It was a new experience for me. But despite the fact that I was flattered, I turned all the invitations down saying, “I don’t really write many short stories. Besides, I really have to work on getting my second book out.”

I didn’t meet that first deadline for book two for various reasons. But still, I felt like turning down those offers was the responsible thing to do. I was trying to behave like a grown-up, you see.

In 2008 the paperback came out and I hit the New York Times Bestseller list. Because of that I got even more attention. Offers to write comic books, video games,  and more invitations to anthologies.

Again, I turned them down, saying, “I don’t have much experience writing short stories. Besides, I really need to focus on book two.”

A lot of these offers were for really cool anthologies, mind you. It was hard to turn down the chance to be published alongside some other big-name authors. Still, I felt morally obliged to refuse and focus on book two. I was trying hard to be a professional.

I continued along these lines until early this year when Suvudu held their cage match. They paired up various fantasy characters in head-to-head fights. I was flattered that Kvothe was included, but looking at the brackets, I saw that if Kvothe made it to the second round, he’d have to go up against Aslan.

That’s not an easy fight to win, and I kept thinking about how the scene would play out. How exactly, I wondered, would Kvothe win that fight?

Then the folks at Suvudu asked if I’d like to write up my version of the scene. So I did.

And you know what? It was fun. It was amazingly, delightfully fun. I’d actually forgotten how nice it was to write something just for pure shits and giggles. It didn’t eat up my precious writing time as I’d been fearing. Instead, it reminded me how much fun writing could be.

I thought to myself, “Fuck being a grown-up. I started writing to have fun. Now that I’m published, I should be doing fun things…”

And you know what? As soon as I gave up trying to be all professional and responsible (things that don’t come naturally to me, as a rule) my writing immediately improved. I wrote faster, and better, and I had more fun doing it.

Fast forward to earlier this year. I get an e-mail from John Scalzi. He sends me an e-mail that says (This is a paraphrase, mind you.)

Question: Would you have space on your schedule for a short (about 2K) story? It would be for a short (silly) story collection designed to raise money for the Lupus foundation. Deadline end of July-ish. Story doesn’t necessarily have to be “good” in a classic sense; in fact, it might be better if it’s not.

I think to myself. This sounds fun. It’s for charity. It’s short (I can do 2000 words standing on my head.) And he’s pretty much said it’s okay if my story ends up sucking. He’s practically encouraging me to suck.

So I e-mailed Scalzi back, and our e-mail exchange went roughly like this.

ME: Okay, I’m interested. What are the details?

HIM: Write a story about the events leading up to, and culminating in, the attached picture (which is a rough sketch; final picture to come).

(Click to embiggen)

ME: WTF?

HIM: For the sake of clarity, the person at the top is Wil Wheaton; the person at the bottom is me.

ME: Merciful Buddha…. Can you give me any context? Some framework I can use to cage this madness?

HIM: No. No context. Just write something. No slash. Otherwise, knock yourself out.

So there I am, utterly confusticated and bebothered. This is the first piece of short fiction I’ve agreed to write, and all I can think is, “What the fuck can I possibly write about this?”

This question spins around in my head for a couple days. I think, “Can I write a story about Scalzi and Wheaton playing D&D? Is that too geeky?  A holodeck adventure? Too cheap? Do I dare write the absolutely forbidden, ‘It was all just a dream’ story?”

Then it occurs to me that I’m approaching this from the wrong direction. I shouldn’t be trying to turn this picture into a joke. I shouldn’t try to be cute or gimmicky.

No. The events taking place in this picture are obviously epic. My story needs to be epic. And since it can’t be epic in length, it has to be epic in form….

So that’s how I ended up writing a poetic edda. For those of you who aren’t complete geeks, an edda is an old alliterative poem. Like Beowulf. Or the old Norse legends Tolkien ripped off when he was writing the Lord of the Rings.

Once I knew how to handle the story, I ended up having a ton of fun with it. I even brought in a certain celebrity in a cameo role…

Of course poetic edda aren’t supposed to be written in modern English, so I ended up spending a ridiculous amount of time trying to get the meter right. But you know my motto: if it’s worth writing, it’s worth obsessively revising.

