OK, so the good news is that THE FOURTH HOUSE has sold many thousands of copies. Again, blessings to all who have helped make that happen.

But here’s the weird part:

See, 99% of the people from my (present) home town have no idea I wrote a book — any book. 99.9% of the people from my original home town have no idea I wrote a book. 99.99999% of the people from anywhere else I ever lived have no idea I wrote a book.

But some people did buy it. As Jerry Seinfeld says, “Who are these people?”

Now, in a normal situation, a writer would do lots of local promo, and they’d do lots of promo in other areas where he or she has some sort of connection, particularly if their book takes place in a place where people read books (I’m separating out the science-fiction writers who deal in planets in different solar systems than ours). They’ll go on tour and sell books to a lot of people in places where they appear. This is all normal.

I’m not normal. Never have been, frankly.

So here I am, to the best of my knowledge the only person to ever debut as a novelist exclusively via the largest book clubs in the world … and I’ve suddenly experienced (relative) commercial success.

But I don’t quite know how.

And I have no idea, by and large, who the hell has bought my little book.

I mean, I am getting some inkling. I’m hearing from people in places like Indiana and Illinois. The thing is, I’ve never been to Indiana or Illinois. I mean, so long as they buy my books, I’ll never have a bad word to say about them. Go Hoosiers! Go Cubs!

But there’s a really strange disconnect. Maybe it’s because I’m from the live music and theatre world. I’m used to doing a show and looking into the eyes of the audience. Here, I can’t do that. And as such, I can’t even really fathom that these people are real. I mean, I’ll get an e-mail from some nice woman in Oregon and I’ll wonder, “Is this some sort of weird Spam? If I respond, will it turn out to be some mail-order place trying to sell me Viagra?” I don’t know.

So in conclusion, I hope some day to actually become normal and maybe make my way around the country promoting my book or books. If and when I do, I hope to meet all of you and thank you personally. In the meantime, please, keep those cards and letters coming. Enclose a picture so that maybe I can better convince myself that you are real and so are my sales figures. Just don’t trample my illusions by trying to sell me something like a fake Rolex watch.

Peace,

Kerry