Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful messages of support on Pub Date for Le Road Trip — April 10, 2012. Just think. A mere eight months ago this was all I had:
A stack of Damn France pages (and a tea bag). And now:
I’ve got a Damn France Book!
The cats can’t hardly contain their glee and pride at this great achievement.
I’ve certainly been enjoying every single message of approval, validation, and assurance from you dear readers that what I’ve sent out into the world doesn’t suck. Whew.
I don’t know what other writers do on the eve of Pub Date — is there a writer who is cool, calm, and collected 48 hours before The Day of Reckoning? — but this writer gets her husband to take her to Atlantic City. Because I got important people to meet and greet in America’s Playground.
You know who I mean. Under the boardwalk:
A lot of people don’t notice the ally cats of Atlantic City, or the big Ally Cat Allies of Atlantic City sign, until there’s a crazy cat lady taking pictures under the boardwalk, attracting attention.
And then I have to explain that the wild and stray cats of Atlantic City are provided for by a corp of dedicated animal lovers at Ally Cat Allies of Atlantic City who bring food, water, and medical care to the colony.
Although there are people who free-lance it, which is not recommended. (There’s a black cat on the second step there, being fed by the guy in the baseball cap.)
But sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. That is, sit and feel better about the world in the company of a cat.
I also don’t know what other writers do the day after Pub Date – if I were Neil deGrasse Tyson I’d be watching my book leap onto the New York Times best-seller list, and if I were J. K. Rowling I’d be getting a kick out of the tsunami of consumer demand for my e-book crashing the internet, and if I were a soft-core pornographer I’d be signing a multi-million dollar deal with my New York publisher…
…but I’m just a humble illustrator/memoirist, so I’ll be sitting at home, sorting out all my big ideas for my next illustrated travel memoir.
And no, it’s not going to be a cat book. I’ve tried, and I can’t make a cat book work for me — I don’t have a disease, a divorce, or a personality disorder that will be resolved through a poignant relationship with my cats that will sustain a narrative of 200 pages. And besides, you know what lunks my cats are:
Do you think I could possibly do anything with this?