April's Real Blog

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Stoned Publicity

Mike has sum more 2 tell U all abt this whole "book" thing:

Formerly little sis. There may be doubters out there. There may be people who have said that Michael Patterson will never get the full publicity push of a majour author, since I have only written the one novel and it is about the decidedly unpopular profession of sod farming. Those people would be wrong. After I got the box of books from my publisher, I called them up to see when my book would be officially in book stores. After all, you would think a first time author would be informed of such things. Well, formerly little sis, my publishers are so great that not only did they treat me a like a full time best-selling author, who could care less when his books hit the book stores; but they arranged an astounding publicity tour for me, all without consulting me even once. Not only that, but unlike some publishers who do publicity for a book before it is in the stores, my publishers waited until afterwards for mine. You see, April, that’s the way to operate a publishing house. I am running with the big boys now.

I was on the phone with the publisher as they were telling me their publicity plans, and I said, “Yes, sure! I can do that! Anything you arrange will be great!” After all you don’t want to disturb your publisher by saying, “No.” It was then I was really glad that I had quit my job at Portrait Magazine to be a full-time author. Those people who work other jobs while writing novels, I don’t know how they could do it. They might need some kind of advance notice to take off from work to go do publicity, but thanks to my unemployment, I am completely free.

I went into the living room where I found Deanna dusting the top of our console TV. I know you may think the flat screen TVs are all the rage now, but let me tell you formerly little sis, nothing says, “You’ve made it” better than a huge console TV. My son was on the floor with his Super Teddy (yay for me!) and a number of other ignored toys including, I might mention, that old leftover train track dad got him. To my right was my daughter wearing either a giant nightgown, or some kind of oversized witches robe. They were both watching a program about some kind of giant, cowboy bird. I ignored them both to tell my lovely Deanna, “That was my publisher! The book is already in stores, and he’s lined up some publicity.” Deanna was quite excited, but not so excited she responded or actually stopped dusting.

As my children peered on, I felt the familiar darkness of a silhouette fall on me as I tried to show my similarly-silhouetted wife my list of publicity. I always hate it when I go to silhouette just as I am trying to read something. However, it didn’t stop me. I told my wife, “Check it out!---CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation for your American readers), CHCH (CHCH-TV, channel 11 out of Hamilton), the Toronto Star (Canada's highest-circulation newspaper), Hamilton Spectator (more publicity from Hamilton), and a signing at Eastgate Square (in Stoney Creek probably at the Coles or SmithBooks)!” Of course, I told Deanna those things without using my little extra notes for your readers. My daughter towered over my son and looked at me with her “I look like a professional model” face.

However, her unusual facial expression did not daunt her from taking pride in those items of publicity having to do with television and not the print media. Her interests betray her generation. My daughter turned to my son and said, “Daddy’s gonna be on television! Daddy’s gonna be on television!” to my son. With my son, you usually have to repeat things at least 2 times for him to get it. He clutched his Super Teddy to his breast and responded, “He is?!”

Then my son got up, walked over to the console TV and asked me, “Daddy---How are you gonna get IN there?!” He pointed to the television set, now featuring some program with 2 grotesque human beings interacting with a minority human being. I looked at him dumbstruck. Why would I need to be in that television show?

First I had to explain a few things to my son. I said, “Son. First of all. If you are going to continue to be overly literal, you should realize that your sister said, “on television” and not “in television” as you have repeated. It would be easy to get on television, if I were to take the TV out of the console and sit on it. You have altered a single word to make your joke, which is an effort I applaud. However, you should realize that by making that single word alteration, you have proved that you already understand what is going on and are simply pretending to be stupid for humourous effect.” My son said, “But how are you going to do it daddy?”

I mentioned it to my lovely Deanna and she said, “Cheeze, Mike. Just show Robin the video camera and how it works.” That was when I had you come over to show my son the video camera, and listened to your incessant comments about how I shouldn’t raise my kids to be ignorant. Naturally, after you left, my son asked me when you were going to take my picture to put me on television. I am beginning to worry about him.

Michael Patterson
Mike, I cdn't help noticing that the whole time I was xxplaining abt the video camera, U kept jumping in2 every shot. What's w/that? And tho Merrie understood perfectly, I have a feeling Robin still didn't quite get it, U know? And Y was Merrie dressed like the Statue of Liberty? Is she gonna B in a play abt the U.S.?


