I drove past Powell's this morning and spotted this. I wont' lie: I was instantly choked-up. Writing a book is such a long affair, sometimes, and often so solitary, that any token of acknowledgment of the finished work is like water in a desert. This, though, feels like an ocean in a desert, and is such a high note to start the year with.
It's quite a bit cooler when you check it out from across the street. Ursula K. LeGuin is there the night before. It's extremely strange and pretty humbling to see my who-the-hell-is-that-guy name next to a legend's name.
I was so excited about the marquee that I almost missed this, in the window on the opposite side of the building:
The event is now just five days away. I've been struggling with the most pervasive, most horrific cough for the last few weeks. I'm desperately hoping it goes away—or at least takes a short break—before Thursday evening. I'm told bourbon will quell it for a bit; conveniently, that may also take a bit of the nervous edge off.
The event being only five days away means that publication is only two days away. I'm writing this Sunday morning; the book's official release date is the twelfth, Tuesday. Spread the word! Tell your friends! Buy a copy for everyone at the office! Etc. Hooray!