It is real, folks. I’m hitched. I’ve just signed my publishing contract with St. Martin’s Press. Still Life Las Vegas in Spring 2015— book clubs forming now! Nothing thrills the soul more than thirty pages of legalese in which your name is referred to as “Author.” Nothing like it. I read every paragraph and sub-paragraph, excluded territories and all. It was a real page-turner; looking forward to a sequel!

After such wonderful confirmation, is there anything that could possibly knock me from such a giddy height? Ah, enter the Knight of Mirrors, galloping in from an email attachment sent by my editor: the Author Questionnaire. Such an innocous title— the Author Questionnaire— how could it inspire so much pain? The Author Questionnaire sounds like it might be some lovely time filler, a whimsical series of questions that might grace the back of Parade Magazine, next to Marilyn Savant’s Mensa quizzes.

Instead, it’s a soul-flaying survey of your life. Ostensibly, the Author Questionnaire is a series of questions about you and your book that the publicity department will use to position you in an overcrowded literary marketplace. What about your life can they can use to sell you—er, me (see, I’m deflecting already) to a public who is not related to you me. Who do I know? What have I done? Who can review my book or say something glowing about me?

Oh, it’s enough to make an inveterate introvert

“No, I have not yet updated my status… the winters, they are long.”

burst into flame. My misanthropic tendencies have been laid bare. Is “Social Hermit who lives in Cave and Forages for Acorns” a helpful attribute? Apparently not. Moreover, the negative space surrounding my meagre answers make me keenly aware of all the things I meant to have done by now, but haven’t. Conferences? Twitter Feeds? Uh…soon…

What the heck have I been doing? Important things! Here are some of my most recent crowning achievements:

How could THIS be a waste of time? Look at the urban planning!

I await the Pulitzer Committee’s call.