Last night Laura texted to inform me that she was weepy at the inscription page of my book and has been crying with suppressed fervor ever since.
Jody also recently braved the experience, and though he never cries about anything he felt safest reading in brightly lit public places.
I’ve promised them both a happy ending, but when I told one of my editors he was astonished.
He said The book definitely does not have a happy ending!
I said Yes it does! Dude.
He said At the end you [quote suppressed to retain mystery for those who haven’t read or failed to notice]. Not happy! Not at all!
I shrugged and replied Now you’re debating the nature of existence.
He replied Yes, I am – and the definition of happy endings!
I said It is my story, and I say it has a happy ending!
He said Then what does that say about your cracked notion of reality?
My reply: That I’m a better Existentialist than Jean-Paul and Simone combined!