Just as ebooks are heating up after everyone got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, I got a letter this week from the publisher of Sleep Is for the Weak, Chicago Review Press. I don't hear from my publisher very often, as my book came out four years ago, and in publishing dog years, that is approximately What-Have-You-Done-for-Me-Lately-thirty. The letter basically told me why Chicago Review Press's distributor, IPG, got into it with Amazon, which resulted in Amazon yanking the Kindle version of more than 4,000 books off its site. My book was one of those books.

I'm disappointed and not really because I'm upset specifically about Sleep Is for the Weak. I still think it's a great anthology, I'm proud of it and all the great writers featured in it, and there are new parents all the time who might want to read it. Since you can't find it in bookstores any more, online is really the only way to shop. BUT STILL. I intend to write more books. I'm disappointed in principle that it's so hard to get a book in front of readers four years after it was published. 

The publishing industry is the craziest industry ever, and it's the only industry I know of in which a store can buy stuff and then if it doesn't sell, the publisher has to buy it back and the author doesn't get paid -- even though it was initially sold to the bookseller. You don't get paid until Amazon buys your book and Amazon sells your book. Otherwise Amazon can buy your book, you can get super-excited, and then six months later Amazon sends back your book and all those numbers disappear from your royalty statement. It's crazy-making, and I didn't know that's how it worked until after I got my first royalty statement from Chicago Review Press and called them up to get the most frustrating math lesson known to an artist. And though I'm using Amazon as an example, it's not just them -- it's every bookstore. This is how the industry operates. Books get about two months on the shelf, and then if they're not flying off, well, they can and do get sent back. I'm constantly thankful my book was published in an era when the Internet existed to continue to sell my book after it disappeared from bookstores in the teeny tiny little parenting section that has about six shelves for every book ever written on the subject. Or maybe instead what I really find: Three shelves of baby journals, two shelves of books on getting your baby to nurse or sleep and half a shelf of humor books and books written by Jenny McCarthy with maybe one copy of Anne Lamott's amazing Operating Instructions. I totally get shelf space. I also totally get that new books come out all the time, so bookstores have to keep things in rotation. Which is why the Internet is so, so important to authors.

The publishing industry already has incredibly low margins for publishers and authors on top of the crazy-ass sell-back clause. What happened with IPG, again from my letter:

IPG, our distributor, could not in good conscience accept Amazon’s demands to the detriment of publishers and authors. As a result, Amazon is choosing not to purchase our e-books at terms that are in line with the rest of the industry and are acceptable to all our other customers. Amazon has removed our Kindle editions from their site, though the print editions of our books are still available for sale on Amazon. IPG is taking a brave stand against Amazon’s predatory pricing, along with other major players in the industry. We support them and hope that you will too.

But, you know, lest we feel too sorry for IPG, the distributor isn't too focused on ebooks, according to them: 

Some of the small presses that work with distributors don’t sell many e-books. IPG president Mark Suchomel told Crain’s that e-books make up less than 10 percent of IPG revenues. 

I'm glad it's not hurting IPG's bottom line too much, but the authors might feel a little differently about that.

And, since Chicago Review Press published my book, I can't just decide to publish it as an ebook if I want or distribute it in any other fashion. From a letter from IPG to its publishers:

7. Seriously consider the implications of this action for the long run. If we don’t hold firm on your behalf, your margins will continue to erode. IPG will continue to represent you well to those customers that are happy to buy from us at reasonable terms. If you or your authors were working directly with any large vendor, you would not have the opportunity to push back on or even have a conversation about terms. Your continued support is appreciated.

