Books are old school. I know that. The thing to do, if I wanted to grab the general public by the nose and reach them in volume, is to stare intently at a camera and deliver some brief monologue about philosophy or self-help or a history tidbit about a movie. "Did you know that Stephen Spielberg wanted to make a James Bond movie, but the franchise rejected his pitches, so George Lucas...." Then blast that across Instagram and TikTok and and hope it catches attention over all those 14-year-olds unboxing the latest eye glitter.
But there are a million guys doing that. And have been. For years. So I'm a little late.
Besides, I don't want to make little videos hobbyhorsing trivia. I want to write books. Always have, since I was a child and making stabs at little looseleaf books — cartoon narratives, the start of books abandoned after a page.
Eventually I'd write nine published books, starting in 1994, with a history of college pranks, which I wrote because there wasn't one, and I thought there should be. And ending — I thought until recently — exactly thirty years later, with 2024's book version of this blog, "Every Goddamn Day," which I wrote because the University of Chicago Press asked me to.
But there are a million guys doing that. And have been. For years. So I'm a little late.
Besides, I don't want to make little videos hobbyhorsing trivia. I want to write books. Always have, since I was a child and making stabs at little looseleaf books — cartoon narratives, the start of books abandoned after a page.
Eventually I'd write nine published books, starting in 1994, with a history of college pranks, which I wrote because there wasn't one, and I thought there should be. And ending — I thought until recently — exactly thirty years later, with 2024's book version of this blog, "Every Goddamn Day," which I wrote because the University of Chicago Press asked me to.
Writing that book was fun. Well, it was work, too, but fun work. They all are. Fun work that I want to do, even though the paycheck is not comparable to what I get writing 795-word newspaper columns. "Every Goddamn Day" got me through COVID, a pole star I could sail toward. When I turned it in, I really did tell my editor, "You don't even have to publish it, I got so much out of just writing the thing."
When I was done, I enjoyed not writing a book for a while. You have so much time on your hands, to work out, fix things around the house.
But I found myself writing a book again. My mother was dying, I was talking to her about our family, and researching using online sources that weren't available previously. Suddenly I was looking at the ship's manifest recording my grandfather coming to America in 1927. It seemed natural to start setting it down.
At the same time, Oct. 7 happened, and suddenly Jews were being demonized again, not for killing Christ, this time, or running the banks and newspapers, or driving a hard bargain, or mongrelizing the race through their support of civil rights, but for having their own nation, one that sometimes does terrible things. Suddenly our existence is a matter of heated debate, even among ourselves. By what right are we here? What are we good for?
Ooo, I thought. Let me handle that one. So I decided to get off the bench, get some skin in the game. Both for my benefit — I do enjoy writing books — and maybe for the benefit of those who happen upon it.
Anyway, the work progresses, day by day. The contract is written and being sniffed over by lawyers, and there was the first announcement Friday, reproduced above. I wanted to not steal their thunder but, now that it is out, I can't resist sharing the news here. I know actually buying a book is a big reach for some people, so I want you all to start saving now. It's coming out in the spring of 2028 and will, let's say, cost $25. So start putting away a dollar a month, and you'll be well-situated to pick up a copy when it becomes available. Believe me, I'll keep you posted.
When I was done, I enjoyed not writing a book for a while. You have so much time on your hands, to work out, fix things around the house.
But I found myself writing a book again. My mother was dying, I was talking to her about our family, and researching using online sources that weren't available previously. Suddenly I was looking at the ship's manifest recording my grandfather coming to America in 1927. It seemed natural to start setting it down.
At the same time, Oct. 7 happened, and suddenly Jews were being demonized again, not for killing Christ, this time, or running the banks and newspapers, or driving a hard bargain, or mongrelizing the race through their support of civil rights, but for having their own nation, one that sometimes does terrible things. Suddenly our existence is a matter of heated debate, even among ourselves. By what right are we here? What are we good for?
Ooo, I thought. Let me handle that one. So I decided to get off the bench, get some skin in the game. Both for my benefit — I do enjoy writing books — and maybe for the benefit of those who happen upon it.
Anyway, the work progresses, day by day. The contract is written and being sniffed over by lawyers, and there was the first announcement Friday, reproduced above. I wanted to not steal their thunder but, now that it is out, I can't resist sharing the news here. I know actually buying a book is a big reach for some people, so I want you all to start saving now. It's coming out in the spring of 2028 and will, let's say, cost $25. So start putting away a dollar a month, and you'll be well-situated to pick up a copy when it becomes available. Believe me, I'll keep you posted.
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