​I know that the first few posts are out of order.  On the first page of my website I asked for kindness and understanding because I was still learning.  This is one of the things I was talking about.
Sorry,
Dave
 
February 4, 2022

To be filed under "Things you shouldn't have to take into consideration."

If you're from Windsor, you may remember the name Carl Morgan.  Carl was the long time editor of The Windsor Star and a local author of some repute.  I also regarded Carl as a friend.  I remember him, often, selling his books out of the trunk of his car.  He'd pop the trunk open and there would be three or four boxes of different books of his that he had for sale.  So when the day arrived in the publication process of my book for me to choose how many copies of The Principal Chronicles I would be responsible to sell, it brought a smile to my face.

This was back in November of 2021.  I chose 500 paperbacks and 10 hardbacks.  When I did, I saw myself popping open the back door of my van, just like Carl, and reaching into a half empty box to sell a copy to someone on the street.  The publishing house advised me that there was an author queue, and that I probably wouldn't get any of my books until early in February.  I wasn't concerned about this.  I thought that this would give covid a chance to calm down, and maybe I could have an in-person book launch, as I'd planned, and not have to do some on-line thing.

The hard covers, all ten of them, arrived far more quickly and sold out within a day.  Although I drove to a few houses to deliver them, I didn't get to sell any out of the trunk of my car.

And I waited and waited for the five hundred.

On January 26th, I received a brief email saying, "Your books have shipped.   Estimated delivery date January 31st."  My wife and I began to look around our house, wondering where we'd store so many books.  Although I thought I might keep a box in the van, I hadn't given much thought as to where the rest of them would go.  My wife advised me though, not to send out Facebook messages or tweets telling people the books were coming.  “Wait until they’re here.  Something might happen”.  
 
The shipping company did a pretty good job letting me know where my books were as they travelled across the country.  On January 30th I received another email saying they were in Brampton and due in Windsor on the 31st.  I was very excited.
On the 31st, I called the shipping company to ask them if they could be any more specific as to when they might arrive at my house.  The man there said, "I see no reason they won't be at your house later this morning, or early this afternoon."  I was super excited.  I pretended to remain calm, but throughout the morning and early afternoon, whenever I heard anything outside, I rushed to the window like a puppy waiting on his human. 

No books.

I called the shipping company at 4:30, and a different person said, "I'm sorry Sir.  Your books arrived in Windsor this morning, but they were just off-loaded from an 18 wheeler.  They'll probably be delivered to your house tomorrow."   Not "probably tomorrow morning"  or "tomorrow afternoon" but "probably tomorrow."  I told this person, "No.  They have to be delivered tomorrow!  We have a major winter storm coming the day after tomorrow!  These are paperback books in cardboard boxes!  They can't be delivered in a snow storm!"  

I thought of what my wife had said.  “Wait.  Don’t tell anyone.  Something might happen.”

"We'll do our best, Sir."

The next morning I resumed my vigil by the front window.  At 11:00 in the morning, a delivery truck pulled up and I raced outside to greet the driver.  He gave me a bill of lading that listed my 13 boxes of books.   I ran around my driveway like that same puppy whose human had just come home.

He opened the back of his truck to show me two plastic buckets and a huge container of green liquid.  "This isn't yours?" he asked when he saw how crestfallen I was.  "BOOKS!  I'm expecting 13 boxes of books!"  "Oh... You'd better call the office.  Somebody made a mistake."

The shipping company was very apologetic.  They realized that, yes, they'd made an error, and they would find my books and make every effort to get them to me, hopefully some time today.

My wife and I looked at the weather map.  There was a huge storm on the way.  Snow for the next two full days and rain starting in a few hours.  Rain.  Not even snow.  Rain.  Rain on my paperback books in carboard boxes.  The ones I'd been waiting for for months.  Something might happen…

In November, when I ordered five hundred books, I thought only about whether or not I could sell them.  I did not worry about them being caught in a snow or rain storm.  That is not something an author should have to consider.

In any case, at just after 4:00, another delivery truck arrived.  This one had my books.  My wife and I got them into the house as quickly as we could.  Dry.  The rain started a few hours later.  Two days of snow followed that.

Selling the books out of the back of my van will have to wait.  And it will be easy compared to the waiting I did for the books to arrive.

I know that the first few posts are out of order.  On the first page of my website I asked for kindness and understanding because I was still learning.  This is one of the things I was talking about.
Sorry,
Dave
 
 
January 25, 2022

Why I wrote the book in the first place
 
For many years, I traded stories with friends and colleagues at dinner parties, at the pub, and at staff meetings.  “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you in your career?”  “What’s the best thing that happened to you this month?”   “What’s the funniest thing that’s happened?”  That kind of thing.
 
