'What's the time, Mr Wolf?'.
Thankyou. Yes, me too. Pardon? For once, I do know. It's my seventy-fifth. Yes, after a long time spent making picture books, this one is book number75.
Actually, it's the night of publication day now. Not just for me, but for 270 other authors Out There, all of us unwittingly part of the vast number of new books released on Super-Mega-Uber-Overkill Thursday ; traditionally the blackest day in a sitka spruce's calendar, in much the same way as December 25th is a double-plus-ungood day if you're a turkey.
So many other amazing books come out today. If I was half as wealthy as I wish I was, I'd be out there buying several forests' worth. However, more importantly, today, we have Eldest Daughter ( the book character known to some of you as Small)
getting packed before leaving home for university. Therefore, instead of cracking open a bottle to celebrate being fortunate enough to be part of the cascade of wonderful books about to be unleashed upon you, Dearest Readers, I found myself taking part in the final victory lap around our local supermarket with Small-about-to-be-Student. The part I played was Sponsor, Financial Backer, Coach and Cheerleader, as I'm sure you can understand. It was not the kind of shopping you'd do for tasteful little treats to tempt a wolf's appetite, such as are peeking coyly out of Mr Wolf's basket.
All suggestions welcome.
And I suspect once Small actually does settle in, with her soup pot and her knife and chopping board and collection of herbs and spices, she won't look back.
Phone home? That's the stuff of which fairytales are made.
2 comments:
Mr. Wolf & Tobermory Cat are now preordered, as well as a board book version of "No Matter What" for a mother-to-be. Who shall also be getting a handknit baby jacket - while he can still wear it, if I'm diligent.
Best of luck to the now-frighteningly-grown-up Small as she shoves off into the waters of adulthood. Tell her that a bit of lemon juice gives the chili some necessary tartness, and you can never have too much garlic. Ever.
I'm with you on the garlic front. No self-respecting rhinovirus stands a chance in our house ; it's like the allium force field. Unfortunately it doesn't make one too attractive to one's fellow man unless they, too, consume garlic by the ton.
And thankyou a thousand times for your bookbuying choices ; I hope you like them. No - I hope you love them.
How's the puppy?
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