Somewhere around 1987, I and my best friend Michael took a train trip around the U.S. before we headed off to college. We visited relatives back East, saw a show in NYC, and spent a couple days at Disney World. And, I remember vividly, stopped at a rather cool bookstore in downtown Portland while we were there on a layover. That was the first I'd ever heard of Powell's, but the memory stuck with me, and over the years I've become more and more aware of its status as one of the finest independent bookstores in the country. I always hear about great, geeky folks like Wil Wheaton
or John Hodgman
visiting for a signing, and I picture the place in my head.
Last year, when my first book came out, my parents (who are retired) were on an RV trip to the Northwest and stopped by Powell's. My dad, ever impish, went looking for my book, and cheerfully found it on a shelf with a special recommendation note on it by one of the store's staff. He sent me a picture, and I squee'd.
Indeed, Powell's has been one of the single largest sources of sales for my books, which blows my mind (not because they shouldn't be, but because it's such a cool bit of connectivity). And now I've had the honor of blogging here on their website for the last week. It means a great deal to me.
So, without being too maudlin about it, I'm very glad that I could return to Powell's after 24 years. Much like making it on Broadway is the pinnacle of a theater actor's life, I think making it at Powell's is truly hitting the big time for an author. Thanks so much for having me, and next time I'm up your way, I'll be sure to stop by and say hello.