Good times.  Good laughs.
 
No one ever asked, “What’s the most depressing thing that ever happened?”  “What’s the worst thing that happened to you this year?”  Those things happened, and, if pressed, I could trade a few of those stories as well.  Teaching certainly isn’t all fun and games.  As a principal, I saw more than my fair share of bad things.  But I don’t dwell on them, and not much would be gained by telling those stories over a glass of wine and a fine dinner.
 
Near the end of my career I got the idea of spending a good portion of the final staff meeting each year by trading “Best stories of the Year.”  I forced everyone to say something positive - funny - at our last meeting.  If someone was stuck, I let them pass, but I always came back to them, and teachers knew I wasn’t going to let them off the hook.
 
And everyone did.  The vast majority were eager to tell their story.  The kid who finally got it, whatever it was.  A memory from Buddy Week.  The supportive phone call from a parent.  The school team winning a game against the arch rival.  I don’t remember what all else.  I don’t remember very many of their answers specifically.
 
But I remember the feelings I had as teachers told their stories.  I remember the laughter.  I remember being thanked - and thanked a lot - after each of these meetings.
 
It was a fine way to end a year.  Maybe one of the best ways.
 
So,  back when covid started, and the world was held in thrall by all things Donald Trump, I found myself becoming a very angry and frustrated man.  I shouted at the television.  I shouted at my smart phone.  I shook my fist at the world.
 
This wasn’t normal for me.  Although I used to have quite a temper, I learned to keep it in check a long, long time ago.  I’m known for my patience.  Almost without exception, if kids heard me ranting in the hallways it was either a performance or a joke.  I don’t remember, ever, losing my temper with a teacher.  But now I was retired and I was shouting at the world.
 
And it wasn’t an act.  I was angry.  And frustrated.  And like most people, a little bit scared.
 
So one day I sat down at my computer, and rather than yell at it, I looked through an old file I’d saved.  “Barebones Incidents” it’s called.  Hundreds of two or three sentence reminders of things that happened to me during my career.  Things that usually made me laugh.  And as I read them again, I laughed again.

I began to write some of them into short stories, and, as I finished each of them, I’d send them off to a small group of friends and family members.  Their comments were all positive and said, basically, “Keep going, these are good!”
 
I did.  I wrote about fifty of them, and forty of them made it into The Principal Chronicles.

This may be a brief entry.  I'm not sure.  A few years ago, I got together with a former teacher from Walkerville Secondary and a former student Prime Minister.  This was after I retired, but before I'd really gotten the idea of writing The Principal Chronicles.  The former teacher was working towards his Masters Degree, the former student was working for the city and finishing up her first degree.  I, pretty much newly retired, wasn't doing much of anything.

"So Dave, apart from travelling, and working around the house, what are you doing with your time?"

As I just mentioned, the truth was that I wasn't doing much of anything.

"Well, I'm doing a bit of writing..."

"Cool!  What kind?  What are you writing?"

"Short stories mostly...  You know, things that happened when I was teaching."

"Oh!  Anything published?"

"No.  But maybe I could collect them into something..."

I think you can see where this is going.  We got together again, a couple years later and a few months before covid. and I was asked again about the progress of my writing.   It was a little embarrassing.  And it lit a bit of a fire under me.  And so I began to write and covid provided the rest of the impetus for me to write and write and edit and write and organize.

But all I really wanted to do through all this was write a book.

I had no idea the number of things I was going to have to learn - about publishing, and editing, and placing pictures within text, and ISBNs and copyright and paper quality and - well - a whole lot of things I never even considered about writing a book.

And then the marketing and selling of the thing!  E-transfers and Square!  I joke on Facebook and Twitter about The Garlick Book Store, but it's not really a joke!  The neighbours must think I've become a drug dealer in my retirement!  Cars pull up to the front of the house, someone gets out, spends two or three minutes with me at the front door, an exchange is often made and they leave with a small package.  Twenty, thirty times a day.  Cars no one's seen before, and probably won't see again.

I'm not complaining, by the way.  This has been fun.  I've enjoyed the learning, and I've enjoyed the feedback I'm getting about my book.  And those people who've come to the front door?  Most have been former students, teachers and friends from High School and even Grade School.  I've been having my own mini reunions for the last three weeks, and it gets to continue for at least the next few weeks and maybe months.  And I'm also going to get to talk to groups of people again!  And there have been podcasts and maybe even recording myself reading the stories and having them fashioned into an audiobook!

So although all I really wanted to do was write a book, I've given myself a few new jobs.  And what I said for years about being a life long learner has proven to be the truth.