8. If anyone from Amazon calls you, please let them know that you are distributed by and contractually tied to IPG.

According to the letter, you can still get Sleep Is for the Weak in any format other than Kindle, and even if you have Kindle, you can still read it. Side note: you can email yourself almost anything on a Kindle, although a small fee applies. I email myself updated revisions of my new novel all the time because it's easier for me to find problems when it already looks like a real book. Here's how to find Sleep Is for the Weak electronically, from the letter:

All of Chicago Review Press’s titles remain widely available in both print and electronic editions (EPUB and PDF formats). You can find them at your local independent bookshop, www.indiebound.org, www.BarnesandNoble.com, Apple’s iTunes, Google Books, www.ebookstore.sony.com, and elsewhere. The only format you will not be able to buy—temporarily, we hope—is Amazon’s proprietary Kindle format. Although, if you have a Kindle Fire, with just a few steps you can download almost any e-reader app and purchase EPUB and PDF editions that can be read on the Kindle Fire. You can also purchase both print and e-books directly from the IPG website (www.ipgbook.com). 

I'm just disappointed. It's so hard to be an author anyway, and to have your book on the virtual shelves when it's not on the physical ones and then have it removed feels just horrible. I understand why IPG did what it did, and its negotiating power is one of the reasons I wanted to be traditionally published. If it were just me against Amazon, how would any negotiation go? Amazon's not evil, IPG's not evil, Chicago Review Press is not evil: No one is sitting around rubbing their hands together thinking how they can crush the souls of writers. They're making business decisions. Because bookselling is a business. It's tough to have your art be part of a business sometimes.

In the end, books are as good as their distributors. There are many, many incredible books by even well known authors that simply go out of print. I have hope that the increase in ereaders will allow books to stay in print longer electronically and be easier to access years later. The events of this week make me wonder, though. 

Over the past week, I engaged in a two-state, five-store quest for a pair of jeans that fit. I tried on more than fifty pairs of jeans. In front of my seven-year-old daughter, who assured me over the course of two stores that I really didn't look right in skinny jeans. Because I'm not necessarily skinny. She wasn't being mean, she was being honest, and she was actually right. I wear the fact I didn't burst out crying when she said this as a badge of honor and body acceptance. Also the fact I didn't burst out crying when subjected to high-mounted fluorescents and knees that have fallen two inches from where they were on my body in 2009.

I'm cheap and I don't like to pay more than $30 for a pair of jeans, but my booty desires a fit I've found only in more high-end brands. Hence, I do all my jeans shopping in discount stores like Gordman's, T.J. Maxx, Marshall's and the like. My body refuses to conform to the standard jeans model, whom I'm convinced now is seven feet tall and has no gradual curve between the top of her hip and the bottom. I used to think the basketball hoop formed by thirty yards of excess material directly above my ass was due to the high-waisted jeans of the late eighties and early nineties. Now with jeans more low-rise all the time, I'm flummoxed. Surely I'm not the only woman on earth in possession of a bowling ball ass? That is what weighted lunges to you! And weighted lunges are all the rage, right? Am I practicing outdated exercise? Have we moved on to ballet football?

In every store, I would select between 8-12 pairs of jeans and sit the little angel on the little stool. She would begin to critique the fit before I got them on, in most cases. To her credit, she wasn't critiquing my body -- just the fit. "Those pockets don't sit flat, Mommy," she'd say. Or maybe "I can see your underwear."

She actually is an astute shopper. It's all about the fit, ladies. Anyone can look good if the fit is right.

I left the state of Nebraska on Monday empty-handed. Last night, I challenged Missouri and its larger T.J. Maxx to the test.

The little angel and I walked into the dressing room with eight pairs of jeans. I'd since abandoned skinny and was horrified by "flare" (Little Angel: That is like a foot and a half of material across, Mommy") so basically all that was left for a 38-year-old woman is boot-cut. I got three pairs to lay flat over my unusual butt and not cause a muffin-top. However, two out of the three pairs are about five inches too long.

My inner monologue upon discovering this:

1. I'm 5'6" and wear a size 8. I've always thought I was pretty average. Size 8s sell out really fast. Are size 8 women really seven feet tall now? Or are all the kids wearing five-inch heels to school with their jeans? 
2. Did I miss a chapter? Why am I needing to have jeans hemmed now like when I was nine years old?

