So, this is a thing.
My book is for real! Shown here with Minotaur Superstar Hannah Braaten (which, interestingly, also is the name of the Hebrew Festival of Hipness. The traditional gift for the first night of Hannahbraaten are Jimmy Choo heels, as you know.)
The thing about writing a book is: it isn’t a book. Not for most of its inception. It starts as a notion in your head. Then it’s a file in your computer. Then a pile of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven pages, held together by inky rubber bands you’ve stolen off the doorstep from your neighbor’s London Times (I’m looking right at you, Meg Gardiner).
It isn’t a “book” in the classic sense of “bookness” until shortly before it hits bookstores.
Which is now.
It’s a book!