Like Ebenezer Scrooge time-traveling back to the jolly Fezziwigs' ball, but unable to join in. Like Stella Dallas watching tearfully from outside the church window on her daughter's wedding day. Like Woody Allen in Stardust Memories, trapped on a train full of gloomy characters out of a Munch painting as a party train full of laughing, drinking revelers passes by on the next track.
Yeah, that's kind of how I feel. My novel, Alias Hook, launches today in the UK, but I'm over here on the other side of the Pond—far on the other side, since I'm in California—watching it all from a distance.
The books are even now being shipped from various UK-based online bookselling portals. The AH ranking on The Book Depository site, mid-six figures about a week ago, has soared to high five figures. (And my hearty, not to say groveling thanks to each and everyone who actually pre-ordered a copy!) But my glory-basking must be done in absentia.
In the meantime, if you and/or yours are anywhere in the UK as we speak, or planning to visit any time in the next few months, feel free to check out Alias Hook at fine bookselling emporia everywhere. Not literally, unless you happen see it in a library; I mean take a gander at it sitting on the shelf in all its glory. Send me a photo of it in situ, and I'll think of something really nice to do for you in return!
(How about a signed copy of this first, original, unexpurgated UK edition of the book?) (As soon as I get MY copies, anyway…)