It's amazing I can type this: I've spent the past 36 hours traveling to and from Chicago, where I signed 6,144 copies of my backlist. That's four different titles, 32 cartons of each title, with 48 copies in each carton.

And you won't catch me complaining. I did this for Levy, a big wholesaler that has been really supportive of writers. When I heard they wanted me to sign books, all I needed to know was "when" and "how many"?

The thing that was totally humbling was that it took three men from the warehouse to help me do this: One slid the books down a long cafeteria table to the "pusher," who flapped the book to the title page and slid it across the table to me, I then pushed it, sort of like a bartender in an old Western, to the third guy. Mark Gustafson of Harpercollins sat with me throughout, keeping the conversation lively, but also letting me Zen out as needed. I kept tryng to guess the years of the "oldies" on the radio station playing; most of them were from the '80s. (And in keeping with the movie theme, I twice heard "What a Fool Believes," which is played during the football scene in "Personal Best.")

I took a photo of the three Levy employees who were central to this operation, but I don't know yet how to get it from my phone to the computer to this site. Some day, folks.

The warehouse is in the far, far southwestern suburbs of Chicago and the staff is overwhelmingly Latino. We worked in the cafeteria and I was happy for the lunch breaks, because the room filled with a wonderful corn smell as people microwaved dishes brought from home. These are legal residents of the U.S., working incredibly long hours; I would say how many books move through the Levy warehouse during the holiday season, but, for all I know, that's a proprietary number. Let's just say . . . A LOT.

At any rate, I would be happy to sign 61,440 books in the coming weeks. Preferably hardcover editions of Another Thing to Fall. I will make these deal with folks: Buy a hardcover at the Tuesday signing at Spoons and I'll buy you the coffee drink of your choice.

Meanwhile, for those awaiting emails -- please be patient with me. Things are more hectic than you might glean, even from these posts.

I feel like Max, only supper isn't waiting for me. I think I'll defrost the lamb ragu from a few weeks ago and walk around the harbor, get the things I need to complement it.