In the last year or so arrivals to my P.O. box have dwindled, so that now only virtual particles bubbling up from the vacuum and checks from my distributor have appeared there. So, it’s time to reduce the keys I carry around each day by one…
I find myself sad to close it. It served me well for over a decade and I loved finding the yellow “a package is waiting for you” slip or a note from someone who just discovered one of my books and had to tell me about it by sending a letter. Paying a visit after a few weeks out of town was like unlocking a long-abandoned storage locker, one that might be full of treasure, and I have happy memories of using a trip to get my mail as a way to trick myself into getting a few miles of running in during the dead of winter.
Anyway, if you see reference to a post office box in older copies of my books and are hankering to mail beef jerky or chain letters or stuff I might actually want to hold in my hands, please don’t send it there. Instead, contact me via email and we’ll figure out what to do next.
I’m not sure what will happen to good old eighty-one forty-five next, but I’m about to find out. Or not…it probably transforms itself into a miniature black hole, from which nothing escapes. And yes, I’ve already made sure those checks don’t cross that event horizon!