And now, months later, I’m finally able to present you with the finished project:

(Beware, lest the awesome blind you…)

Check it out. I get third billing. How cool is that shit?

You can download the anthology for free, but I’d like to politely ask y’all to keep in mind that we’re trying to raise money for the Lupus foundation. For all intents and purposes, these stories are brought to you by the Lupus Foundation.

That means if you can afford it, donating to the cause would be a terribly kind thing to do. I know you have it in you. Make me proud.

You can download the anthology and revel in its majesty over here.

Share and enjoy,

pat

I’d even decided to skip Wiscon this year, even though it’s in Madison, which means it’s practically in my backyard.

But then I found out my friend Nnedi was going to be Guest of Honor there this year. (Remember Nnedi? I interviewed her for Worldbuilders last year, and talked about her book a couple months ago.) Anyway, getting asked to be GOH at Wiscon is a pretty big deal, and I don’t see Nnedi nearly as much as I’d like, so I decided to go.

Then the people at Locus dropped me an e-mail, asking if I wanted to do an interview. I said, “Sure.” Because Locus is a pretty big deal in the Sci-Fi Fantasy publishing world. And I like doing interviews, especially when they’re in person. I spend enough time typing.

So I meet up with the lovely folks from Locus. The interview is fun. They ask good questions. We hang out. Then they say, “Do you mind if we take some pictures?”

And I’m like, “Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Then a couple weeks ago, this shows up in the mail:

My first thought? “If I’d known they were going to put me on the cover, I would have gotten a haircut….”

My second thought was, “I’m on the cover of Locus.”

My third thought was, “Shit. This is kind of a big deal. I hope I don’t sound like an idiot…”

Then I open up the magazine and burst out laughing. Here’s what I see:

Why don’t we zoom in on that a little?

Yeah. There you go. You can click that to embiggen it if you want, but you might want to be careful, lest the intensity of my sheer awesome reduce you to a quivering wreck.

For those of you who are curious. My t-shirt says: “My Marxist feminist dialectic brings all the boys to the yard.” It’s a very specialized sort of joke, and there really isn’t any point in me explaining it if you don’t get it. Suffice to say that Wiscon is a feminist Sci-Fi/Fantasy convention. It’s the only place I can wear the shirt where people think it’s funny.

Anyway, after I had a good laugh at this picture I was much more relaxed. I get very nervous when people take me too seriously.

I read the interview and was very pleased that I didn’t come off sounding like an idiot. It was a lot more wide-ranging than a lot of the interviews I do, and we talked about some stuff I don’t normally talk about.

If you want a taste of it, there’s a few excerpts over on Locus’ website.

Still revising. One week ’til deadline.

pat

Both events were a good time. I had the chance to read the Princess Book to a few people, hung out with other author types and talked geeky writing talk. It was fun. I’ve even got a few pictures to share…

I’ll post those things later. Today I’m going to talk about part of the convention that usually gets glossed over: The traveling.

The truth is, traveling is one of the hardest parts of going to conventions. It is for me at least.

Conventions themselves are easy for me. I meet people, sign books, talk on panels, and do readings. It’s exhausting, but it’s not hard. I’m a fairly decent public speaker, and I like meeting fans and other authors. So conventions are a treat for me. They’re a break from my otherwise rather unsocial and solitary life.

But the traveling isn’t fun. It’s expensive, irritating, and time consuming. Worst of all, I seem to get sick every time I go on an extended plane ride.

That’s the main reason that I do so many events here in the midwest. And that’s the reason that I decided to drive to Penguicon.

It takes about 8-9 hours to drive from central Wisconsin to Troy, MI. Still, given check-in times and layovers, that’s only a couple hours longer than a plane. Plus it’s cheaper and I don’t have to worry about people groping through my luggage.

The trip to the convention was relatively uneventful. I made a pitstop in Madison to hang out with some friends I don’t see nearly often enough and helped one of them move some furniture around in his new apartment.

Have I ever mentioned that I used to be a professional mover? It was only a summer job, and I was in better shape back then. But still, it’s nice to keep my hand in, just in case this whole writing thing doesn’t pan out for me in the long run.