HOWEVER. I was so excited the jeans fit my hips and thighs I resolved to find a tailor ASAP so I can donate the four pairs of jeans I bought in 2007 and have worn every week since then in rotation that now are so stretched-out, faded and unflattering I feel like I'm setting a new standard for mom-who-has-given-up every time I wear them.

When I was checking out last night at T.J. Maxx, the teenager who rang me up mentioned her mom wears a size 8, too. Thanks, kid. Is she seven feet tall?

---

Read my review of Kim Purcell's young adult novel Trafficked on Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews!

Last night on the way home from a two-hour meeting all the way across town, I called my sister in the hopes she would cheer me up. I'd had a really rough day and was feeling really insecure about my writing.

(Editor's Note: This is going to be my memory of the conversation and therefore probably not what she said at all. But isn't that how life goes? And if we didn't go with it a little we'd have zero material, so bear with me. Also, it was really nice of her to cheer me up when I totally called HER and interrupted her evening with my hunger-fueled angst. Thank you, Sister Little.)

She started telling me about this series of books she was reading by Isaac Asimov and how the first couple of books he wrote in this series were almost exactly alike and therefore really boring but how the last one was written twenty years later and it was so amazing it changed her life and she wants to have his cryogenetically preserved babies.

Okay, I made the last part up.

And I was all, "I'm feeling like a suck writer and you tell me how Isaac Asimov is so awesome he changed your whole worldview with one novel?"

And then she was all, "Well, you shouldn't compare yourself to the greats."

(pause for souls to be crushed and angels to fall from heaven)

In the pause, she may have heard my psyche keening for its hold on perspective. 

<insert uncomfortable silence>

And then she said something like, "This is sort of like when you told me about how giving birth completed you right after I broke up with my boyfriend, isn't it?"

And I was all, "YES."

(!!!)

But then she reversed and started distracting me with how eventually -- as Asimov went on to write forty gazillion books -- he decided to bring all his fake worlds in line with the same planets and everything. And so then, there I was -- standing in my kitchen starving to death because it was eight at night and I'd just gotten home from the world's longest meeting and hadn't eaten since noon -- listening to my sister wax on about Asimov's genius and I started thinking about Asimov standing in his kitchen in the eighties and making that newfangled microwave popcorn and stressing the fuck out because OMG THE PLANETS ARE ALL NAMED DIFFERENT THINGS. And maybe even the great Asimov pulled his hair out and drank some extra wine and stressed over HOW THAT THING HE COMPLETELY MADE UP WASN'T QUITE RIGHT.

And every time I'm sure that it doesn't matter a bit whether or not I try to make my completely fake world right, I should remember that Asimov getting his completely fake world right changed my sister's whole life.

And so it's worth a shot.

One of the things I love about my husband is his awareness of my domestic shortcomings. I'm a terrible cook. I don't know how to bleach clothes. I'm loathe to scrub floors. It's not that I do nothing -- I do a lot of the laundry (while not using bleach), I clean the house weekly, I have learned how to use the lawn mower, I "cook" pretty often (tuna buns and mac & cheese, usually). My problem isn't that I'm too stupid to learn how to do these chores properly. My problem is that I just don't give a shit about knowing how to do them. I tried for a few years to care, and it failed, and then I started trying to write books and gave up completely on doing anything other than the bare minimum when it comes to domestic domination.

Which is why it's so hilarious that he gave me a tiny book for Christmas called Don'ts for Wives. It was written in 1913. From time to time, when I'm feeling particularly annoyed with society, I'll quote it. I've created a new category in my sidebar called Stupid Things People Think About Women in which I will store them. And I will tell you why I feel provoked on that particular day to go to the well.

Today's Stupid Things People Think About Women is inspired by two fine ladies' posts about the fact men often tell young women to smile and treat them as objects. Yes, they still do. I remember analyzing in my younger days why the hell any complete stranger would care whether I was smiling or not and then feeling weirdly guilty for having my choice of expression on my face in public, even right after my grandparents died.

