So just a couple days ago, The Wise Man’s Fear came out in trade paperback.
The new format looks even more monolith like than the hardcover. And in fact, there’s only a few differences between the two:
1. It’s cheaper.
2. It’s smaller.
3. We fixed a couple typos.
4. The front cover is slightly different. Now instead of saying, “New York Times Bestseller Patrick Rothfuss,” it says:
The last big difference is that this version has blurbs for The Wise Man’s Fear on the back.
A lot of these quotes I hadn’t actually seen before. So that was pretty cool…
I got to actually hold my first copy a couple of days ago. They used the same nice paper as the hardcover, so the book still has a solid weight to it. A satisfying feel. But the way I feel holding this book is far from objective….
The cherry on top of the book release sundae was a four-color ad in the New York Times Review of Books.
The ad quotes from the extraordinarily flattering blog George Martin wrote a while back when he was talking about who he was going to nominate for the Hugos this year.
You’ll notice that this picture is not guest starring my thumb, which is usually the case. This is actually guest starring the thumb of Amanda, one of the assistants I mentioned in my last blog.
It’s odd to me that out of all of this, that one small thing is what strikes me as most odd about all of this: Her thumb.
You see, four years ago, my publisher took out an add in the New York Times to help promote the paperback release of The Name of the Wind. At that point in my life, I’d barely been published for a year. I was a complete fluffy puppy of a newbie author, and the fact that my book was being advertised threw me for such a loop that I wrote a blog about it called Following Diogenes.
Then I walked to the grocery store to buy a copy of the paper so I could see the add for myself.
Now, four years later, I’ve got another ad. This one is in color and features glowing praise from an author who is, if not the biggest name in fantasy today, is at least in the top three.
And today, instead of walking to the store myself, my assistant grabbed me a copy.
It’s not just my assistant, either. One of my *several* assistants. I am now a corporate entity. I can’t do my own taxes anymore. Today I was talking to a friend and when I stopped to count, I realized that I employ nine people. Ten if I count myself.
I mean, what the hell is up with that? What has happened to my life that I now employ myself? I actually write myself a paycheck.
In what world does that make fucking sense? Am I supposed to give myself performance reviews and shit? Should I give myself a stern talking to if I’m late to a meeting with myself? At some point in the future, if I get increasingly insubordinate, will I be forced to fire myself and bring in someone else to do my job?
I know I’m into The Meta and everything, but all of this seems recursive to the point of absurdity.
(Recursive Absurdity would be a good name for a band, by the way….)
What’s my point? Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t mean to imply that I’m not happy with the way my life is going. I know I’m very lucky. I’ve met with more success than I have any right to.
But on the other hand, for someone whose personal philosophy has always been to strive toward simplicity, I seem to be doing kind of a shit job of things.
Gech. I’m rambling. And this blog has gone from fun and informative to something bordering on existential angst. What can I do to bring it up out of a nosedive before the end?
Ah. Of course. I’ll focus on my favorite complication. Little Oot.
Quick story: A couple weeks ago, Oot was nursing after a nap.
Then he stopped nursing, hugged Sarah’s breast, and said, “This is my birthday Christmas boob!”
I swear I didn’t make that up.
Lastly, here’s a picture of Oot wearing a Jayne hat that a fan made for him. The picture is pretty old at this point, but it’s got cuteness in spades….
Rather cunning, don’t ya think?