It’s on the way back from the convention that things get interesting. After my library reading I hop in my car, enter my home address on my Magellan, and start driving.

I feel I should mention here, in yet another tangent, that I feel morally conflicted about the Magellan. I got it as a Christmas present from my dad, and it’s wonderfully convenient. But at the same time I believe devices like this are actively endumbening the populace. You should be able to read a map, folks. You should know which direction north is.

Did I ever mention I used to be a delivery driver too? I was. I can read a map. What’s more, using a brilliant mixture of zen navigation, Aristotelian logic, and pure rage I can get you your package and/or delicious sandwich relatively close to on-time.

That’s another fallback career for me.

That said, I do use the Magellan when I’m in unfamiliar territory. I don’t have a map of Detroit. It’s quick, easy, and usually accurate.

Note the *usually.*

The Magellan tells me to turn right, then left, then right. I just follow along, as most of my attention is focused on listening to Warren Ellis’ Crooked Little Vein on audiobook.

But something doesn’t feel right. I look at the one of the passing signs and see that I’m heading north. I pull over in a gas station and have a discussion with the machine:

Me: What the fuck, Magellan?

It: Calculating Route.

Me: No. Seriously. What the fuck?

It: Turn right onto North 74.

Me: North isn’t the right way to go.

It: Ding!

Me: I’m going to Stevens Point. In Wisconsin. Through Madison.

It: Calculating route. Stevens Point is 974 miles away.

Me: The fuck it is. Go south.

It: Ding! Turn right onto North 74.

So I throw the thing into the footwell of the car. I throw it hard, too. So it knows who’s in charge. You people might have to deal with that sort of insolent backtalk from your machine overlords, but not me. I work with machines in one way: they do what I say or I fucking destroy them and do it myself. I consider myself a Darwinistic force in machine evolution. I’m encouraging them to evolve along more helpful lines.

The gas station is depressing. The woman behind the counter doesn’t know which road leads back to I 94. She doesn’t think the gas station has any maps to sell. She suggests I get directions from someone who has an iphone. She has one eyebrow. Not kidding.

So I find the maps myself, buy one, and get back into the car. Using the map and eight seconds of rational thought, I find the sensible route home.

After two hours the Magellan’s battery starts to die and it chirps at me pitifully from the passenger-side footwell. I let it starve for another ten minutes then bring it out and we have another conversation.

Me: How far away is Stevens Point?

It: 820 miles?

Me: What’s your name?

It: M-Magellan?

Me: No. Your name is bitch. I’m asking you one more time, how do you get to Stevens Point?

It: You should head south through Chicago on I 94.

Me: That’s right I should.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that an hour later, after paying a toll, my driver side window refuses to roll back up. Machines tend to stick together like that.

So I pull over at another gas station and kick the hell out of the door for a while. I do this partly in case it’s a loose wire or something that can be fixed by kicking, but also as a warning for any other machines nearby that are considering insubordination.

Then I go into the gas station and explain the situation. I don’t want to drive another three hours with damp, 50 degree air blowing into my ear. Cardboard and duct tape isn’t good either, as it would limit my visibility too much. The attendant there is cool, and lets me poke around in back looking for useful supplies until I find a roll of that plastic stuff you use to wrap up pallets.

Did I ever mention I used to work in a warehouse? I did.

I have to say, even though I’ve been out of the game for about two decades, I still have some mad pallet-wrapping skills.

Then I went home.

Everything said, it was still way better than flying.

pat

Well today is your lucky day.

Heifer International is my favorite charity. It helps people raise themselves up out of poverty and starvation. All over the world Heifer promotes education, sustainable agriculture, local industry, and clean water.

They don’t just keep kids from starving, they make it so families can take care of themselves. They give goats, sheep, and chickens to families so their children have milk to drink, warm clothes to wear, and eggs to eat.

I think this is something we can all get behind.

If you’re wondering *why* I’m doing this, that information is OVER HERE. This blog gives details on *how* the donation drive will work.

You’ve got two options for donating. Please read things all the way through before making your choice.

I’ve created a webpage OVER HERE on Heifer’s website. For every dollar you donate there, I’ll donate a dollar too.

It works like this:

Elegant in its simplicity, no?

