Sorry I’ve been away, but it’s one week to the Book Launch.

That’s right, sports fans, the global release of The Book I Wrote for My Kid is October 30—also known as Thomas’ 14^th birthday—in seven short days. I just have a few notes to massage into the manuscript.

Well, a few hundred thousand notes.

Since I first posted about this, I have Spent at least a few hours every night, and most waking hours of 

my weekends scribbling notes, rewriting or moving around whole chunks of story and twice, so far, firing up the editorial backhoe to fill in two gaping plot holes.

I’m in the homestretch, though, just five chapters (out of 31) to go. Only one substantial rewrite left. And I’m not quite happy with the last page. Is anyone every happy with the last page? I don’t know.

I do know this: In a long career of overdoing it when it comes to my kids’ birthdays, this may be the pinnacle. Well beyond, say, the all-nighter I pulled building Thomas a fantastic wooden train layout in the living room, or the month I spent driving across half the Midwest to find him a specific action figure.

It does, however, pale in comparison to the efforts of Her Lovely Self, who once carried him around in a bag of water for nine months, then forcibly ejected him into the world. You have to keep perspective on these things.

I don’t know how many thousands of hours I’ve spent on this book over the past few years, but I do know if I were to multiply it out based on, say, my hourly freelance rate, it would have been cheaper to buy Thomas a car. Instead, he gets a book, the slightly desperate hope of his father that it doesn’t suck, and the reassurance that, whatever efforts I’ve expended to make him this gift, he is absolutely more than worth it.

So, apologies, all. I know some of you were hoping for an October Moment, but at this particular moment in October I’m haunted by the thought of not finishing this book, and that's scary enough for me, thanks. Hope it is for you too.

More soon…