Friday, October 01, 2004

Socks and the Single Writer

"You're a writer? I've got an idea for a book you can write." This is right up there with "If you all just hand over your wallets nobody's going to get hurt. Except for any writers amongst you. We really hate writers," on the list of things writers generally hope not to hear.

So it made me happy to read the story of where Schindler's List came from, and to find one time where "have I got a book idea for you" was a very good thing to have heard:


The fax of today's "form letter" from Dave Sim mentioned that today's postbag of people he was sending signed Cerebuses to numbered a mere 14 people, and that today, for only the third time in the whole of human history, the Rest of the World outnumbered the Americans. He's sent out almost 1500 Cerebuses so far, and people are starting to realise that no, there doesn't appear to be a catch. (There have been a few days this week when he had few enough Cerebuses to send out that he sent personal letters instead of the form letters.)

Which I mention because:

Hey, Neil. Was hoping you could let everyone know that the archive for the Dave Sim Form Letters is now operational at:
Also need to encourage more and more folks to get us their form letters. We're missing quite a lot of them.Thanks, Dana...

So if you're someone who sent off for your free, signed, Sandman-parody Cerebus (and if you didn't, and you'd like one, write a real letter, with enough postage to get to Canada, to Dave Sim, Box 1674 Station C, Kitchener, Ontario N2G 4R2, Canada, and tell him why you'd like a copy, and, wherever you are in the world, he will send you one) then you'll want to check out the archive, and watch as Dave has much too much fun making fun of people who put glitter into their letters, and, well, me.

If the letter you received from Dave isn't up there, then send a scan of it along to Dana.

And the Soon A mentioned in the September 16th letter would like to tell people that he's not a her, he's a him.


Neil, In your recent journal entry, you say, "Also talked to my editor, Jennifer Brehl, about finally bringing out a mass-market paperback edition of Smoke and Mirrors, my last short story collection,..." -- which I thought a bit funny, because I have what I thought to be a mass-market paperback edition of Smoke and Mirrors. It was put out by Perennial ("an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers"), and the cover photograph is by J.K. Potter. Is this not the case? Did I somehow stumble onto some lucky limited-edition paperback? Either way, I plan on bringing it for signing at the National Book Festival. Looking forward to seeing you there!- Elissa

Right -- that's our wonderfully respectable-looking trade paperback. The "mass market paperback" is the small-sized one you can buy in supermarkets and fit into your pocket. I want it to have a cover that makes it look like it's Not Good For You At All.


The last time I grumbled about socks on this blog, I was missing one sock. Now I seem to be missing all of them. I'm starting to suspect that somewhere in this house there must be a secret drawer filled with socks that no-one's told me about -- or possibly that some huge, stealthy bird in the attic is building a terrifying nest out of black socks. (This last bird-related ponder was not endorsed by the official bird lady of who will probably write to let me know that no actual birds build nests out of socks and it's probably some kind of enormous rat, or gnomes.)

This morning I sighed and unwrapped a pair of Bryn Mawr black socks that Holly had given me, because they were all that was left at the back of the sock drawer. Other than those, I am sockless. Tomorrow morning I plan to go around the house with a magnifying glass, looking for the spoor of the missing socks. How far can they have gone? And why this mass exodus?

We, the sockless, demand answers, not mysteries, dammit. I shall keep you informed of any developments.