The Unknown: The Red Line.
  Marla is our publicist. She operates out of New York City, sets up all of the book signings, the college lectures, the product endorsements and public service spots. She got us some great green in terms of the European swing. Dirk’s poetry apparently appealed to the French, William’s deconstructive fiction to the Germans, and the English took a shine to Scott’s sense of play. It was all a part of the Publicity, which turned out to be enormously important. Marla is a redhead, 5'8, and she works the phone like a demon. We hooked up with her through the Internet after the hypertext had been online for a few months, but before The Unknown itself had gone to the printer. Criticism of The Unknown then still in the planning stages. We were a little nervous about the whole thing, self-publishing, establishing our own publishing company, and thus eliminating the rest of the publishing industry, etc. It took some girding of the loins as the poets say. Marla came in right at the nick of time. She’s always just a cell-phone call away. Sure, some of our gigs may have seemed a little ridiculous, like that the signing at Ed’s Used Automobile Lot in Phoenix. She swore they said books when she booked it. Ed’s Used Book Lot. Can you imagine? But oh well, she’s pulled our asses out of the fire more times than she’s stuck us in the frying pan.

We read at coffeeshops and bars and independent booksellers from coast to coast. Things got a little crowded in the van from time to time, but we were having the time of our lives. We met so many people, some of whom we should briefly acknowledge. It almost gets you to thinking of a thousand points of light, like that wasn’t all bullshit.

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The Unknown at Spineless Books.