Lunch time musings

At lunch yesterday, I overheard an old guy at the table next to me tell the woman he was with that he had no regrets in his life -- not one. Maybe it was my mood, but I felt like swiveling around and calling him on it. Interesting as that sounds, how can it be true? How is it that he managed to maneuver through life and not have a few regrets?

Of course, he was probably posturing, if not for his lunch companion's benefit, maybe for his own. Regret is, after all, an intensely personal issue, one I believe the average person doesn't talk about with just anyone because it makes them feel vulnerable, and no one wants to voluntarily crawl out on that limb, right?

He smiled at me as he left and I smiled back, thinking about the novel I'm working on, knowing that if I want readers to fall in love with the story, as they do with any good story, I'll need to make sure they feel my main character has made them privvy to everything in his life, including the most personal regrets he'd never share with anyone else -- maybe even a few he's had trouble admitting to himself.

No, we are not all the same

Just for fun, let's do a brief comparison of my life vs. another author's, okay? Below is a snapshot of fellow author Patricia Wood, who's so delighted by the bathtub in her room on the cruise ship she'll be living on for the next three weeks that she actually sent me a photo...with her in it. Keep in mind, Pat lives on a boat in Hawaii and only has a shower, so she has an odd fascination with bathtubs.

She's forever sending me photos: snapshots from a month-long trip to Norway, sunset photos from the boat she lives on in Hawaii, elbow-to-elbow photos of her and other authors nominated for the Orange Prize, drinking and having fun in London. All that aside, though, along with the bathtub photograph she sent yesterday, here's a brief back-and-forth of our emails to each other while we both happened to be online. You tell me. Do our lives seem even remotely similar?

HER: We were in Cabo yesterday. Docked in Puerto Vallarta today. Took a bus ride up the side of a mountain and just missed a rock slide. Stopped at a tequilla factory (glug/glug) and our nutso tour guide was so out-of-this-world funny I swear I'm putting him in my next book. What's new there?

ME: Plumber showed up 5 hours late yesterday, then charged me $318 more than the original $149 quoted (glug/glug); I have a cold/flu/fever; hubby came home from Zurich but leaves for San Francisco tomorrow; my kids built a 3-story tree fort in the backyard without permission (see photo of work in progress + end result) while I was writing.

Am still trying to determine how they got the leather seats from their big brother's van up onto the top floor (see the seats in 1st photo on the ground?!!) and how much it's going to cost me to pay off the neighbors so they'll speak to us again.

HER: Wow! I love tree forts. Your kids are sure creative, huh?

ME: I'm not finished... Last night a bear ripped apart our neighbor's compost bins, then got into a bag of garbage the boys left hanging from the tree fort. I also just learned it's illegal to kill skunks so I'm trying to figure out how to politely entice the one we have living under our shed to move on and find itself better digs.

HER: OMG, what a coincidence! Our maid keeps leaving towel-shaped animals on our bed each night (along with chocolates) and last night I swear it looked like a skunk!

ME: Eat a bag of dirt, Pat.

In defense of the sloth

Someone's been brainwashing my nine-year old. Either that or they're slipping him a concoction that's changing his sweet natured self into a seasoned mouth piece.

Let's cut to yesterday. My husband's been traveling a lot on business again (last week he was in Zurich) which means I'm in single-parent mode. Anyhow, I forgot to sign a form for my son's teacher, and when he got home he was so upset he started in on all the other things I've not been doing well. No need going over his list, right? Let's just say it made no sense and here's where our discussion ended up...

"And what about last Saturday?" he said, citing yet another example. "God, Mom, you slept in until 9:30?! Are you related to Sid the Sloth? (for those unfamiliar, he was referring to a character in Ice Age.) Other mom's in the neighborhood don't sleep in that late!"

Instead of saying, "No, they don't, but they also aren't awake writing their butts off until 1:45 a.m., either," I just smiled all zen-like and said, "Actually, I like sloths" which only incensed him more. There was pause where he glared at me, followed by, "Well you aren't doing a very good job these days so maybe you should think about that."

Which was when I lowered myself to his level and said, "Look, it's not like I applied for the job fully qualified, okay?"

"I don't think they would've hired you if you had," he shot back.

Pleasant little household anecdote, hmmm? I've noticed, however, this same pattern repeating itself every fall when my kids go back to school and my writing rises to the top of my priority list. It's a big adjustment (for all of us.)