After a month’s time, on December 11th, we’ll have a drawing for prizes. I’ll use the information from the Heifer site to get the donation totals. For every 10 bucks you’ve kicked in, your name will get entered into the drawing once.

So if you’ve donated thirty bucks, your name would go in three times. Think of it as buying tickets, if you like.

When I started this fundraiser, I thought it was mostly going to be for my readers and people on my blog. So most of the prizes centered around my book (as you can see below.) But the fundraiser has grown since then, and we’re getting new stuff from generous donors all over the world. Stay tuned for new stuff.

Added Nov 18th – We have a bunch of signed books and ARCs OVER HERE.

Added Nov 20th – More signed books and ARCs OVER HERE.

Added Nov 24th - Signed manuscript of Enemies and Allies OVER HERE.

Added Nov 26th – More signed books and collectibles OVER HERE.

Added Dec 1st – Signed books from Bad Moon Press OVER HERE.

Added Dec 2nd – Signed books and prints from Peter S. Beagle OVER HERE.

Added Dec 3rd – $8000 of signed, limited-edition books from Subterranean Press OVER HERE.

Added Dec 9th – More signed books, ARC’s, DVD’s, and other cool swag OVER HERE.

• 40 color maps of the Four Corners. Signed by me.

Drawn by my friend, Nathan Taylor. Nate is also the illustrator who drew the black and white map that ended up in the book. This is the color version, so you can see some of the detail that’s not available in the book, including some of the political borders.

• 40 Copies of The Name of the Wind Movie Poster. Signed by me.

Also drawn by Nathan Taylor. He was fantasising about them making a movie out of the book, and drew this as a mock-up of what the movie poster might look like. I love Kvothe’s expression. It really captures a key piece of his personality.

Nate and I are also working on a not-for-children children’s book together. So here’s your chance to get hold of some of his art before he gets super famous….

• 90 Copies of the DAW sampler. Signed by me.

DAW put this out earlier this year as a promotional item. It’s got teaser pieces from all sorts of upcoming DAW books, from authors like Tad Williams and Mercedes Lackey.

It also has a chapter from The Wise Man’s Fear.

• 25 signed hardcover copies of the Name of the Wind.

The 5th printing with the sexy new cover.

• 5 copies of the College Survival Guide. Signed by me and the illustrator.

My first publication. The first four years of the humor column I wrote for the local paper, along with illustrations and annotations. Only 500 copies of this were printed, so they’re hard to come by these days. Perfect for reading on the toilet.

• 5 First edition copies of the Name of the Wind. Signed by me.

f=”http://www.patrickrothfuss.com/blog/uploaded_images/The-Name-of-the-Wind—Mainstream-cover-for-AMAZON-RGB-710572.jpg”>

With the old out-of-print cover. You wouldn’t believe what some people are charging for these things out there.

• 6 Copies of Tales of Dark Fantasy. Signed by me.

This is the Subterranean Press anthology that printed my short story, “The Road to Levinshir,” which is an excerpt from The Wise Man’s Fear.

It also has some great stories by folks like Tim Powers and Kage Baker. It’s a beautiful hardcover book, and the cover price was $40, and that was back before it sold out.

• A signed copy of the first printing UK hardcover.

There aren’t many of these in existence the simple reason that I don’t live in England. Plus, you know how everything sounds way cooler when it’s pronounced in an English accent? Well this book is WRITTEN in an English accent. How cool is that?

• 2 Copies of the original galley proofs of The Name of the Wind. Signed by me.

A galley is an early version of a book that publishers occasionally print in order to promote a book. There weren’t that many of these printed, and the last one of them I saw on e-bay was going for over a hundred dollars. The few signed ones out there are going for more than that…

• A copy of the UK galley proof. Signed by me.

I’ve only seen about ten of these, so a signed one is probably a bit of a collectible item.

• Two advance reading copies of The Wise Man’s Fear.

I need to stress that this book is not ready to read yet. Not. Ready. To Read. Yet. That means you can’t have it right now. (This picture is a cruel lie.) But here’s the deal, if you win this, I’ll make sure you get a copy as soon as it’s ready to show around, before it officially hits the shelves.