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  • At 7:30 AM, Blogger DreadedCandiru2 said…

    How very odd that Mike would be getting this much publicity as a new author with his first book. The only thing that makes sense to me is that it's so God-awful, the media want to warn people about it and, like any other vicious assault on decency, need to show the warped mind that produced the thing.

  • At 6:16 PM, Anonymous Keesha Grant said…

    April, I see your brother didn't mention our school paper on his publicity list. I have 2 meet with him on Friday. For some reason, he wants us 2 do the interview at that restaurant they've got in the auto dealership. Over cinnamon buns.

    And I have to finish reading that book. NE chance it's meant as a parody of those "prairie" books we had 2 read in our CanLit unit in English?


  • At 6:20 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    nope, keesha, mike is dead serious.

    dc2, it is odd. tho mike sez it's not. and liz sez the witch pulled strings.

    oh, dee left me a voicemail, so i called over there, and robin answered. he was like "auntie april! how did auntie april getted in2 the fone! mommy, auntie april is in the fone!" and dee was like, "don't mind him. the boy's not quite rite."


  • At 6:21 PM, Anonymous Keesha Grant said…

    Not a parody. Wow. Well, my interview's gonna run in the school paper on Monday. I'll e-mail U the link in case U wanna post it in yr blog entry on Monday.


  • At 6:21 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    ok, sounds cube.


  • At 1:05 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. As it turned out, April, my wife’s obsessive cleaning actually had a purpose for a change instead of just being a way for her to work out her frustrations. Josef Weeder was there, and he had to bring Carleen Stein along. Gordon Mayes was there too. They all came over to our house to celebrate the publishing of my book. Unlike last spring, when Weed threw me a party for the exact same reason, this time I had an actual book to show them. I put on my best Patterson man outfit (pullover sweater and collared shirt), Deanna put on a slinky black dress, Josef wore his usual black, and Gordon came with his shirt untucked and the front unbuttoned down to his chest (which means he came from visiting the…well…the place Gordon likes to go after work before he goes home), and nobody cares what Carleen was wearing.

    We broke out the wine glasses and I was just about to settle into a nice comfy chair to receive the adulation of my adoring friends, when Josef Weeder decided to make a toast in my honour, and I had to get back up to clink glasses. Josef said, “Here’s to you, man! Michael Patterson-writer, author, and all-round great guy!” It was a special moment. I could tell because everyone’s mouths were open.

    Then my kids crawled on the floor of the landing at the top of the stairs in order to peer down at the party below and inadvertently cut the lights off downstairs. So enthused was my Josef, it did not even slow him down. He continued with, “This is just the beginning, you know! With a second book in the works and an outline for a third, you’re well on your way!” I don’t know if I mentioned my third book to you or not, formerly little sis. I am thinking that if Stone Season does well, I might have to do a sequel to continue the story of Sheilaugh Shaugnessey, perhaps calling it Stone Season II: The Revenge of Harvey Rood, the Undead or Rock, Paper, Scissors Season or Sheilaugh.

    Nevertheless, Weed’s kind words touched my heart. Even in the dark I could clearly see the admiration and fondness in his eyes and I moved closer to let him know his well wishes were highly appreciated. Then Gordon Mayes turned the lights back on, and I discovered my lovely Deanna was standing right next to me. It was quite disconcerting and it shook my otherwise confident demeanor. I said, “I just hope the first one goes well…if it’s a failure…” Deanna reached down and grabbed a certain part of me that succumbs easily to pain and said, “It won’t be a failure!!” The pain made my eyes move into the center of my head and I am sure fear onto my expression. I hate it when she does that. Fortunately, no one was looking in that direction, not even Josef. Then Gordon Mayes said, “Hey—there’s no place here tonight for misgivings!” At first I thought he was saying my house was a lot smaller than his, but then I realized he was simply saying a few words to restore my confidence, I think.

    Little did I suspect that Gordon’s overheard words would provide me with more consternation with respect to my son. At the top of the stairway, I heard him say, “Who’s Miss Givings?” My daughter gave him an open palmed gesture and rolled her eyes at him. I wish she had answered him. He has continued this line of questioning ever since. I tell my son, “It’s not Miss Givings. It’s misgivings. You have misunderstood what Mr. Mayes was saying.” Then he says, “Who’s Miss Understood?” Then I say, “It’s not Miss Understood. It’s misunderstood. That’s another way of saying misinterpret.” Then he says, “Who’s Miss Interpret?” I tell you formerly little sis, it is enough to drive a father crazy, even a father who is on the verge of setting Canadian book-selling records.

    Michael Patterson


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