P.S. I really do love sloths. I've had this adorable stuffed sloth on my desk for five years now and he always makes me smile.
Hoo-rah to all the sloths out there!

Write it, take aim, shoot and move on

Being an author can be a humbling career choice. Most writers (including me) head into it with high hopes, big dreams, and endless enthusiasm. They're looking for a big book deal. They dream of seeing their first ever novel front and center in every book store. And they're determined to earn all of the accolades that come with their definition of 'success' as an author.

Sound overly optimistic to you? Not really, because if you don't approach it with that kind of exuberance, you might give up sooner than you think, especially when you realize just how many uncontrollables there are in this business.

I recently spoke with an author who'd published her first and only novel in 1998. It was good, really good, yet she hasn't written anything since. When I asked why, she said, "It's too competitive for me. You either make a whack of money, like the top 20 authors out there do, or you don't make enough to live on so you can keep writing. I had big plans for my novel and then... it just seemed to fizzle away after it came out. I know now that my expectations were set too high, but after that, I didn't have it in me to write another one. It's just too hard. All of it. Know what I mean?"

I did, yet it still made me sad, and I caught myself wanting to coach her and urge her on, tell her to keep writing. I didn't, though, because I could tell it wouldn't make any difference.

Years ago, I had a discussion with another author, this one a NYT bestseller of many novels. Here's what she said: "I've met many talented writers who'll never make it in this business. Some could write circles around me. Others had huge egos that required regular feeding. Many lacked likability. Most, however, had no business sense and failed to understand this: You are only as good as your last book, which does have a shelf life, so aim high, write it to the best of your ability, shoot it out there, and move on to the next one."

Good advice, huh?

Website refreshed... Check!

I've been busy cleaning up a long list of overdue issues so I can focus 110% on my writing over the next 8 weeks. One was to "refresh" my website, originally made up of 18 pages (including the first chapter of every book -- ugh! Whose idea was that?!) However, it's now been slimmed down to a mere six. Not a major revision, though my bio page has been updated and we've posted some new pictures. You can take a look here at hollykennedy.com

Next up, overdue tax forms for foreign publishers... such fun!

Is any friendship worth this?

I'm not a gym person. If I'm going to work out, I'll do it at home, thanks, which is one reason why I can relate to this guy. Six months ago, I began using my treadmill and elliptical machines on a daily basis, and after averaging a combined 18 hrs/month on both, my treadmill started giving me major trouble.

The repairman and I are now on a first name basis (he's installed three new motors, an electrical board, a new belt) and now he has to replace the entire machine because apparently ours is a "commercial" Precor unit that requires the kind of wiring homes aren't typically equipped with vs. gyms (hence the burned out motors and other horrors.)

That said, take a look at this video clip. It's a commercial for a bank, but it's hilarious and has elements I relate to. My friendship with my treadmill hasn't been easy, either!

Announcing Mia King's next novel

Author Mia King is celebrating the release of her 2nd novel, SWEET LIFE (Berkley Books), on Tues, September 2nd, so swing by her site at http://www.miaking.com/ and check it out. She has a great gift basket give-away you don't want to miss!

SWEET LIFE is the story of Marissa Price, a corporate exec who leaves her career and the island of Manhattan for the island of Hawaii when her husband Paul is offered a new job. It seems like the perfect opportunity to save her marriage, regain her sense of self, and reconnect with her eight-year-old daughter, Pansy. But the family’s new house is a fixer-upper at best, her daughter wants to be homeschooled, and what needs fixing the most—her marriage—is the first to crumble when Paul announces he wants some time apart to find himself. Pulled in opposite directions, Marissa is faced with the most important decision of her life—a choice that will define who she is, what she wants, and where her happiness lies.

Preparing for a busy fall

I've been away on a mini family vacation (saw a grizzy bear + two cubs; watched my husband flip a canoe in the middle of a lake; took a dip in Radium Hot Springs) and am just now getting unpacked and reorganized.

ie., I have ten snail mail packages on my desk that were promised to readers from Edson, Alberta to Nova Scotia, New Jersey, Ohio, even Paris, that will finally be delivered to the post office tomorrow. For those who've been waiting on me, sorry it's taken so long!