• An early editorial manuscript of book one.

A proto-version of The Name of the Wind, printed out on my trusty HP printer, and marked up as part of my ongoing editorial process. Includes the now absent first chapter of the book, as well as a hundred other small differences. A similar item sold for 1000 bucks over in England a while back, and the one they have now is going for more than that. So odds are, if you don’t want it, you can sell it to someone else who does….

Two things:

• Make sure you donate on MY PAGE. Otherwise I won’t know you donated, won’t have access to your e-mail, and won’t be able to include you in the fun.

Or, as I like to think of it, the Christmas Present Option.

Over the last couple months, people have been contacting me, asking if I’m still signing books like I mentioned in my blog from long ago.

The simple answer is, “yes.” You mail me the book, something cool, and a check to cover return shipping, and I’ll sign your book.

But right now, in honor of the Heifer fundraiser, I’m willing to streamline the process. Rather than you buying a book, finding something cool, packaging it up, and paying for shipping both ways, you can just mail me a check and I’ll send you a book signed however you like. Then I’ll ship it right back to you, carefully packaged and in time for Christmas.

Here’s a list of the books I’ve got stockpiled here in my house. (For more detailed descriptions, look above.)

• New – Signed color version of the Four Corners map. $40

• Signed hardcover (5th edition with the new bluish cover) – $45

• Signed copy of Your College Survival Guide – $65

• Signed copy of Tales of Dark Fantasy – $75

• SOLD OUT First Edition Hardcover – $85

• Signed galley proof – $250

• New – An ARC of book two – $1000 (Not now. When it’s finished. Details HERE)

• New – I will give you feedback on your manuscript – (Details HERE.)

For the most part, these prices are double what these things cost me, plus a little to cover shipping. I can get a 5th edition hardcover for 20 bucks, so they’re up there for 45. The anthology I can get for 35, so they’re going for 75….

The reason for this is that it’s in keeping with me matching donations. If someone buys a book from me for 20 dollars and then I donate the money. They really haven’t
donated. They just bought a book. Follow me?

If you’re going with option two, please follow these directions.

1. Write the following information on a 3 x 5 note card:

A) Which item you want.

B) EXACTLY what you’d like me to write in the book.

I have no problem personalizing books, but please be specific about what you’d like. Asking for a quote from Bast is fine. Asking me to wish someone luck in their own writing is fine. “Happy Birthday Schmendrick.” “To the best lover I’ve ever had.” It’s all good.

But if your card says, “write whatever you want.” I will write, “Whatever you want” in the book. Seriously.

C) Your return address.

D) Contact information. Either a phone number or an e-mail address where you can be reached.

2. Include a check. Make it out to me because I’ll be using a couple bucks from each one to cover postage.

3. Mail the note card and the check to:

Pat Rothfuss
P.O. Box 186
Stevens Point, WI 54481

If you live outside the US and want to buy a book, follow the instructions I’ve laid out in THIS BLOG. International shipping is expensive, and you need to fill out your check a certain way or my bank won’t cash it.

• If you’d want to buy something AND do the lottery, that’s fine. So if you send in a check for 85 dollars, and specify that you’d like a copy of the College Survival Guide, I’d mail you that book, then match the extra twenty dollars and throw your name in the hat twice when we did the drawing.

• If you’re an author or some other interested party who would like to donate something other than money to the cause, feel free to drop me an e-mail at Paperback.contest (squiggly at sign) gmail.com

Additional questions? I might have answered them HERE or HERE or HERE. Please read through those FAQ’s before you e-mail me.

That’s all for now. If you have any other ideas for things that might make good prizes, feel free to leave them in a comment below.

And one more time, here’s the link to MY TEAM PAGE.

Hopefully yours,

pat

The book has serious heft. Good paper. Good binding. It is, in a word, gorgeous.

Holding this book in my hand made me realize that over in Germany, they consider my story fairly high-class. It make me realize that over there, I might even be considered literature.

There have been hints of this all through the publishing process. First, the publisher itself is very prestigious. (So they tell me.) Klett-Cotta carries very few fantasy authors, including luminaries like Tolkien and Peter S. Beagle. Klett-Cotta also assigned a very skilled translator to the job, which is always a good sign that they’re taking things seriously.

