Essays

In my previous newsletter, in the interest of promoting my latest novel, Going Home in the Dark, I resorted to hard-sell tactics for the first time in my career. Consequently, I have spent the last thirty days simmering in a sauce of shame. A hard-sell campaign demeans both the author and reader, and I never should have stooped so low. I have been broiling, boiling, steeping, sautéing, deep-frying, poaching, and roasting in shame. Really, there is no culinary verb adequate to describe how thoroughly I have cooked in shame, all because I wanted to generate more preorders of my WONDERFUL and HIGHLY ENTERTAINING new novel, Going Home in the Dark, which has now been published by Thomas & Mercer and is available to be acquired with but a few seconds of effort.

I have spent more time trying to justify my shameful self-promotion than any sane person would. Yes, Going Home in the Dark (now available for purchase) is THRILLING and ENORMOUSLY AMUSING and as HIGHLY ENTERTAINING as any four other novels combined. Yes, it is DEEPLY MOVING and will change you for the better in ways that enrich your emotional and intellectual life forever. (Note: though a high percentage of early readers report repeatedly undergoing periods of ecstasy while reading this novel, the author cannot guarantee that you will experience such joy that you will burst into tears of rapturous happiness, though that has been a nearly universal response thus far.) Yes, this EXQUISITE and ENTHRALLING novel is available in hardcover, audio, and eBook for less than the per diem cost of owning even the cheesiest electric car; moreover, compared to the risk of being incinerated in a lithium-battery fire while driving, there is virtually no chance that you will be reduced to ashes in a book blaze. While all of that is true, none of it has served as an ointment to soothe my inflamed sense of shame.

Unlike other authors I could name (but will not promote here), I swear to you that my one fall into the gutter of hard-sell book promotion last month was my only such sick self-indulgence and that it will never happen again. If you prefer to spend your money on a large cafe latte laden with cancer-causing chemicals and insect parts and mouse droppings, rather than acquire a novel that will give you many hours of delight, that is your right. There is no reason you should not go for the contaminated latte—as long as you have good health insurance and a high tolerance for excruciating pain. I will humbly acknowledge that all I have to offer you is a carefully crafted and engaging story, hours of fun, and a memorable reading experience that just might guide you onto a life path of endless happiness.

I will say no more than that the highly respected Booklist gave Going Home in the Dark a starred review, calling it “a rousing success.” The reviewer said it was “a gripping, highly suspenseful story.” I blush as I write this and wish I didn’t have to report what Booklist said. However, my publisher insisted on it and claimed rather ominously that they have ways to make me profoundly regret my tendency toward modesty.