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Jack Kilborn paid a visit to our house, and our dog had a conniption.
As usual, my adventures with this intrepid author-on-a-mission started out innocently enough. He had blogged about his upcoming “book tour on a budget”, repeating his 2006 grass roots marketing, manically ambitious yet cunningly practical, value added, trend-setting 600+ bookstore book signing extouraganza. (New! Now 30% more effective than the previous formula with extra cost fighting power!) He is promoting his new book Afraid, which I now own and has freaked me out so badly with its hard-core-gore that I can’t crack the cover again.
He had already traveled 742 miles and dropped in on 47 book stores in a couple days. We offered this weary traveler a good night’s rest, and knew we would likely have a Saturday night far more interesting than usual.
As you may suspect, he is fascinating to talk to. He tells great stories. It was a hoot and an honor to have him visit and have the opportunity to shoot the breeze for hours. Unfortunately I am such a new newbie that I did not even know what to ask him, this author with half a bazillion books in print, sitting in our living room. After reading along on his 31 day blog tour, I had read the 283 Q&A interviews he had already done; with a mind like a steel sieve, I managed to ask lots of questions to which I already knew the answers then mentally thump myself on the head. I hope I was at least charming in a dumbfounded kind of way. He gave me good advice.
I am a big fan of his blog The Newbie’s Guide To Publishing, with its archives of extremely helpful and generous information for new writers like me. His real name is Joe Konrath. He’s funny. Look at his picture. How scary could he be?
Then something went awry…
Maybe she sensed the creative mind that wrote a scene involving a jingling dog collar with no dog in it.
Maybe she was really ticked that he would not share his beer.
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Whatever the reason, this is apparently who the dog saw sitting in the recliner:
She slept with one eye open all night.
She is, as I type, growling in her sleep even though he left the house six hours ago.
She had a canine conniption.
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They made a truce this morning, my befuddled pet and bewildered guest. After he left, I realized I did not remember to take a picture. (Mind, sieve, daggnabbit.)
It was a Saturday night to remember.
