Arc de Triomphe

Monday was one of those pinch-me days.  My ARCs arrived.  An ARC (Advance Reader Copy) is what publishers send out to media outlets in the  months leading up to publication in the hopes of snagging reviews, interviews, etc.  The ARC is basically the book itself, without the final edits and with the words Advance Reader's Copy - Uncorrected Proof emblazoned on the front cover.

So I tore open the box like a kid on Christmas morning and this is what I saw:

I went into a delirium for a few minutes.  Caught myself stroking it Gollum-like, whispering My Precious, my Precious...  The colors on the cover, especially on the edges, were a little darker than expected, which I liked: it captured the sense of ominous and impending danger well.

I showed it to my oldest son who asked if there were any pictures inside.  Hiding his disappoint when I told him there were none, he took the book into his hands.  What impressed him the most wasn't the cover design, or even my author photo inside, but was - strangely - how it smelled.  He kept rubbing his nose on the cover, inside the book, sniffing hard.  He liked the smell.  Now I know why I wrote the book.

But what a feeling to be finally holding the book in my hands!  The visceral physicality of it.  So I did what came most natural.  I turned to the first page and started reading.  Hours later, I was still at it.