them again in the future and I can hold a grudge longer than a Hatfield and McCoy put together. You hear that, SHELDON? I haven’t forgotten about that thing.

But I digress.

It reminded me how much I love our community and why I love my hometown. And that was maybe the most Rockwellian thing I’ve ever said. Gah! Sincerity. Quick: Think of a fart joke to wash the taste of real emotion out of your mouth!

Books are arriving at their new homes at various rates and times. I know because you’ve been telling me. Not right to my face this time, but to my computer, which in turn tells it right to my face. And you’ve also given me some of the best compliments I’ve ever had. I will keep these compliments with me and take them out when I need them to keep me warm, like when you put a hot potato in your pocket on a cold wintry night. What? You don’t do that? Well, it’s great. Plus, your pants smell like potato, so…bonus.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, reviews. While it’s flattering to receive compliments from people I know, it’s also nice to get them from strangers. They’re not obligated to be kind the way friends and family sorta are. For example, here are a few of the internet reviews that have come in:

I.M. Realperson: “This book great!”

Phil Intheblankreviews: “SATURDAY  is a terrific product. I use  SATURDAY  every day and I don’t know how I ever got along without it. I would definitely recommend SATURDAY to a friend.”

ReviewBot3000: “This book adequately conforms to human standards.”

NoahsMom: “Is this where I was supposed to type something? I’m not sure how this thing works. Love, Mom.”

PaidReviews.com: “Your service or product is good.”

What? How dare you suggest these aren’t real, live humans giving my book four star reviews. All these reviews are merit-based, like every other review on the interwebs.

Ok, jokey jokes aside (NEVER!), y’all have said some beautiful things about the book, and I’m grateful. One person (granted, a friend I’ve known for 15 years, but still…) brought up the amount of “care” put into Saturday. I think it’s a great word that nicely sums up my goals for the book. I cared deeply about every panel and every page. And I’m happy to now be sharing that with you.

Ugh: “sharing”, “caring”, “community”: Today’s post is just an all-star lineup of mushy words and sentiments, isn’t it?

Now, a few S.F.A.Q. (Somewhat Frequently Axed Questions):

International Shipping Costs and their existential ramifications: (Yup, I thought I’d start out with the most exciting topics in case you lose interest and don’t read the rest): I substantially undercharged for international shipping. But the explanation is simple: I’m dumb. So much so that pretty much all that extra money pledged for Kickstarter (thank you), went toward shipping. No bigs. It was never about money. Given the amount of time and personal money I’ve invested, CLEARLY, it was never about money.

My brother in law, who’s very smart and very business savvy, did a quick calculation of the entire affair and told me that, if I sold every single book, I stood to make a couple hundred dollars. It forced me to acknowledge that I’m a bad businessman. But I’m good at making fun things and sharing them with people. So I suppose that’s the point for me.

I’ve talked about my goals for Saturday many times (good craftsmanship, big, strange, funny, etc.). But the pie-in-the-sky goal was to make something that people want to read over and over and something that maybe possibly maybe inspires people the way my favorite books inspired me. The only problem with that goal is that there’s no real way for me to know it’s happened. The only thing I can do is make something as fun as I can and then share it. And that part HAS to be enough for me. It has to be satisfying and sustaining for me (because the money sure isn’t going to do either of those things).

What Now? Book events, maybe some comicons, etc. Work-wise, I’ve started a new series of fun, single-character poster illustrations. They’re sort of a palette-cleanser after eight years working on the same project.

When will the next book come out? I’m not too sure on that one. I’ve started a new book, but it’s on hold right now. I can’t jump straight from one book to another. I need a breather. But I will definitely keep you in the loop.

Ok, that’s enough jibba jabba. If you made it this far, you’re probably exhausted. Re-hydrate and relax for the rest of the day.

And thank you again. For everything.

Cheers.

Noah

Firstest Book Signing of Saturday!

Hullo!

Good news: I’m having my very first book signing! It’s at our beloved Bookpeople of Moscow on Thursday, December 3^rd from 6-7 pm. It’s the first time my book Saturday will be available at a bookstore (which is pretty exciting for me).

Haven’t heard of Saturday? It’s a lavishly illustrated book about an odd family, a rotten swamp of a week, and the wild ride back to almost normal. It’s chock-a-block full of strange characters, odd cultural references, mostly-appropriate jokes, and enough detail to choke that one kind of pig that only eats details. So, it’s like…a lot of detail.

“I’m skeptical, Noah,” I hear you say, skeptically, “I mean, sure, Saturday is so elaborately drawn it makes me want to spit on an illustrated manuscript* and the book’s size is wide enough to sit a family of three quite comfortably*, but is that really enough for me to want to take this book home?”

