In the book publishing flotilla, first come the galleys, then come the ARCs. An ARC is an Advance Reading Copy - not to be confused with an Advance Chewing Copy, something I've had to make clear to my dog - and today I received an early ARC of What We Found in the Sofa and How It Saved the World.
I like it. It looks like a book. It's a stack of paper pages bound together. I'm very fond of paper pages. They have their advantages. Imagine yourself sitting in an outhouse and discovering there's no toilet paper and all you've got is your Kindle.
There seem to be quite a few photographs of me in which I’m wearing nineteenth-century clothing. I’ve decided to admit to it – I’m a transtemp. That’s short for trans-temporal. I’m what used to be called, behind closed doors by people who discussed such things, a cross-time dresser. Transtemps are a small but growing minority, who are only now beginning to speak up for themselves. Transtemps are not comfortable with the time period they’ve been born into, and find an outlet by dressing in clothes appropriate to a different era.
Many transtemps hide behind excuses – “I’m a Civil War reenactor!” or, “I’m on my way to a Renaissance Fair!” or, “Omigod, the professor’s wacky invention really worked!” and it is hard to get them to admit they just enjoy dressing up. Transtemps will never willingly come out of the closet – they’re too busy trying on the older stuff in the back.
Transtemp choices of attire run the gamut from Roman empire to medieval to early twentieth-century. (They keep trying to organize a Transtemp Pride Parade but, obviously, they can’t agree on a date.)
As a frequently vilified and misunderstood group – “What? Are you saying there’s something WRONG with modern fashion?” – transtemps believe in tolerance and acceptance of all those who are different. Except, of course, for those who like to dress up as fictional people, like characters in the Harry Potter books or The Lord of the Rings.
Those people are just plain nuts.
Henry Clark (left) as Lord Emsworth, from P.G. Wodehouse’s 1952 novel, Pigs Have Wings.
Yesterday I created an "author's page" on Facebook, because having one supposedly helps promote one's work, although I'm not entirely sure how. You can visit it - please "like" it if you do, even if you find it appalling - by clicking here, or clicking on its cover, below.
Back so soon? I'm not surprised. All the Facebook page does, really, is tell visitors to come here to Indorsia.com, where they will find this blog entry, which sends them back to the Facebook page, which sends them back here, like characters in a time-loop on a cheap sci-fi TV show where the producers are saving money by using the same sets over and over again.
But then, I love that particular plot.
Pictured here on the day he sold What We Found in the Sofa. His mood is cautiously optimistic.