Ketchup

It’s finally happened. Someone I don’t know has called me at home after reading one of my books.

Previously, I’ve written here about the Mysterious Postcards, yes? Now that was fun and exciting. The first came from Australia, unsigned and with no return address but with a unique-to-me wallaby stamp. In careful handwritten caps, it read, simply, “Plague Year was great. Please write more books, and faster.”

Well, I can’t argue with the sentiment… but the card came to our home address, which is unlisted. I only know one guy Down Under, and he swore up and down that he didn’t know anything about it. Sure, it’s the 21st Century. Everyone is easy to track down. But still. A little weird, right?

A few months later, we received a second postcard from a museum of industry with a giant forging press on the front. The same careful handwriting said, “Such massive machinery sits idled by the power of nanotech… Can’t wait to read Plague Year.” I assume that was a typo. The dude meant War, right? Gosh darn confusing titles!

But the main thing was that the second card was mailed from Nova Scotia. They’re getting closer! If another one arrives from Denver, we going to start hammering spare lumber over the windows like Ben in The Night of the Living Dead... ;)

Back to the phone call. It’s my own fault. When I autograph books, I usually put a business card in them sort of like a book mark, and I’m hardly such a big shot that I have a dedicated business line or even a P.O. box for that matter. Jesus, who has the time to drive somewhere for their mail? Not me!

The guy on my answering machine was very friendly. In fact, he had an intriguing business offer. He’d picked up War without having read Year, liked it a lot, and suggested that we team up to write his stock market insider fear and mayhem tell-all nonfiction book.

Truth to be told, it sounded very cool, and timely, although there must be eight hundred other people rushing to market with their Wall Street exposes at the moment. I called him back and thanked him for his interest – I was flattered – and talked him through basics of editors, agents, query letters, and nonfiction book proposals. This is an excellent problem to have, but my schedule is booked up through 2010 at this point.

Aha HA ha ha ha. Booked up. That’s writing humor.

My hope, of course, is that some day I’ll be knee-deep in bodyguards and screaming groupies. And limousines, cocaine, and shrimp cocktails. Yummy.

Labels: Stalkers And Fans