Do you recall that post a while back, where I whined about the non-appearance of a book? It had interesting effects on people.
I received a really worried email that morning from one publisher asking ‘it wasn’t me, was it?’ before apologising profusely for a fault not committed. If you can call it a fault.
At the opposite end I had an email from an author asking if the latest proof had arrived. And another, asking had it arrived now?
Some digging ensued, and I was asked for my address so that I could receive one of the author’s own proof copies. But I’d gone out for the rest of the day. My mobile (which can receive emails now…) was switched off, because it had to be.
So on my return to the office I had an inbox full of ever more frantic emails, almost culminating in an ADDRESS NOW OR ELSE! message. I have promised never to leave the house again. Ever. (Or I suppose if I don’t have to turn the phone off, it could work. Not sure I’d be capable of typing an address on those tiny keys, though.)
So if you happened to see your neighbourhood author out at the postbox late one night, it will have been my personalised proof, getting itself posted before midnight, when – apparently – it would have turned into a pumpkin.
Don’t tell me I don’t know some very kind people.
(Of course, there should be no need for midnight trysts with postboxes.)