They approached him to blurb a book on birds. “But I don’t know anything about birds,” he said. “Sure you do. Everyone knows something about birds,” they said. “We’ll send a copy of the book your way. If we like what you write we’ll use it, if we don’t we won’t. Now, how can we reach you?”
He went through a few drafts before coming up with this number: Of all the bird books I’ve read, this is honestly the best bird book of the lot. I’ve learned so much about birds. This book is great.
“Hot dog! You’ve done it,” they said
A couple months later he received a call. “We saw what you did with that bird book. Where do you stand on airplanes?”
He blurbed books on global warming, conflict diamonds, dwarfism, new age healing, Paul Gauguin, monotheism.
“We want to assemble your blurbs in a collection. Could you put something together by Wednesday?”
He polished up a few unpublished blurbs for the fans that believed they’d already read everything he’d blurbed and mailed his manuscript.
“What is this crap?”
“My book of blurbs.”
“This is a book of crap.”
“No, no. Wait, wait. I was reading another collection of blurbs, by someone else, a lesser blurber. This collection, your collection, this is excellent. This is magic. You will be a star. You are a star. Who can we get to blurb your book? How do you feel about Emperor Penguins?”
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