I mean, most of the people who I know well enough to really admire or even love, have by now read Soccer Dad and told me with energy and imagination that I wrote a book that is excellent and true and that it moved them, in one way or another. (Maybe some of them haven’t, but what kind of sad creep would focus on that?)
Also, my publisher (the individuals who work there having become part of the above-named group of people I really admire or even love) will soon tell me how many books I’ve sold to date.
Well how could the reality of the latter paragraph, however good it is, begin to compete in any meaningful way with the pure spiritual joy of the former?
There are many more conversations for me to have with other people about all this soccer and parenting stuff. But the happy heavy damage this project did to my soul: It’s all over but the shouting.
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