Two Too

Later this year I will receive copies of two books to which I have contributed.  Now, as I look on my shelves, I see that I've contributed to something like 20 titles in the past decade. But I don't count these in my total since my name is not on the cover, even though, in some instances, I was the principal contributor.

I don't mind contributing, however.  That's really more my style, anyway.  If I were an actor, I'd never lead.  I would have a minor role.  If I played a professional sport, I'd mainly ride the pine.  In fact, I have always preferred the back row to the front row.  Still do.

If I were to count these other twenty books, though--I'd now have over 50 books that, in some capacity, could be attributed to me.  I don't talk about this, though, as my wife is not easily impressed.  She usually just yawns when I show her the latest book copy.  Mainly, she just wants to know if I've taken the time to cook dinner.  She never seems to like it when I tell her I traded dinner for writing, and will likely do so again tomorrow and the day after.  Sometimes, I toss her a hamburger and point out the large stack of Ramen noodles in the pantry.

Every now and again my wife sees one of my new books lying on the floor and she asks, "When did you write this one?"

I tell her I don't remember.  And she says, "Well, I don't remember either . . . but it looks interesting."

I ask her if she'd like to read the new book.  She declines.  And that's that.

I'm not sure how many books I will contribute to in 2014.  Being only forty days into the new year and already two deep into the pot I don't want to speculate.  But it could get interesting.

In the meantime, I'll continue to stack the books on my wife's desk.  Perhaps she will read one soon.  After all, most of the books are dedicated to her.