Well. Tomorrow I beard the ISBNs in their lair.

It is ... daunting. Filling out the application correctly. Paying $250. Then waiting while the thing is processed. Then doing the barcodes correctly. Then putting the barcode on the back cover and in the manuscript, converting and uploading everything. Then waiting again until the first copy comes in to see if it worked. I may or may not have it ready to ship by ChattaCon. But this is what I do.

I went and talked to Charlene yesterday about how to get it carried at Walden's, and there is a way. There is undoubtedly a way to do so for Books-a-Bajillion and the other fine purveyors of the written word roundabout. And the library. And at some point in time I'm going to have to gather my courage and get in contact with the Times-Free Press to try to carry out some form of promotion, or at least get a mention in the paper along the lines of "Local Sci-Fi Writer Found Consorting with Clown in Burlap Bag -- Satanic Ritual Suspected." I am by and large a shy person. You don't have to be particularly socially adept to be a writer. We do our best work when we sit in the corner with our laptops and watch the world go by around us. It's only Harlan Ellison and Piers Anthony who make hay out of being loud-mouthed and outgoing. And anyway I couldn't sell electric blankets to Eskimos.

But if I ever want the fan club and the harem, I've got to start somewhere.


Speaking of ChattaCon, I have turned in my leave requests for it and for February 1st which is the anniversary of the Columbia accident. I am intending to go to Marshal Space Flight Center. Today is also the anniversary, incidentally, of the first rover (Spirit, I believe) landing on Mars.