I have heard people do it in stores to my daughter, who is not responsible for delighting you with her beautiful red hair and sunny smile. I have told her she does not have to smile on command. It's good form to thank someone for a compliment if it's meant sincerely, which she does to all the checkout ladies who ooh and aah over her hair. But it's a fine line, and after reading AV's post, I decided to explain the difference between a nice compliment and someone just telling you to behave like they want you to when they are not your parent or friend. She's just going to get prettier, I'm sure of it, and I don't want her to go thinking she is responsible for anyone else's viewing pleasure. It starts in tweendom. I am not overreacting. Have you seen the "I'm Hot" tshirts in size 6x? 

I don't hate men. I don't hate women. I hate it when PEOPLE of either gender insist we live in a post-feminist society just because we're not aware we're still doing it.  Most people don't think a thing of commenting endlessly on a little girl's appearance or dress and not a little boy's, thus convincing her that the one thing in life she will always be judged for first is her beauty or lack thereof. Not her actions, not her determination, not her intelligence, but her beauty. Listen to yourself -- aloud or not -- for a week as you move through the world, and see if you do it. I do it. We all do it. Because we've been raised that way. It's unconscious, and these posts are important because they can help you raise your level of awareness first and stop doing it second.

And so! Don'ts for Wives!

Don't grudge your husband his little luxuries -- his cigarette, or his pipes, or his books. Who has a better right to them than the man who earns them? (p. 19)

Don't refuse to entertain your husband's friends because it is a "bother." Nothing pains a man more than finding only a cold welcome when he brings home a chum. (p. 58)

Don't talk to your husband about anything of a worrying nature until he has finished his evening meal. (p. 50)

It seems silly now, not so much 100 years ago. I hope 100 years from now not every young woman who wants to be recognized for her singing or acting ability has to get half-naked on the cover of every magazine that my little girl sees when she stands in line for groceries. Post-feminist society, my ass.

UPDATED: 2:05 CT

I thought about some of the comments, and I think I wrote this too fast and didn't articulate myself very well. I probably should've left the comments about my daughter out of it because then the focus moved to her and whether or not her situation is unique. My argument is actually that we, as a culture, discuss women's appearance more often in casual conversation than we do men's. Even if it's a compliment, this constant focus on women's appearances reinforces the idea that women are something to be looked at and as such their appearance is appropriate for critical analysis.

I've noticed I do it myself. Maybe I grew up with women and girls more focused on appearance than my readers did -- that could totally be true. And the unwanted male attention has almost always come in anonymous settings -- strangers made shitty comments and people I knew just focused attention on it. And I did it to them. I found that when I really paid attention to my internal monologue, when I saw a young woman, I would think about how she looked in a different way than I do with young men. It's not a sexualized thing, either -- it's just that how a woman looks seems more important to us collectively than it does when we're talking about a man. I think we all like attractive people across the board, but what I'm talking about isn't even necessarily about attractiveness, but rather the idea that it is more important that a woman appear friendly and put-together than a man. 

You may not fall prey to this thinking. I can think of a handful of people right now who I know are reading this and laughing -- and you know who you are. But watch a few TV shows and note whether the women and men are portrayed as putting the same amount of time and dialogue into their appearance. Read some celebrity gossip magazines and see where the focus is. Watch a female political candidate speak and then a man speak and see whose appearance is brought up more often (exception: Boehner and his spray tan -- but that is an extreme measure -- a woman just has to be, well, there). Listen to conversations in public places -- when women see each other, do they comment immediately on each other's appearance or not? Now listen to men. Do they talk about appearance or not? When you greet your friend's high-school-aged daughter, do you think about how she's dressed and whether or not she bites her nails? Now think of your friend's high-school-aged son. Do you check to see he's properly groomed?

If we were truly not unconsciously still holding women up to a higher appearance standard than men -- as though they shouldn't leave the house if they are not up to certain standards -- then we would see no difference in any of my above examples. I don't think we're there yet. What do you think?