My website is also being 'refreshed' and I'm hoping to have that posted and off my list within a week. It's clean up time at my end, and after my kids go back to school Sept 2nd, my husband will be heading into a fall with tons of travel all over the globe, which means I'll be writing 5-6 nights/week from 8 pm to 1:00 a.m. during Sep/Oct/Nov so I can get this new novel finished and polished to a shine.

Note to self: must add loads of espresso to my grocery list.

Hello, criminals? You picked the wrong neighborhood

I sleep with a baseball bat beside my bed. A steel baseball bat. I also keep my car alarm on my night table and have trigger alarms on my patio doors and windows. Oh, and I have our dog, a 165 pound beast no stranger wants to meet in the dark. Which brings me to what happened a few nights ago...

Three semi-inebriated young guys broke into our neighbor's truck, stole their GPS system, then egged my living room window while arguing about whether or not they should break into our house next. My husband and one of the neighbor kids (who had his bedroom window open) heard them.

It was late and I was hanging up wet laundry when I heard a few crashes (eggs being pitched at my living room window.) By the time I made it upstairs all I saw was my husband's foot going out the front door along with the flash of a steel baseball bat. I followed, carrying damp laundry and a clothes hanger. I heard my husband yell, stepped onto the front porch and saw the back end of him disappear through the trees. I also heard a voice say, "Holy ----! We're in trouble!"

Running, I followed all the way to the end of our street and when I caught up to my husband, he and our neighbors were already breaking into groups to hunt down the culprits (who, in their haste, had dropped the stolen GPS system.)

Hello, thieves? You picked the wrong neighborhood to launch careers as criminals. My husband's a marathoner who can run like stink without adrenaline. And that truck you broke into? The guy who owns it manages the firehouse and that was a thermal camera he was using to track your progress through the bush. And that tall guy who joined my husband searching for you as you huddled down by the river, crapping your pants? He has his black belt in Tae Kwon Do.

Oh, and that woman carrying wet laundry and a clothes hanger? Consider yourself lucky you managed to get away and didn't have to contend with her. Trust me, she's worse than all of them put together when she's mad.

P.S. We know where you live.

Help! I have sagging bookshelves

I have this rule. I only keep two copies of each of my novels (whether French, German, Greek, Danish, Italian, Large Print, Clean Living version, etc.) and still I'm finding it takes more bookshelf space than I have. Time for a few give-a-ways!












If you'd like a French copy of The Tin Box or The Penny Tree (or if you know someone who's French and would like to give them a treat) I'll autograph and mail a copy to the first person who sends me an email for each book.

I'm also giving away two English hardcovers of The Tin Box, one trade paperback of The Penny Tree, and two trade paperback copies of The Silver Compass. Oh, and if there's anyone out there who'd like a Danish copy of The Tin Box, I have one of those up for grabs as well.

The art of eavesdropping

It really is an art form, you know, one that needs constant practice and refinement if you want to master it with any subtlety and finesse (enough that your husband doesn't lose patience with you in a restaurant.)

ie., while having dinner out last week with my hubby, I listened in on a heated conversation between an unhappy couple next to us (they finally agreed to disagree about their son's choice for a wife) while also eavesdropping on an eyebrow raising "we only have an hour " let's-eat-and-get-out-of-here talk between a couple at the opposite table who looked like they'd slipped off their wedding bands at the door (trust me, all the signs of an affair were there.) Beyond that, a woman and her friend were at a corner table, one wiping away tears while the other said, "He really wasn't worth it."

I know. It's invasive and impolite, but (shrug) I can't help it. It's not intentional, more like a multi-tasking reflex I can't control. I'm an author after all and on a subconscious level I'm always looking for new material, but beyond that... I really do find people and what they go through fascinating. No crime there, right? To be fair, I also listen in on my own family. For example, yesterday, I overheard a chat between my nine-year-old and his buddy that enlightened me on a child's point of view when it comes to the development of the human brain (potentially good material for some future novel.) It went like this:

My son: "You don't really have a brain until you're two. Until then it's just mush, like Jello. From two until five it grows, then when you turn five the protective cover falls off and your brain starts soaking up everything everybody says to you and everything you see on TV."

Other kid (looking skeptical): "Huh... Do you think your brain has changed since your cover came off?"

My son: "Oh, yeah! Until I was five, speed meant nothing to me! I'd ride down a big hill on my bike or go on a rollercoaster and I didn't care cuz I didn't know anything about death or dying. I won't do any of that now, though. Now I know too much."