Certainly not, sir or madam. Why, there’s a whole host of other reasons to bring “Saturday” home to your loved ones. And here they are:

-Saturday is multipurpose! It’s a mix between a graphic novel and a children’s book. It’s the spork of books!

-This book will sit by the door (assuming you leave it by the door) and wait loyally for you to return every day. It’s reading material AND a companion. It will also guard your house while you’re away. I mean, it won’t DO anything, but it will be there if someone breaks in. Perhaps the thief will be distracted when they see the book and sit down to read it instead of stealing anything. Then you’ll have TWO companions waiting when you get home. Awww.

-Own a piece of history! This being a book and all (ask your grandparents if you’re unfamiliar with the medium), it continues the proud tradition of Gutenberg and it’s printed on paper just like the…er…ancient Egyptians used to use! Why, paging through Saturday is like traveling through time. Bring a big stick in case you have to fend off Morlocks*.

-It’s funny (in parts). Aren’t you tired of all those children’s books about tax law and estate planning? Good news! Saturday has almost none of those things and way more of the stuff enjoy, like bathroom humor and enough references to “The Golden Girls” to make you Blanche!

Why, with that bushel-full of reasons and my charming, country-fried way of a’ speakin’ (he said, with his thumbs hooked beneath his suspenders), I’d reckon you’re just about all outta excuses. So come on down to Bookpeople of Moscow (Thursday December 3^rd from 6-7 pm) and pick up a swell gift for your loved ones just in time for the holidays. And while you’re at it, pick up a copy of my book, too. Or just swing by to say ‘hi’. In the immortal words of England Dan, “I’m not talkin’ ‘bout movin’ in, and I don’t want to change your life, but there’s a warm wind blowin’ and the stars are out, and I’d really love to see you tonight (Thursday night).

*Don’t spit on any illustrated manuscripts. Think of the feelings of the long-dead monks, please.

*Assuming this family’s…ahem…southern borders, side by side, measure no more than 18” across.

*Don’t bring a big stick to Bookpeople. It’s probably against store policy. And anyway, Morlocks live underground, so no worries.

Hissy Fits and Giggles

Remember that long, whiny email I wrote, like, three days ago?

Voice of Reason: “You mean the one where you were having a hissy-fit over an ever-so-slightly delayed shipping schedule? The one where you had a Bieber-esque tantrum about having to wait for three seconds? The one where you felt a suffocating load of stress crushing you like a fat horse sitting on top of a marshmallow Peep but it was actually just a thing that didn’t happen and thereby ended up being a (shudder) normal-in-every-respect-week? That email?”

Me: “Uhh…yeah. That one. So…you remember?”

Well…Good news! The books came!

They were delivered by an honest-to-goodness trucker named Kelly. 1,500 pounds (680 kg) of pure, un-cut Saturday, baby. Hey, by the way: did you know I can lift 1,500 pounds? I mean, not all at once (heaven forefend; I have delicate illustrator’s wrists). But broken up into very small increments, I can lift that much weight. Eventually. To be fair, I had help from a neighbor who is, fortunately, not an illustrator. He’s a construction worker who also plays rugby. Which worked out real good for one of us.

We moved the books inside (my everything hurts today) and then I spent the next eight hours unpacking, signing (180 books! My delicate illustrator’s wrists!), and re-packing. Today, my totally awesome parents drove an hour and a half in bad weather to help their miscreant adult son pack boxes. We worked like beavers who are just about to get fired from beavering and are terrified because they have beaver bills and a beaver mortgage to think about.  And then I spent several hours at the Post Office where a group of employees with saint-like patience helped me mail them (well, there are a few left).

They’re on their way to you (unless you didn’t fill out your survey, tsk tsk finger wag tsk). I don’t know when they’ll arrive. Particularly if you live outside the US. Hopefully before the holidays. In the meantime, I’ll make something you can print up and give to people in lieu of the book in case it doesn’t arrive in time (thanks for the great suggestion, David O.).

If you live in the United States, Thanksgiving is Thursday.

I just realized what a stupid sentence that is. Even if you live in another country, the American holiday of Thanksgiving is STILL on Thursday. Your geographic location does not effect the date of a major holiday in another country.

Let me start over.

Hey, Thanksgiving is coming up!

And what better time to count one’s blessings? That’s totally the point according this made-for-TV docu-drama I saw on the WB network. It had that guy from “Saved By the Bell” (not the main guy, the other one) and I think I remember it was really touching or something. Anyhoo, I thought I’d make a list of the things for which I’m grateful, in the spirit of the docu-dramas:

-Books that arrive eventually.

-Construction workers/rugby players who are amenable to helping lift heavy things.

