The Thing About Acknowledgments

It’s funny. Whenever I get to the end of a book and see an acknowledgments page, I feel a little disappointed. Granted, I’ve included acknowledgments pages in my own books, and I’ve been thrilled to see my name mentioned among the acknowledgments of authors I admire, so I’m not arguing that authors shouldn’t include them in the back pages of their books. But by the time I reach the end of a book, especially a book I love, I feel like I’ve really gotten to know the author intimately, like I’m the author’s special friend. And then I turn the page and the illusion is shattered when I see all of the author’s true confidantes listed in black and white.

Does anyone else ever feel this way, or is it just me?

We’re Not Selling…

For anyone who, like me, can’t make it out to the Madhouse Theater show tonight, here’s the script for one my skits they’ll be performing. It’s called “We’re Not Selling,” and, well, you can probably figure out what I’m satirizing…

We’re Not Selling…

Don is a seasoned Madison Avenue advertising executive. Peter is his protégé. They’re both wearing suits and have slick hair.

Don: We’re not selling hotel rooms. We’re selling sex. Do you follow me?

Peter makes a note on a notepad.

Peter: Okay. Yeah. Kind of.

Don: Good. Let’s try another one. We’re not selling cars. We’re selling…

Peter: Freedom! The open road…

Don: No. We’re selling sex. We’re not selling breakfast cereal. We’re selling…

Peter makes another note.

Peter: Family values?

Don: No. We’re selling sex. Do you see a pattern emerging?

Peter looks at his notes and screws up his face in concentration.

Peter: Ummm…

Don: Sex. The answer is always sex.

Peter: Right! Right! Oh, that’s good…

Peter begins to write in his notepad, but Don grabs it from him and tosses it away.

Don: Forget that. Let’s try another one. We’re not selling candy. We’re selling…

Peter: Sssssex?

Don: We’re not selling floor cleaner. We’re selling…

Peter: Sex.

Don: We’re not selling vitamins. We’re selling…

Peter: Sex.

Don: We’re not selling diapers. We’re selling…

Peter: Sex.

Don: Cough medicine?

Peter: Sex.

Don: And motor oil?

Peter: Sex!

Don: How about ketchup?

Peter: Sex.

Don: Raincoats! Luggage! Baked beans!

Peter: Sex. Sex. Sex.

Peter is getting hot and excited.

Don: Popsicles!

Peter: Sex!

Don: Baby powder!

Peter: Sex!

Don: Dog food!

Peter: Sex!

Don raises a hand and appears to be disgusted.

Don: No! God no! No. Dog food is always dog food.

Peter looks disappointed.

Peter: Oh.

Don punches Peter on the shoulder.

Don: Just kidding! It’s sex! Now let’s go bang some hookers.

-END-