That’s me at the bottom. I’ve come all the way up to #11 since last week.
Something I never knew before: Apparently, “An asterisk (*) indicates that a book’s sales are barely distinguishable from the book above.”
Makes me wish I’d bought a few more copies off Amazon to give away to friends….
Little story: After I got the news that I was now officially a New York Times Bestselling Author, I wandered out of my office and into the hallway, where my girlfriend was looking at her butt in the mirror. You can’t really blame her for this, it’s a nice butt.
“I made it to # 11 on the Times list,” I said.
She made an excited squee-like noise and did something that was kind of like a little excited dance, and kind of like jumping around. It was the perfect response, and I’m glad that she did it. Somebody really has to. If I did it, I’d look demented and feel weird about myself. But when she does it it looks cute and earnest.
“You’re so cool!” she said. “Do you want to celebrate?”
I thought about it. “We could get some Chinese food and watch Doctor Who….” I said after a little bit.
And that’s exactly what we did.
It was only later that I realized when she said “celebrate” she was probably thinking something more… grandiose. It does make sense, I suppose. Making it onto the Times list is a pretty big deal. It’s sort of an occasion. The type of thing that most people would associate with popping champagne and passing around cigars. Or renting a limo and going out to some manner of fancy dress-up restaurant.
Me? Chinese delivery and Doctor Who.
That’s just how I roll.