I took the little angel to The Nutcracker yesterday. Since she is still in ballet, I thought it might be time to go view the big guns in their gorgeous new home downtown. I bought the tickets the minute they went on sale, back in November, for the Sunday matinee. Because I've never been to the new performing arts center, I just angled for the closest seat I could find to the stage, even though it was sort of over on the side, which can sometimes suck.

This did not suck.

It was a frickin' box. With five chairs in the whole thing. And a WAITER.

The coat check guy looked at our tickets and mentioned it might just be a box, and I thought, oh my gosh, I have never sat in a box in my life. My child's head will explode.

We wandered through the gorgeous glass lobby so bright I needed sunglasses and wound our way around to the box. 

We were the first ones there, soon to be joined by a sweet family with a little tiny girl who will no doubt demand to be driven to prom in a limo following this experience. My girl and I marveled at the view. We could see the entire orchestra from that angle, as well as almost every single person in the audience. 

"You know, I didn't do this on purpose," I told my girl. "We may never achieve this level of seating here again. Now that everyone's seen it, it's going to be hard to come by."

She grinned ear to ear.

The waiter came by and asked if we would like to order some holiday cookies or drinks for intermission. Why yes, we would! 

"Can you believe it?" she kept asking, echoing me, I'm sure, who probably sounded like the world's biggest hick to the family next to us with enough money to take a two-year-old who had to leave halfway through the second act to watch her first Nutcracker from such an awesome seat. But I didn't care. I'm not wealthy, and I don't get to treat my girl to such things every day. 

As we walked out, I hoped she would remember her first trip to see the Kansas City Ballet, the first time we sat in the new performing arts center and the first time we experienced the glory that is box seats together, just the two of us, giggling like idiots through the whole thing.

I know I will.

---

Read my review of The Literary Ladies Guide to the Writing Life by Nava Atlas on Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews!

This week I've been unsubscribing to almost everything that comes into my inbox. A few things I've felt horribly guilty about unscubscribing from -- causes I care about, political updates -- and some I've had to ask myself why the hell I've been deleting this for the past five years instead of just getting off the list. 

I remind myself I know where to find these things if I need them.

I keep waiting for the inbox to die down, if I'll be able to tell I eliminated things or if other things will just grow back to replace them, things from which I can't unsubscribe. People from whom I can't unsubscribe. (Now wouldn't THAT be great?)

I wonder if it will make me feel unimportant or lonely if the inbox isn't flooded. I try to remember the last time this happened. It's not that I am so important, you see, but more that I conduct so much of my life online and get automatically added to new product updates! and great deals! And I've since realized that I don't have any money for great deals, anyway, and my delete finger is sore from all that blah, blah, blah. All I want to do is go read a book, watch a movie, be entertained. I don't want to sort through catalogs or newspapers or coupons or email. I want to sit down and know I will be interested in that which presents itself before me. 

I'm having a day in which everything and nothing is interesting. My concentration lags and my eye keeps going to the window. It's Friday afternoon, and I have a lot to do, and I just don't want to.

I want to hear a story instead.

I think the faster I get through this mound of work, the faster I will get to my story.

Unsubscribe.

Unsubscribe.

Unsubscribe.

Welcome to the 2011 Surrender, Dorothy Blogger Book Gift Guide! This year, I've linked all the books to their spot on the shelf at the Bookstore That Gives (remember that rockstar high school intern?). A portion of your purchase price can be designated to go to the school of your choice.

Some of these authors have more than one book, so I've put my favorite one in this gift guide. *This list is, of course, not complete ... I limited it this year to people I've met via blogging. If I've left you off, please let me know! I'm getting old.

Sleep Is for the Weak

Edited by ... moi! I know, you're shocked. Get the original mommyblogger anthology with 25 bloggers who have gone on to greatness. Buy here.

Let's Panic About Babies

By Alice Bradley and Eden Marriott Kennedy

Eden and Alice have always been hilarious, but this book takes it to a new level. Buy here.

