I may have mentioned elseswhere how chock full o' birthdays March is. I was born in March, both of my kids were born in March, my brother was born in March. My brother in law was born in March, and one of my best friends celebrates his birthday tomorrow. Einstein and Jack Kerouac were born in March. So were Flava Flav and Shemp Howard, the world's mightiest Stooge. Leonard Nimoy, Fatty Arbuckle, and Harry Houdini--all born in March. Dr. Seuss and Shaquille O'Neal--in like lions. Van Gogh and Mariah Carey--out like lambs.
And now, a new birthday for the Waters' family: Generation Dead.
Today I received a package from my publisher and within were two copies of Generation Dead, the actual, authentic, soon-to-be-for-sale hardcover edition of the book, and it is gorgeous. Stunning, knock down gorgeous. I don't even care what the words are inside it is so beautiful. Who cares what the words are like with a design like that?
(I'm kidding about the words inside, just for the record. I actually care about them quite a bit.)
So I'm marking today, March 28, as an important birthday, the birthday of my book. I plan to eat a cupcake every year henceforth on this date, because Lord knows, with only three hundred and twenty seven March birthdays for family and friends, I don't get enough cake in March.
I guess this means my book is an Aires. I'm a Pisces. I hope we can get along.