“When did you make this and why didn’t we get any?” they ask and oh man, scrambling for answers is getting uncomfortable. The bad news is, people are kind of mad at me. The first printing did indeed arrive at a warehouse in Maryland last week, but lest you think authorship has any privileges, I have seen but three copies of the book, one that I was allowed to hold briefly on QVC, one that was quickly snatched up by my parents, and a third one disappeared at my husband’s office for a while. And then I imagined it arriving at the shipping docks, unloaded by the likes of handsome Nick Sobotka in Season 2 of The Wire (er, hopefully under happier circumstances), its container being fitted to trucks or rail cars and heading to a warehouse where it would tap its feet impatiently until October 30th arrived and it could finally come out and see you.Īnd now you know the truth: the inside of my head mostly looks like pages from picture books and scenes from HBO. I imagined it splashing through waters rough and calm on a long journey, like the one depicted in Lost and Found. I pictured it heading to a dock at the edge of a continent, like Arya at the end of Book 3 of Game of Thrones, and hoping that someone would give it passage. For the last month or so, my cookbook had been on a boat, an image which delighted me to no end.
