To follow is the reaction of a five-year-old book monkey on discovering the big box of books that arrived today contained only his mother’s author copies:
Why are the books always for you? It’s just a whole bunch of Forever Again books! Why did they send them to you? Didn’t you tell them you’re the Arthur? And why do you need so many? You should remember what you wrote in them. And why don’t I ever get mail? I only get cards from Auntie Pat and Auntie Renie and that dumb Turtle Magazine ’cause you won’t suh-sribe to Thomas again and why won’t you write me a Thomas book instead of love books for womens? I’m writing to the mailman to get some mail. It’s dumb to get all the same book in one box. Why are they all for you? You don’t care about me. I’m going to my room because you don’t care about me and I hope the cats pee on your box! You hate me!
Anybody know how you get a gig writing Thomas books?
Anyway, the drama of my teenage girl trapped in a little boy’s body aside, I got my author copies!
I guess it’s time for a contest, huh? Must think…(must watch Amazing Race while thinking…)