The Beauty of Different

By Karen Walrond

I bought one for me and one for my daughter. May she always feel beautiful. Buy here.

It Sucked and Then I Cried

by Heather B. Armstrong

How her blog readers saved her from postpartum depression. Buy here.

The Pioneer Woman

By Ree Drummond

I read part of Ree's love story on her blog, and that's what made me fall in love with her as a person. Here's the whole thing in book form. Buy here.

PunditMom's Mothers of Intention

by Joanne Bamberger

Mothers and political activism so totally go together. Buy here.

Professional Blogging for Dummies

By Susan Getgood

Susan's really smart about this stuff. Also, she quoted me in her book. HA! Buy here.

The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball

By Risa Green

I've enjoyed all of Risa's books, but my favorite is this young adult mystery. Buy here.

Falling Apart in One Piece

by Stacy Morrison

A heartbreakingly beautiful memoir about what matters in life. Buy here.

What I Would Tell Her

by Andrea N. Richesin

Nicki is the anthologist to end all anthologists -- my favorite is the one with the stories of dads for their daughters. Kleenex alert. Buy here.

Mommy Doesn't Drink Here Anymore

by Rachael Brownell

An honest, raw and well written story of sobriety. Buy here.

Rockabye

by Rebecca Woolf

A baby and a husband and an armful of tattoos so young -- and so right. Buy here.

Make It Fast, Cook It Slow

by Stephanie O'Dea

I have made a bunch of these crockpot recipes. They are good. Buy here.

The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published

by Arielle Eckstut and David Henry Sterry

The best book on the publishing business I've read yet, and I've read a lot of them. Buy here.

Insatiable

by Erica Rivera

Erica's first memoir on her struggles with eating disorders -- I couldn't rip my eyes away from the pages. Buy here.

Hollywood Car Wash

by Lori Culwell

Lori self-published this novel and then sold so many copies it was bought by Simon & Schuster. Buy here.

Kirtsy Takes a Bow

Edited by Laura Mayes

Laura's collection is beautiful and insightful. Full disclosure: I also have a piece in it! Buy here.

Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety

by Judith Warner

I interviewed Judith about her second book for BlogHer, but I really loved her first one best. Buy here.

The Happiness Project

by Gretchen Rubin

I met Gretchen when I interviewed her about happiness in marriage for a series on BlogHer. Loved her comments, loved her book. Buy here.

Life From Scratch

by Melissa Ford

A novel about a blogger. What's not to love? Buy here.

The Mominatrix's Guide to Sex

by Kristen Chase

After a few years writing a sex column and four kids -- um, I believe her. Buy here.

As the holiday giving season/tax year draws to a close, please keep in mind you can also give a tax-deductible donation DIRECTLY TO YOUR SCHOOL. Just ask at the school office. 

Reading is awesome. Writing is awesome. Schools teach both. Please support your schools, whether or not you have kids.

Lately I've been on a tear for truth. I've been reading a lot of novels. I've been thinking about the economy, about thankfulness, about the fragility and magnificence of all I hold dear.

The books I love most are the ones that reveal truths about us as a people. Gulliver's Travels, a political satire that -- to me -- identifies so completely the difference between humans and completely rational creatures. Completely rational creatures wouldn't fight for truth; they'd only fight for resources. Completely rational creatures, actually, would probably never fight at all. It's such a waste of energy. They probably wouldn't love, either, because love is a risk for which there is no algorithm and no bonded guarantee. 

At night, I've been reading novel after novel trying to identify exactly what it is I want to write about next. With every passing day, I grow more frustrated with our leaders' inability to agree. Our collective inability to do the things that serve the greater good. The struggle between protecting ourselves from each other and protecting each other from ourselves. 