-My parents, for pretty much everything, ever.

-Patient Postal Workers

-My (totally condescending, uppity, I-told-you-so) voice of reason.

-You (you know why; let’s not make it weird, ok?)

-Sleepy time.

Ok. I’m going to go soak my everything. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You helped make this possible. And someday I hope it gets portrayed in a made-for-tv docu-drama starring that guy from “Saved by the Bell” (not the main guy, the other one).

Cheers.

The way-yay-ting is the hardest part.

The Waiting Game

Have you ever stopped to think about how many types of game there are (board, video, wild, etc.)? I’ve played my share. My favorite is probably Ticket to Ride. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a phenomenal board game where you pretend to be a railroad tycoon bent on world-domination. This is only slightly different than my everyday disposition, so it’s not much of a stretch for me to play the game. I just don my beaver-pelt top hat, grease the curls of my mustache and forge my rail empire one stretch of track at a time, preferably on the backs of opposing players. Mwa ha ha ha.

But for every great game there have to be at least three crap ones. Operation, for instance, is grotesque and traumatic. You attempt to remove foreign objects from the open wounds on an angry patient with a clown nose (who, I might add, is fully awake) without triggering the nerve-grating sound of the buzzer. Monopoly is a game where you can mortgage yourself back to the Stone Age in order to drive your fellow players into poverty and homelessness. And then there’s “Sorry”, the only game that apologizes in advance for the dearth of fun waiting for you.

But I have to say my least favorite game is the waiting game (with the possible exception of the crying game). Seriously, who thought up this game? I can picture the Milton-Bradley meeting now:

Boss: “So, what are our ideas for new games, people?”

Phil: “What about ‘The Waiting Game?”

Boss: “How do you play it?”

Phil: “Well…you just wait. You pick something to wait for and then you just… wait for that thing.”

Boss: “I’m not sure I get it. What’s fun about that?”

Phil: “Oh, nothing. It’s actually pretty awful.”

Boss: “Well, what makes it a game?”
Phil: “It says ‘Game’ in the title.”

Boss: “Well…it still sounds better than ‘Operation’.”

I’ve been playing the waiting game for weeks now, and my stress level is at a fever pitch. It feels like I showed up to school without pants on test day while the dentist in clown makeup maniacally revs the pneumatic drill in the background. Last week, the books were going to arrive Monday. On Monday the date was moved to Thursday or Friday. On Thursday, it was moved to Monday or Tuesday.

Why am I so nervous? I guess “Saturday” feels like my child. A child that took me almost ten years to create. And then I found a company in Hong Kong with a reputation for manufacturing quality children to make a large number of them all at once. And now they’re done and on their way, having been sent overseas on two pallets in an unheated cargo ship and sat in customs for a while. The metaphor sorta falls apart pretty quickly, but I think you get the point. Or, at least, I hope you do, because I’ve lost my train of thought.

Suffice it to say my best-laid plans have gone awry. I was hoping to has the books by now. But I will has them. Hopefully soon. And once here, “Operation Send-Books-To-Super-Awesome-Kickstarter-Backers” will resume. At this point, it looks like the clunkily-named operation will resume at the tail end of this month or early in December. Past the deadline by a goodly amount, I know. But I had zero control over this part. Still, I apologize for the delays.

While I’m on the subject, here’s something to keep in mind: Since the campaign closed, I’ve been cobbling together boxes, labels, addresses, and a pile of other things to get ready to send the books (I was hoping for some cobbling help from magical elves, but I guess their union only allows them to work on shoes). I’ve done everything within my limited mental and financial capacities to make sure the books get to you safe and sound. The boxes are sturdy, the labels meticulous and clear, and the bubble wrap will hug each book like an ugly, squeaky sweater. But once mailed, they’ll be literally and metaphorically out of my hands. Fingers will be crossed, lucky charms will be employed, and hope will be hoped against hope (whatever that means) that the books arrive in a timely and undamaged manner. But I can’t promise either. I would hand out every book in person if I were A.) A guy with unlimited money and time and B.) Not slightly afraid of air travel after this one flight I won’t get into but that made me pee a little bit. Since neither are the case, I’ll have to ask in advance for your patience and understanding (both of which you’ve already given generously and for which I’m grateful).

I know: You’re waiting, too. And in the grand scheme of things, being a bit stressed out about the arrival of the books is no biggie. It doesn’t always feel like no biggie, but I know it is. I’m impatient to share “Saturday” with you.

So, TL;DR: The books aren’t here yet, but hopefully will be soon. I’ll send ‘em out soon as I gets ‘em. In the meantime, here’s some of what’s waiting for you inside:

Cheers.

Maps, Stacks, and Flapping Yaps.

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