Time to fess up, bloggers. Are any of you shameless eavesdroppers like me?

The weight of a good chapter

I spoke with a book club from Sacramento last night, a group who took the time to read all three of my novels before setting up the call with me. (How great is that!? Thanks again, guys!) One woman asked what I aspire to achieve each day when I sit down at my computer. "And please don't say you aspire to write a bestseller," she added, "because for any author that's a given. Tell us what you hope to achieve day by day."

That's easy. You know what it's like when you're reading a good book and you're tired and you think, "I'll just finish this chapter and then I'll turn off the light" but then you can't help yourself so you read the opening of the next chapter and... ooomph... you get sucked right back in?

There. That's what I aspire for each day (which is, of course, what every author aims for.) To have readers so invested in the weight of the chapter I'm working on that they can't stop reading, which of course means working on a story so compelling each chapter feels like its own rich little book. I'm not saying I've managed to achieve this with every chapter I've ever written, but it is what I aim for each day as I continue to grow as an author.

The best way to enjoy Kananaskis country? Bring your own bear

As usual, the revolving door that is our guest room has been busy this summer. Friends were just here from Winnipeg and to make sure they had fun we took them up to Kananaskis country for a few days. Of course, we kennel our dog (Sullivan aka Sully) like anyone else, but we also bring him with us when it makes sense, and this was one of those times. In case you can't read it, the yellow sign below says Warning: Bear in Area.



The Delta at Kananaskis Village takes dogs and every time we go ours creates his own little stir. Some people stare, others back away. Many ask if they can take a picture. Size aside (165 lbs) few consider him menacing though, probably because he usually carries a stuffed yellow toy in his mouth.


All that said, it really was a peaceful couple of days and here are a few snapshots to prove it. (If you love the mountains and you've never been through Kananaskis in the Rockies, check it out sometime. It's one of those "must see and do" places to go.)

Putting the brakes on negative waves

After chatting with countless book clubs over the past 3-4 years, last night I was asked a question I'd never been asked before. Here it is: "You often mention books on your blog that you've really enjoyed. Could you also start posting the names of those you haven't liked?"

"No," came my reply, followed by this explanation...

Working alone, with little or no feedback for months and months on end, authors pour everything they've got into their work, and after writing & revising & restructuring a manuscript time and time again they then offer it up to their agent for consideration (if they have an agent, and I won't get into how hard getting one is other than to say the process is filled with the kind of rejection most sane people would never purposefully put themselves through.)

Moving on... After reading the manuscript, your agent's opinion will usually result in yet another round of revisions prior to the manuscript's release to a handful of carefully chosen editors at various publishing houses, each of whom will have their own opinion about what's working, what's not, if the book "speaks" to them, whether a P&L (profit and loss) projection can be done up that will be accepted by their bosses, and if their house will have room for the book on their already tight list.

After a book is purchased there will then be another round of revisions as your editor rolls up his/her sleeves and aids you in fine-tuning that rough diamond of a novel that's ultimately on its way to readers at the far end of the publishing assembly line where it'll be plopped into book stores to compete against an average of 150,000+ other novels each year. Then, when it is finally released, book reviewers will weigh in with their opinions (some who've sadly never written a book themselves) in a most public manner.

I think you see my point here, don't you?

Writing a novel (for those who manage to finish one that's saleable) is hard work; getting it published is equally difficult; growing & continuing to write while under a steady stream of critical scrutiny, not an easy task. And then having a fellow author bad mouth your book on his/her blog after it's released?

Not cool. Not even a little bit.

The joy of late nights at my keyboard

I'm home, fully inspired and dying to write, but unable to FOCUS given my zoo-like household. Here. Let me show you a brief snapshot from yesterday... 10:00 a.m. The treadmill repairman just left. The phone's ringing off the hook, my voicemail is full, my kids are back from Grandma's & already in a full tilt argument. The doorbell keeps going off every 15 minutes, the cats are feeling neglected and making enough noise that I'm considering re-homing them, and the dog's back from the kennel but refuses to climb into the shower.

