I’ll probably take this post down for being inappropriate, but right now good taste seems beside the point. I’ll never forget that day when the first box of my book copies was delivered to my door, and in about a year from now a dear friend will be experiencing the same delight when his debut book is published (more on that in a sunnier post).
On August 27, Wendi Harris Kaufman passed away after a long battle with cancer. Wendi was a very unusual force in the world, especially where writing was concerned. We were not close friends, but every time we encountered each other I managed to forget that because every conversation I ever had with her was powerfully intimate and energized, and I always came away thinking I was someone. That’s all the eulogy I have a right to express.
Also on August 27 the first shipment of Wendi’s debut book, Helen on 86th Street, arrived at the office of Stillhouse Press’s Director of Operations–an office two doors down from my own. I counted 16 boxes. I took a phone pic because I’m probably an asshole, but this was my view for a couple of hours before they were carted out of sight. In hindsight I can say that if Wendi were alive there’s be tons of pictures of every part of this process. I guess it’s foolish to attempt to make sense of this stuff.