For those of you sweet innocent readers who imagine that Publication Day is just one big champagne quaffing orgy of celebration, I think it’s time to rip the scales from your eyes. Not that I haven’t had the odd bunch of flowers, the occasional lovely lunch, the discreet gathering at a charming hotel on the Suffolk coast (no, not an assignation, a press party courtesy of the lovely folks at Puffin). But just a minute or two ago, while I was looking for reviews for Wild Boars Cook to post on my NEW IMPROVED website, I noticed that WBC came out in paperback last week.
Imagine my horror. Let’s see. Last Monday. A day like any other. Possibly less interesting than any other, now that I think of it. Poor Horace, Morris, Boris and Doris. I feel their lonely pain.
But look! Thanks to the wonder of My New Website, I can tell you about them now. If you happen to have wandered along from America, you will surely know all about this magnificent opus, thanks to the highly esteemed Westchester Children’s Fiction prize, awarded to Wild Boars Cook. Actually, I’d never heard of the prize, but I was nonetheless extremely grateful to receive it. Any prize in a storm, I always say. As for you UK types, as far as I can tell only about eleven of you have ever purchased my picture books, which makes you very ignorant and wrong indeed. Anyone will tell you they are extremely entertaining and a very bad influence on children. That’s all I ever required in a picture book for my daughter.
Now that I think on’t, perhaps that’s why I’ve always been such a difficult child/adult/team player/employee. I was brought up on Dr Seuss — and specifically The Cat In The Hat. There can’t be a children’s book in the world that encourages anarchy and disobedience with such enthusiasm and style. Mom, if you’re out there, it’s all your fault.