Fast forward 30 mins: the shower door bursts open and our 170 lb Newfoundland flies out covered in soap with me hot on his heels (dressed, but as wet as he is.) Upstairs I find two of my son's friends and a Fedex guy at the door (the Fedex guy is delivering french copies of The Penny Tree.) I tell the boys to come in and I sign for the books (apologizing for the calamity and my appearance) and when I look up there's a plumber parked in the driveway (here to fix a leak before friends arrive from Winnipeg next week for a visit) and a kid selling chocolate almonds is on his way up my front steps (fundraising for diabetes.)

And I'm sharing this with you because?

Because it helps people understand why I do so much of my writing late at night between 10 pm and 2 am!

Finding clarity & inspiration in Boston

I now know exactly how my character will feel as the sun rises and sets each day in Boston's Public Garden. I also know what it'll be like for him to watch the pedal-driven swan boats fill and empty time and time again throughout each day, and how hard it will be for him not to smile at the steady stream of kids that run through the Beacon & Charles Street entrance to climb all over the infamous 'Make Way for Ducklings' statues.


I've talked to maintenance staff, tourists, sketch artists, even a professional mime who often frequents one entrance. I've spent hours taking all kinds of pictures and scribbling notes, but until yesterday (in the midst of a flurry of inspired writing back in my hotel room) I don't think I fully realized what a difference coming here would make to my story.

If you're in Boston, wander through the Public Garden. You won't regret it.

Bound for the Public Garden

Tomorrow I'm driving 5 hours north to drop my kids off at my mom's, then 5 back to get home before flying to Boston for the rest of the week. I'm meeting my husband there, but he's got a packed schedule with his own work so that means I'll have four uninterrupted days to immerse myself in the novel I'm currently writing (insert enthusiastic whoop here!)

Keeper of the Pond is set in the Public Garden so I'm taking my camera and my laptop. I've been there before, but not like this, so after exploring every inch of the place (including the Boston Common) I plan to park myself in a quiet spot overlooking the pond and finish two key scenes the book hinges on. Wish me luck!

If the label fits...

You've heard the stereotype before, haven't you? That many writers are unapproachable, eccentric, brooding drunks with inner demons that drive their creative energy? In some cases, I'm sure this is true, but not so with me. I'm not a big brooder, I rarely drink, and as far as I know I have no demons camped out in my subconscious. I do, however, have my oddities. For example, I have a tendency to talk a lot, especially when it comes to the topic of writing, the publishing industry, or any kind of anecdote or story. Yet I do my best writing when I pull away from everyone, stop talking, and become as reclusive and closed off as possible without completely neglecting my family. Not exactly traits that compliment each other, are they?

Yesterday I met a woman who said that after reading my novels she could tell I was one of "them sensitive types" and I smiled and thought, I'll take that label! After all, it only seems fair that writers are judged by the end result and not by our behavior during the creative process, don't you think?

Happy Independence Day U.S. bloggers

Of course, it goes without saying that the U.S. is busy celebrating today, which also means everyone in the publishing world won't be back at work until late next week. I myself am curled up with a box of Robaxacet, as I have been since tearing a ligament in my back last week. Hopefully it will all be back to normal soon. In the meantime, here's hoping you either have your feet up or else you're busy chugging back a few well deserved drinks.

Countdown to Boston

Today was the last day of school and for me that means a few things... Until my kids go back in Sept my writing will grind to a slow crawl, my house will turn into a daycare of sorts, and my refereeing skills will require sharpening.

It also means we're heading into Canada Day weekend, a time when everyone regroups and celebrates with the usual requisite parade, pancake breakfast, etc. Last of all, it means I'm only 19 days away from flying to Boston (sans kids) where I get to spend 4 days wandering around the Boston Common (sans kids) and the Public Garden (did I say sans kids?!) where my next novel is set. Insert an enthusiastic *whoop* right about here!

Finding your rope swing

Growing up, we had a big old rope swing in our neighborhood. It wasn't on anyone's property. It was tied to the branch of a huge tree on the side of a steep hill overlooking our neighborhood, and that meant it was fair game for anyone to use.

And use it we did.
The rope swing was revered by kids of all ages, whether six or sixteen. I was never 100% sure why, although I get it now. It didn't take a lot of skill to grab that rope, back yourself up, and run full-tilt to the jumping off point where you'd go airborne. Anyone could do it. Matter of fact, I recall a few parents giving it a good go, too.

Of course, it was the airborne part everyone loved, that feels-so-good rush that came over you when you were in the air and all the planets seemed perfectly aligned, at least for a few seconds.

