When I was growing up, self-effacement was considered saintly—at least in my family. Anyone with the temerity to brag about himself was swiftly brought low. So each time I’ve been lucky enough to have a manuscript accepted by a publisher, part of me wants to jump for joy. Another part wants to put a paper bag over my head.
That’s because I know I’ll be faced with the dreaded task of getting blurbs for the book jacket. Which means I’ll have to ask people whose writing I admire and respect to read my manuscript and consider weighing in on its merits. And I’ll have to do it with a straight face—act as if they’ll actually find something worth praising. I’d rather have root canal.
That’s why I’m so delighted to share these kind words about That Very Place.
