Always Scribble Scribble Scribble, Eh, Mr. Scalzi?
So, Scalzi, you say, what’s in those boxes? Well, I will tell you. They are signature sheets for The God Engines and Judge Sn Goes Golfing, and each box is filled right up to the top with sheets. The cats are added for scale.
Over the next few days I will sign every single sheet in each of those boxes and then mail them off, so they can be made into (respectively) hardcover novellas and short story chapbooks that you can buy before the holidays are upon us. That’s a lot of signing, but damn it, you are worth it (provided, of course, you have purchased either or both of these things).
Be that as it may, it’s times like these that I remember the days of my youth, when I said to myself, rather arrogantly, I might add, “self, one day you will be an author, and you will have to sign your name a lot. You should start practicing now.” And I did: where other teenagers practiced their guitar, I practiced my signature, turning it into that weird swoopy thing I have now, which is distinctive and yet also oddly easy on the wrists, just right for hour upon hour of signature sheet signing. Yes, they laughed at me then, but I ask you: Who is laughing now? Why, it’s me! Bwa ha ha ha hah ha!
So that’s what I’m doing with my free time, probably though Sunday. Hope you weren’t planning to include me in your weekend plans. Because it’s kind of filled up. No, no. Go on without me. I’ll just sit here. With my boxes. Alone. Except for the cats.