TODAY I MET my book about residential schools — called … um … Residential Schools — for the first time. For that reason alone it was a good day, and I wasn’t even sure if I’d be up for it, since I spent a good part of yesterday in bed with a fever, dreaming about the apocalypse. Or at least I think it was the apocalypse. It could have just been about the publishing industry. Haha! Ever funny that one.
I don’t think a lot of people get my sense of humor. Like for instance I thought this one was pretty good, but then came that little voice in my head that pops up once in a while and says, “are you sure that’s a good idea—cos, you know, people and your sense of humor”:
I think of this inner voice as a person who somehow knows what my partner would say if she were there.
Meeting interesting people and talking to them about interesting things is great. It’s one of the reasons I get out of bed in the morning, when I can get out of bed because I’m not having a feverish dream of fire and dragons and riding the subway all night, lost and with no pants on. (I hope that was a dream, but it could have been the medication.) I sold some books, too, and that’s another of my favorite things.
Then I came home to my family and had take-out Chinese food. This was my fortune:
You see what’s happening here? Mr. Wing, or maybe it’s Mr. Wings—or maybe it’s the 1990s comedy starring Tim Daly and Steven Weber—is preparing me for the millions of dollars in sales that my book is going to get. It’s like having Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid in a cookie, with the bonus that I don’t have to nurse a bonsai tree or concentrate on the moon and not the finger pointing at the moon. Or is that from Bruce Lee? Man, publishing is complex.
I haven’t figured out yet what the numbers 2 9 14 38 45 47 mean. Maybe that’s how you phone Mr. Wing if you have any questions.
Did I mention you can buy my book at the Toronto International Book Fair this weekend? Or you can go to GoodMinds and do that whole Internetty thing.