The proofs came in.
I opened the box, and there was Midnight Radio. Several copies, nestled in brown paper like they hadn’t done anything wrong.
I know what’s in those books. They’re not fooling me.
Still, seeing them sitting there with my name on the cover made me stop for a minute. I had to take pictures.
I’ve spent a lot of time with these people. Writing their conversations. Reading them out loud. Laughing at things I probably shouldn’t. Fixing a sentence, then coming back later and fixing my fix.
Now here they are, in a little brown box on my table.
The covers say “Not for Resale.” These are proof copies, so there’s still checking to do. Apparently, you can read your own book sixteen times and a typo will wait until it’s printed to introduce itself.
But today, I’m happy.
I wanted to tell a story. Something scary, something funny, with people you might recognize—even if you’d rather not admit you know them.
And now I get to share it.
If you have something you’ve been wanting to make, I hope you keep working on it. There’s a lot to learn along the way. I’m still learning. But opening this box was a pretty good reminder of why I started.
Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me. And to the early readers willing to spend some time with Midnight Radio: I’m excited to hear what you think.
Want to be an advance reader? Use the contact form on my website and let me know. I’d love to hear from you.
Apparently, the things that go bump in the night arrive in a little brown box.