I have no doubt dancers get that same feeling when they're dancing, or gifted musicians when they lose themselves in a piece of music, or race car drivers when they cross the finish line and hear the crowd roar. I'm sure the same holds true for waitresses when someone leaves a big tip, or sales reps when they overshoot their monthly quota, or even IT technicians when they solve what seemed like an unsolvable problem.

On some level, I think we all look for those airborne moments while we're doing whatever it is that we do. For me, it happens most often when I write. What about you?

How not to get published...

A woman I met at a conference seven years ago emailed last week to catch up. She's written four novels and still can't find an agent to represent her. She has a shoebox full of rejection letters. She's frustrated, disheartened, and fighting to stay positive as she begins her fifth novel.

I like this woman. She's a retired English teacher, she has a sense of humor, and she's a good writer, but she's constantly getting in her own way. Years ago, I recommended a few books to her about the publishing industry and she said she didn't have time to read them, she already knew how to write. Twice last year she was 'almost' offered representation but refused to make changes to her manuscript and both agents backed away.

"I was told my novel's are too quiet," she said.
"Maybe they are," I replied.
"One said my female protagonist isn't likable."
"Maybe she isn't," I said.
"Another wanted me to cut a main character right out of the story, said she doesn't offer anything to the narrative drive!"
"Maybe she's right," I suggested.
"I'm so down," she complained. "What would you do next? I want your honest opinion."

So I gave it to her.

I told her not to write another word until she'd read these books. (By the way, I'm of the opinion that all four of these should be mandatory reading for aspiring writers trying to break in the industry.)

The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman
The Forest for the Trees by Betsy Lerner
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maas

"Listen to what agents are saying," I said. "You need to be more flexible. Swallow your ego. Shelve your pride. Show them you're professional, someone who's easy to deal with vs. a diva with an attitude. Open your mind. Think of your novel as a product. How can you take what they're saying and use it to make your product more saleable? What you're doing isn't working, so kick the stool away and do something radically different! Allow these people to take you under their wing, experts that they are, and guide you. It's what they do for a living."

She emailed back and sheepishly admitted she hadn't read one of these books, that her husband had told her much the same thing not long ago; that if she didn't change her approach she'd never get published and she was probably developing a bad reputation in the industry among agents every time she queried like crazy and then didn't take their advice.

"Smart husband," I said. "Buy that man a drink."

What's the one hardest thing?

I was asked this last week during a book club chat from a gentleman who writes a weekly column for a local paper and wants to tackle writing a novel.

"Is it the self-discipline required to write every day on the same piece of work for six months to a year? Or the rewriting once you've finished your first draft? Or the gutting and rewriting yet again after you receive editorial input from an agent or editor?"

"It's the story," I said. "Any writer can throw down snappy dialogue, a handful of poignant or humorous pages, a few chapters that are structured perfectly. Lots of writers are great at character development, and many churn out novels that are technically brilliant, but when all is said and done most readers want just one thing when they pick up a book -- to get sucked into a golden story that stands out from the crowd, the kind you can't put down. So for me, the story is always the one hardest thing."

I have this crazy dream...

I've been given 90 days of solitary writing time and I get to choose where I spend them (this is one of my favorite fantasies, so humor me.)

Here's how my dream would go... I'd get paddled out to a tiny island carrying a laptop that operates on solar power. I'd be wearing sandals and island attire that would stay clean and unwrinkled the entire time I'm there (again, humor me; if I'm allowed to choose where I do this writing stint, I figure I'll drop kick a few other realities onto the other side of logic too.)
I'd bring a hammock, and my meals (including shots of espresso) would be delivered by the nice man who paddled me over to my tiny island. There'd be no phone, no family, no pets. Just me and the story for 90 days. This might not be everyone's heaven on earth, but it'd be mine -- just once. And no, you can't come with me. Find your own tiny island!

The Penny Tree released in France

I find it interesting to examine the various takes on covers and titles when novels get published in foreign countries. Here's the cover for The Penny Tree (which was obviously retitled) released May 22nd in France.

I've also learned that Quebec Loisirs, Canada's French book club, bought subrights and plans to promote the book this fall in their catalogue. It's all good stuff, and I'm grateful it unfolds the way it does because it helps spur me on to be working on novel #4 when there's still lots happening with novel #2.