I come from a military family. One piece of advice passed down through the Adams family was to go to boot camp in October. You wanted cooler weather, preferably before you were slipping on snow and ice while marching.
I brought that same thinking to my book tour. I want to visit these towns when I can enjoy being there. And I would rather do that in cooler weather than in the middle of a Texas summer.
The timing matters to me.
Midnight Radio unfolds over forty-eight hours during Labor Day. I chose an October release, after that holiday and leading into Halloween, with Veterans Day ahead. As a Navy veteran, that part of the calendar means something to me, too.
It took fourteen years to finish this book. It didn’t take fourteen years to type the words. I waited until I had the ability to edit it properly and help from people who cared about getting it right.
Some of that work meant realizing what I had left out.
There was grief missing from the story. A child had lost his mother, and I had passed over his response. Eventually, I recognized something about myself in that omission. I had passed over grieving my own mother.
Linda, my friend and editor, talked with me gently about it. She asked questions, and I answered. During that conversation, I cried. I found grief I hadn’t allowed myself to mourn.
Then I could write it.
What finally went into the story was a simple gesture. I won’t give the scene away here. But that small moment took something out of me to put on the page.
When I say there is a part of me in this book, that is what I mean.
There are lighter parts of me in it, too. The humor. The details I get particular about. Even the packaging.
Years ago, I built and sold Raspberry Pi media centers called the Jerri-Rigg. A son of a bitch to spell, but not a son of a bitch to use. I would take an ordinary cardboard box, spray-paint it black, and put the name on it using embossed aluminum tape. I have always liked something metallic and shiny against black.
That same taste shows up in the black book box, the gold AlphaSmart seal, and the red foil lettering planned for the special edition. Those choices have a history. They come from me.
Linda helps me shape the design and talk through ideas. Our conversations include plenty of humor, corrections, and occasionally me getting very particular about one little detail. I want to share that part of making this book, too.
I write the story. I help shape how it looks. I sign the copy, pack the box, and take it to the post office.
When I send you a book, I send it to you. That matters to me.
Something I didn’t know until I knew: when an author orders copies of his own book, they seem to ship them using the “slow boat from China” option.
The books are printed in Las Vegas. I’m in Texas. Apparently, they go through China first.
Getting enough books here for Thursday has been its own adventure. Five copies from IngramSpark arrived yesterday. The box was mangled.
My wife was concerned.
“You got books in today. I’m not sure they’re all there. I don’t like the looks of that box.”
I looked down.
“Oh, my!”
I do want to give IngramSpark credit for the books themselves. They do a damn good job printing Midnight Radio, and I’m proud of how the paperback looks and feels. We put a lot of work into this book. It matters to me that the printed copy shows it. You can buy the paperback directly from IngramSpark here.
I’m still waiting on five more from Amazon. Their delivery window is November 5 through November 11. The signing is November 5. Apparently, my books have their own tour schedule.
Between getting books here and getting packages out, I’ve been tired. My wife has noticed. Unfortunately, she also has Facebook.
I was sitting on the toilet in my own bathroom, conducting my affairs in the manner in which they needed to be conducted, when I heard her yelling from the bedroom.
I had just finished a three-hour fight with my printer, which turned out to be my Wi-Fi’s fault. I was in a daze.
“What!”
“You need to make yourself an appointment with the doctor on your day off.”
“Woman, what are you on about?”
“I was looking on Facebook, and it had ten symptoms of low T. You had them all but one.”
“I thank God for small favors,” I said, considering the indignity of it all. “What were the symptoms?”
She started reading. Reduced sex drive. Erectile dysfunction. Persistent fatigue. Man boobs. Increased body fat. Mood changes and depression. Brain fog and poor focus. Sleep disturbances. Hair loss. Decreased bone mass.
“You don’t want to have sex, you have man boobs, you’re depressed.”
“Hey, I’m not depressed!”
“You’re grumpy all the time now. It’s your new normal.”
“That’s not true. I may be an asshole, but I am a happy asshole! I can’t argue with the hair loss, but I won’t dignify the others with an answer.”
I scratched my man boobs.
“Are you going to make an appointment? Or if I do something ridiculous and against my morals, like call and make an appointment for you, are you going to go?”
“Leave me alone, woman. I want to sleep. I’m not going to talk about my issues now. Besides, I consider low T a superpower. When I was younger and had a lot of T, all I could do was think about boobs. Now I can concentrate and write for long periods of time without thinking about booty.”
“You’re impossible!”
Anyway, on Thursday, November 5, this happy asshole gets to visit with readers at Childress Public Library from 4 to 5 p.m. The royalties from books sold at my table will go to the library.
I’m looking forward to hearing people’s stories. As this tour grows, I want to spend time in their towns and learn something about the people who live there.
I have spent fourteen years getting this book ready to share.
Thursday is a beginning.
