This one is from my driveway this morning.  Each year, about this time, the giant pin oak out front fires the first cannon of my annual battle with leaves.  It usually ends around, oh, February.  In between, there’s lots and lots of bins full of the wounded and the dead — er, leaves, I mean.

I did something authorly today (pronounced aw-thor-lee).  I define this as doing something aimed squarely at promoting myself as an Author of Important Things, as opposed to doing something writerly, which, of course, has to do with that boring business of sitting in a room and typing.

With a book and two short story collections soon out — and at the prodding of one of my publishers for an author photo that didn’t look like a bad Polaroid – I decided it was time to create a press kit.  Putting my wife’s Cannon SLR camera to good use, we headed down to a local park and spent an hour taking a few photos.  Actually, it was more than a few.  It was 250.  Yikes!  That’s right, it took 250 photos just to boil it down to three or four that were decent.  That’s why I’m not Kate Moss.  Well, that and I like to eat too much.  Plus the gender difference thing.  And, let’s face it, I have the face of a writer and not a male model – which, at the end of our photo shoot, I was actually grateful for, because I was completely exhausted.  I told the photographer I wanted to go to my trailer, but I got no sympathy.  I tell you, modeling is a grueling business. 

Anyway, check out the full press kit here.  It’s just the photos in various sizes and a couple different biographies, but I plan to add more in time.  You know, when I feel like doing more authorly things.

Our family dog, Mankato, passed away over the weekend.  It was simply his time, living to the grand old dog age of 15.  He was the best of dogs — tolerant and gentle, friendly and kind.  When I close my eyes, I can still see him sitting behind the counter of the bookstore I owned for a couple of years, rising to greet each customer.  And I can still feel, as the two of us drove somewhere, his wet nose pressing against my fingers as my hand rested on the gear shift — because, of course, he always assumed I meant to pet him on the head as he sat next to me and I simply didn’t aim well.  You’ll be missed, old friend.

Something cool arrived in the mail yesterday: 

It’s the uncorrected proofs, or bound galleys, of my first book.  It’s really neat to see it in near-book form.

Now I need to brainstorm some good writers who might like to blurb my book.  Anybody know Nick Hornby’s home phone number?  Just kidding.  No, really, does anybody have his number?

One of the perks of being a writer is that your stories or novels occasionally get illustrated.  “The Bear Who Sang Opera,” which appeared in the July/August issue of Analog, had an illustration I loved so much that I emailed the artist to tell him so.  John Allemand — who said some nice things about my story in return — was kind enough to send me a high resolution image so I could print and put it up in my office (and with his permission, post online).  I think it really does capture the spirit of the story:

(Click picture for larger image)

I’m not bragging here, but not every writer has the benefit of a genius in his office — like I do, with good old Albert Einstein.  Especially a genius wearing a hat from The Cat in the Hat.

Actually, Albert was a gift from my parents, who bought him for me when I started a bookstore.  And when I sold the store, he was the only thing I took with me.  We’ve developed a good friendship.  He doesn’t say much, but that’s okay.  He’s a genius, so he doesn’t have to.

This is a picture of my “to read” pile, which doesn’t include another four or five books at my bedside.  Still, it’s a pretty good representation of my eclectic reading habits.  It’s also a good representation of how hard it is for me to say no to books.  Books, they are pretty, me likes them . . .

Actually, I always find it funny that our black cat, Grimmy Lynn, prefers the company of our dog, Mankato, over the company of our other cat. Of course, Mankato merely tolerates her . . .

I realize this now puts me in the company of other writers who post pictures of their pets online. Sigh.

My muse is five inches tall . . . An Edgar Allan Poe action figure, complete with removable raven, sits next to my writing computer. He’s helped me from time to time with some sticky story problems. He’s also warned me about the dangers of alcoholism. (You can own your own!)