But that’s not what convinced me I might be thought of as literary over there.

Another big indicator was when someone from Germany came out to interview me. My first thought was, “Who did this poor guy piss off at work? How low on the totem pole in do you have to be before they send you to interview some newbie fantasy author in Middle-of-Nowhere Wisconsin?”

But it turns out the interviewer was Denis Scheck. I didn’t know it while the interview was taking place, but he’s actually a celebrity over in Germany. You know how Siskel and Ebert were celebrities because they reviewed movies? Well over in Germany, apparently, they care about books. Because of this, they also care about the people who read books.

Yeah, I know. Weird.

Anyway, while I didn’t know this guy was a celebrity, I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t there because he was getting punished. He was there because he was really, really good at his job. I’ve done a lot of interviews over the last year, and I’ll admit that by the time he showed up, I’d gotten a little blase about it.

But when he started talking, I realized he was playing the game at a whole different level. He was really clever, talking about things no interviewer had ever brought up before, asking questions I’d never been asked. Asking questions that I’d never even *considered *before. I remember at least one occasion where my answer was: “Wow. That’s a great question…. I have absolutely no idea how to answer it.”

If you’re interested (and can read German) his review is up over here. Or if you’re monolingual like me, you can click on the link *below* the interview to see a video clip of Denis talking about the book on his television show. Personally, I thought it was pretty cool even though I only know enough German to catch about a third of what he’s saying.

But back to my previous point. Even after I found out who Denis Scheck was, I didn’t realize that over there my book might be considered literary.

The fact that they converted my author photo black-and-white was a good indicator….

Why? Because black-and-white is classy. It’s arty. It’s posh. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fond of my blue photo. But you have to admit that it makes me look like a Muppet, or a character out of a Harry Potter movie. But in B&W I look, if not distinguished, then withing spitting distance of respectable.

Or within spitting distance of being the sort of person who would never use the term, “within spitting distance.”

Still, none of these things are what convinced me. This is what did it:

That’s right. One of those built-in ribbon bookmarks. So genteel. So suave. Nothing screams sophistication like a ribbon bookmark. It’s the textual equivalent of wearing a silk smoking jacket and speaking with an Oxford accent. It is, in fact, dead sexy.

Today, my friends, I join the ranks of the literati.

Go me.

pat

I was buying Fritos, some Mountain Dew, and a box of Fruity Pebbles.

The boy looked at his mom’s groceries, then at my groceries. Back and forth. I could see him putting together the pieces. His mom’s groceries were going to make meatloaf. My groceries….

That’s when I realized how awesome my life is. I was living this kid’s dream. Of course, I was living MY dream too, but I had forgotten it until this moment.

I looked at him and pointed at the Fritos. “When I get home, I’m going to eat all of those,” I said. “and it’s going to completely spoil my dinner.” I smiled and pointed to the box of fruity pebbles. “That’s my dinner.”

He didn’t say anything. He was only about six or seven, and I’m guessing that he was too stunned with my untrammeled glory to put together a full sentence.

But he looked up at me with eyes that said, I want to be like you. How can I do these things which you have shown me?

“Go to college,” I told him.

I was just about to tell him that I was going to put the Mountain Dew on the cereal instead of milk when his mom hustled him away, probably because she thought I was some kind of pervert.

Which is only fair, I suppose. I probably am.

Later all,

pat

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.

Later all,

pat

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Sincerely yours,

pat

Did I mention that Ursula K. Le Guin liked my book?

Did I mention that Ursula K. Le Guin agreed to provide a blurb for the book?

“It is a rare and great pleasure to find a fantasist writing not only with the kind of accuracy of language absolutely essential to fantasy-making, but with real music in the words as well. Wherever Pat Rothfuss goes with the big story that begins with The Name of the Wind, he’ll carry us with him as a good singer carries us through a song.”

Yeah. Can I get a “wow” from the audience?

On a closely related note, if you’ve never read her Wizards of Earthsea books, you really need to. Not only are they absolutely brilliant, but they’re one of the cornerstones of modern fantasy.