We read history to avoid repeating it, but inevitably history is only one side of the story. The maddening thing about humanity is that our egos make it so difficult to be compassionate, to see the other person's side. It is deeply painful to truly hear another's negative perception of yourself. It takes an act of faith to open yourself up to the criticism of your actions without defensiveness -- but if you can, it's a gift. How then, do we balance that insight with the belief we can succeed despite our many and obvious flaws? How do we pick ourselves up and change and make the world a better place?

It gets dark early these days, and so, after my daughter goes to bed, I turn to more and more novels, searching for the veracity buried there. And I think about what I want to write. And how in order to do so, I have to be willing to accept that not everyone will see what I see, and that's okay because we are not -- will never be -- completely rational creatures with one collective definition of truth.

And there is so much value in that. 

We see our own truth in glimpses on days that are truly horrible or truly fantastic, and the rest of the time we we seek that understanding of the world. Maybe understanding, even if the world is not what we wanted it to be, is happiness. 

I go into this winter seeking that feeling and trying to write a little faster to capture it before I walk into a crowd and forget all about it.

So about a week ago, I got the following email:

Hello,

I know, I’m supposed to follow your blog, comment regularly and build a relationship before sending you a note. 

But I’m a high school student interning at a nonprofit, and I’m helping spread the word about a book giveaway for classrooms.  So I hope that you will welcome a good message from a teen as much as you would a note from a regular reader.  In any event, please forgive the lapse of blogger etiquette as I try to help get books into the hands of kids who need them.

Author & TV host Leon Logothetis is giving away books for classrooms (not his book – whatever books the teacher wants). Teachers and parents can enter to win, so I hope you will find this interesting and worth sharing with your readers.

There’s no purchase necessary.  Just visit http://ClassWish.org/FreeBooks

Leon, author of Adventures of a Nobody, is driving the Kindness Cab from New York Times Square to Los Angeles for the start of World Kindness Week, November 14.

Upon his arrival, he will announce the winning classrooms that will receive free books.

Leon is working with http://ClassWish.org, which helps teachers and PTAs get the classroom resources they need, without spending their own money.  

Again, I hope the chance for children to receive free books will win out over me not being a regular reader, and I hope that you will please share this opportunity with the teachers and parents at your child’s school and with your readers.  Again, it’s:  http://ClassWish.org/FreeBooks

Thank you very much!

Best wishes,

Marc 

I was amused by his repetition of the fact he does not read my blog and has never read my blog. However, I checked out the site he was talking about and was so impressed I put a redirect on my Sleep Is for the Weak cover in the right rail of this site so if you click it now, you'll be buying it from this store and helping out educators.

And then I wrote Marc back:

Hi Marc-

I'm choosing to believe you are really a high school student and not a highly paid marketer in disguise. Either way, the site looks great and I just facebooked and tweeted it. Excellent job, you have a bright future in front of you because your voice is better than most of the eight gazillion professional pitches I get for this blog.

Best,

RJBA

Then I got an email from the co-founder:

Hi Rita,

Marc was so thrilled by your note that he passed it on to me (I am the co-founder of ClassWish.org).  He is, indeed, a high school student – one of several interning with us from School of the Future, here in Manhattan.

These students understand why this cause is so urgent; they live with the need every day.

I’m copying him and his faculty advisor, Emily, in on this note.

Rita, thanks for your faith and your help in spreading the word.

Marc, take a bow!

Rita, Marc admitted that he didn’t read your blog, but I just took a look.  Sleep is for the Weak, indeed! 

You might also be interested in this – your book in a new bookstore that supports classrooms.  The site offers a 10% discount plus a donation to classrooms (generally 10% on paperbacks and 20% on hardback trade books):

https://bookstorethatgives.mybooksandmore.com/MBM/actions/searchHandler.do?userType=MLB&tabID=GENERAL&itemNum=ITEM:2&key=0007678415&nextPage=booksDetails&parentNum=12865

Thank you again for your support.

Best wishes,

Robert

The email ended up going to Marc's faculty advisor. I am thrilled to have Sleep Is for the Weak in this store. Sometimes, it's totally worth it to open those emails, and this was one of those times.