Dec 13, 2014
Dear Backers,
Proof is coming. Your copy is on its way. In the next few days, you'll be able to find out who Larry is, and why he eats peanuts, and other secrets from the lives of Sgt. Dykes, Slim and The Beast. I hope one day I'll be able to write a note in each of your copies, personally thanking you for making a dream come true.
For all of you hashtaggers, tweeters and Instagrammers, the hashtag #slimandthebeast is alive and well. I started it when the campaign first began, so it will be cool to look at the original posts and see where it goes. If you feel inspired to tweet about the book or Instagram with a glass of beer/coffee/whiskey, you'll get 5 points for taking a picture with the book as your coaster, 10 next to a burger, and 15 on a basketball court. My handle on both of those is @slbfiction. Also, if you're an Amazon reviewer or do the same on Good Reads, it'd be much appreciated—every review helps, and apparently it can provide a big boost for debut novels (for Good Reads, you won't be able to review until the official release, I believe). The sky's the limit for where Slim and The Beast can go, but I really do believe any success will be because of the communal effort, since that's where it began with humble beginnings.
There's a beautiful quote by Georgia O'Keefe: “Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing—and keeping the unknown always beyond you.” Whatever happens from this point onwards, only the gods and fairies and elves can know. There will be reviews, critiques, people who love the book, people who hate it, but you helped me to make my unknown known, and you are the reason this book is in print. So finally, as the last update before Slim and The Beast is in your hands, and because part of writing is keeping the unknown "beyond," here is the (tentative) first paragraph of a new "unknown" I'm trying to bring into existence:
When the sirens began the professor was sitting at the Astoria Café. There were more than a few customers reading the paper nearby. Menus stood at attention in spite of the breeze. There was a saltshaker on linen tablecloth, but no pepper to be seen. A beautiful woman sat behind the professor. She wore a burgundy scarf, thin white gloves, a red dress. With the spoon in her right hand, she brought hot soup to her mouth. Her other hand hovered below the steaming spoon, almost cupping it; the professor couldn’t help but imagine a red splotch expanding upon it. The woman blew intently with red lips—she had burnt her tongue the day before and wanted to be extra sure—and her eyes darted along the tablecloth, now fixed upon the professor. In another world she might have spoken to him, but she’d been hired to keep watch. The air was crisp that day. The rustle of trees. The professor recalled a country home in autumn, when brittle wind cracked through sanguine leaves, carrying the scent of firewood across the landscape.