If you have read the Earthsea books, you should make sure you’ve checked out her more recent stuff too. She writes at a consistently awesome level that I hope to emulate over the years.

I’ve got a cool announcement to make, but you’ll have to wait for Friday. It’s a leap-day announcement. It’s nothing HUGE, but… well… I think it’s pretty cool….

Oh, and lastly, the deadline for nominating books for the Hugo ballot is only a couple days away. So if you were planning on doing it, but you’re like me and you tend to forget what day it is, don’t be caught unawares….

Later all,

pat

This might not seem like a big deal to y’all. In fact, for a lot of you, I’m guessing a trip to the dentist is no more of an event than going to get the oil changed in your car or buying a new pair of shoes. That is to say, its falls under the category of routine maintenance for your life.

But you see, I haven’t been to the dentist in a while. A long while. An amount of while that would be considered obscene by many people.

Yes yes. I know everyone puts off going to the dentist. You’re supposed to go every six months, or a year. But you forget, or you avoid it, and one year stretches into two, or three, or five.

But, as with all things, I’ve taken it to the next level. For me it’s been so long that I can only dimly remember the last time. My last dentist was a huge Italian man with fingers like sausages. He looked like an honest-to-god mobster, and when he mentioned that I wasn’t flossing, it sounded like something out of the Godfather. Like if I didn’t floss, he was going to send someone around to my house to straighten me out….

Also, the brand name of the little workstation they had next to the chair? “Cavitron” I shit you not. The thing was called The Cavitron.

It would be funny to say that that experience traumatized me, and that’s why I haven’t been back for so long. But the it wouldn’t be the truth. I thought all that was funny as hell.

The truth is, I just never think of going. And when I DO think of going, I worry that when I show up they’re going to say something like, “Well, it’s too late. Our only option now is to surgically remove your whole mouth in the most excruciating manner possible.”

So, of course, it’s easier to avoid the whole situation.

How long has it been? It has been, at my best guess, eleven years. Maybe twelve.

And I don’t floss. At all. It would be impossible to floss less than I do, unless you somehow invented a machine that made negative flossing possible.

So, to cut to the chase, I went in to the dentist and got to experience the new tool. Apparently that sharp metal pokey thing was getting blase. Now they have much cooler high-tech version of that. It combines all the pokiness of the metal tool, with a tiny spray of water and a feeling like…

You know when someone runs their fingernail over a chalkboard and you feel it back in the base of your neck. It’s like that. Except it’s the pokey thing and my teeth making the noise. Huzzah for science.

But deep in my heart I know I’ve earned this. This is Penance. It’s fair. This poor hygienist wasn’t planning on dealing with this today and they probably scheduled my cleaning thinking that they’d only need the regular amount of time. I can’t blame them for being a little rough and a little hurried.

Still, part of me wonders if there is an upscale dentist option out there. I mean, I don’t think Brad Pitt goes in to the dentist and has someone scrape away at him like this. It’s just undignified.

Anyway, it’s good for me. Not only because my teeth did need cleaning, but because I haven’t practiced my Buddhist meditation lately, and I typically only do that in situations like this.

Here’s my philosophy. Any wanker can meditate at home, listening to Enya and sitting on his yoga mat. That’s for sissies. You managed to clear your mind from all distractions? Wow. Congratulations. You want an organic, sugar-free walnut and raisin cookie to celebrate?

Me? I’m badass. My thought is that if you can relax, clear your mind, and contemplate the four noble truths while someone is drilling your teeth, then you’ve got your place in the universe pretty well sorted out. Meditating while under extreme conditions is like going running while you’re wearing leg weights and occationally stopping to have a fistfight with a shark. Except, y’know, with your brain.

So I meditate in the dentist’s chair. I meditate while flying through a thunderstorm sitting next to a mom with a screaming baby, while getting stitches with no anesthetic at the doctor’s office, and, once, in the fourth row of a Gwar concert. Keep your circle breathing to yourself, hippie. I’ve got so much pranjna I don’t even know what to do with it all.

And the end of the story? I’m fine. No cavities. No trouble. I’m the first to admit that this little story would work better with a moral at the end. But that’s just not the way some stories actually happen.

Goodnight everyone,

pat