Yesterday, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. When I went to answer, I found a man from United Parcel Service. I was a bit skeptical. Okay, more than a bit. After all, I hadn't ordered anything. Being a crime writer, I wondered if this was a con. But still, I opened the door. The stranger dumped a small but heavy box into my arms and then stuck one of those electronic gizmos under my nose. I scribbled something that in no way resembles my signature, wished him a good day and went to examine the item he'd brought me.
It was certainly heavy and I certainly did not recognize the sender. Being a crime writer who has watched more than one too many true crime television programs, I was inordinately suspicious. "Could it be a bomb?" But hey, I'm not important enough for anyone to target. (Sounds gruesome, but that's the track along which my mind runs. What can I say?)
So I lugged it down the hall to my room, where upon further examination I found that the address label referred to an ISBN number. Ah, I thought. We're getting somewhere. I just wasn't sure where. I hadn't ordered any copies of my books. I sat down, plugged the ISBN number into my MacBook and did a search of the Internet.
Now the less patient among us might wonder why I just didn't grab a knife or pair of scissors and cut the thing open. I told you: I'm paranoid. Not by much, but just enough. It's the downside of being a mystery writer. You train your mind to think in nefarious ways. Furthermore, I was enjoying the suspense. (After all, I could've had only minutes left to live ...)
The Internet search returned instant results. (Oh, I love doing "research" on the Internet! It is truly for the armchair detective.) Taking it all in, I shook my head, and said, "I should've known."
Now, I grabbed for the scissors. You bet I did. I cut that box open as fast as I could. When I saw the contents, I grinned from ear to ear. What a beauty to behold! Complementary copies of The Blue Religion.
I pumped the air with one skinny arm. Yes!
But then, being cerebral, I had to wonder. Why is it that I keep forgetting that the book is coming out? Maybe because it took so long to do so? Maybe because I'm scatterbrained? I think it's the latter. Or is it because as an anthology, it represents a collaborative effort, and so I don't -- can't -- regard it as my
book and mine alone. Hmm ... Nope, I think it's because I'm scatterbrained.
No matter. I am fully aware of the book now. It has manifested itself in reality and I am so happeee! I'm looking forward to the book launch party, which will be held in exactly one month (April 29), at the Mysterious Bookshop at 58 Warren Street here in Manhattan, 6pm sharp. Naturally, you're invited. You'll meet bestselling authors, such as Michael Connelly, Alafair Burke and Paul Guyot. And of course, you'll meet little ol' me.
What can I say? I feel like a girl invited to her prom!
I do hope you'll come. It would be wonderful to meet you!