I’m writing this on Tuesday, November 10—Pub Day for The Taken Ones.  I hit the AI-Generated jackpot today with a total of nine phony invitations wanting me to hire someone to provide better promotion and placement for my books. At this rate I’m gong to wear out my delete key completely.  But I also received a heartfelt letter from someone who survived a toxic marriage that makes my first one look like a walk in the park.  She had just finished reading After the Fire and was letting me know how much it meant to her.

That’s what my mail bag is each morning—a combination of good news and not-so-good news.  I read the good ones all the way through, and those are the ones I answer.

But pub day is always a good day.  In the olden times, by now I would have already heard from Terry House, my loyal fan in Colorado who passed away a number of years ago but whose interaction led to my meeting and becoming friends with Margaret Mizushima.  Terry’s audible version of a new book would come in at midnight, and by mid-morning, she’d have listened to the whole thing and sent me her review.  I miss her.

Someone else I miss on Pub Day is my mother, Evie.  Prior to submitting Until Proven Guilty to any editors, my parents were visiting here in Seattle.  Feeling relatively certain the book would be published, I wanted them to know what was inside it, so I let them read the manuscript. As both the daughter and author, it was an excruciating process. Evie would read a page and then pass it to my dad. 

Evie was someone who wore cardigan sweaters over her shoulders, fastened by a little clasp.  When she finished the last page, she straightened her sweater, looked at me, and said, “Well, it seems like someone with your education could write a book without using some of those words.  It so happened that Alice Volpe, my agent then and my agent now, was also in the room at the time.  She turned to my dad and said, “Norman, if you were writing a book about working in the mines, wouldn’t you have to use some of those words?”  My father ran his hand across his forehead, nodded, and allowed as how he probably would.  That was the last time there was any discussion of my using bad words.  And I also know Evie was very proud of me.

As someone who is currently reading Until Proven Guilty for the first time in more than forty years, I have to agree with my mother.  There are a number of bad words in that book.  I was learning to write through a male point of view at the time, and I think I may have overdone it.  There’s also quite a bit of S-E-X.  Over time, I figured out that it was fine to let what went on in bed happen behind closed doors, allowing readers to fill in the blanks.  Enough so that a reader once wrote to me asking if Joanna and Butch have a strictly platonic relationship. I wrote back saying that, in view of the fact that they have two kids together, I don’t think so.

I just had another email notice come in. Another pile of AI—I hope you are doing well crap.  I didn’t read any further than that before sending it into the great beyond.

At any rate, those are my random thoughts on the morning of pub day.  In a few minutes it’ll be time to make breakfast.  This afternoon, I’ll get some steps, shower, and put on makeup and my dress-for-success duds.  That includes shoes.  Around the house, I mostly go barefoot.  Then I’ll go to Third Place Books and speak to a roomful of people who will spend a matter of hours reading something it took me months to produce.

Fortunately for me, the next two books are already written.

Happy Trails and Happy Reading.