It has been too long in between posts on this subject, and for whoever out there that reads this, I apologize for delaying. I recently moved and that hindered my focus in many arenas of life, in the scrabble to find work and find grounding in your new surroundings, things get left out, and you forget what it was you were doing before you sort of recreated yourself and your way of life in a new place. So I have been constantly thinking of this project, but not until now do I have any sort of impetus to continue on. During the duration, through many different sorts of circumstances, I have gotten the list needed down to a final four. And in a shocking turn of events, Ernest Poole was not the last book that would have been found. I have found it finally, and I had to go to the Northern most part of the country to find it. I went for a week stay in Seattle, WA with my Aunt Alicia and her family, and we went to a beach further north from her house on Bainbridge Island, and there my wife Sam and I wondered around this quaint little town and we fell into some used books stores on the little strip there. During this interim time, I have entertained the idea of renewing my pledge to this project, so maintaining connection with used bookstores has been how this project has made it through basically on life support. So, possibly on my most disillusiioned point in this project, I walk slowly through a fairly well organized little shop, and lo! and behold! Ernest Poole perfectly organized into the shelf. I didn’t have to search beneath stacks and stacks of unmanaged books, digging through dirt and dust, blow off the front dust-jacket and there it would be. This was sitting on the shelf right where it was supposed to be. And to the level that I have built this journey in my mind, I started hyperventilating. I guarded the book against my chest, keeping it safe from all of the other ‘treasure-hunters’ stalking me through the store waiting for an opportunity to wrench this precious book from my grasp. It cost $6.00 and I paid in cash. The young woman behind the counter stared at me with all of the loathing she could muster for the strangest customer she would have all week. I promised to send her a Christmas card, and burst onto the street where I couldn’t reach anyone with the good news that should accompany such an event. I had conquered my project’s white whale, and I walked up the street ringing and reringing people who would care about such a happening, but no one answered. So the story ends like a blip in a peculiar uneventful way, and I decided then, possibly that I would not complete the task at hand. But now I feel more fervent about this notion than ever. I hope soon, with the help of my brother-in-arms, Drew Moody @dgmoody, to start researching more about the Prize itself and the choosing, possibly making contact with people who are concerned with such things. Drew and I, I think, have shyed away from making such an explicit move in this project, trying not to bring too much attention to the case, because we weren’t sure if it was really going to lead to anything. So, here we are. I am just about to finish N. Scott Momaday’s House Made of Dawn, and from their Drew and I are moving onto Alice Adams, and then who knows, but we have gotten the buying part mostly out of the way, with a few exceptions that may take some drastic measures on our parts. And then we will see where we go from there. Wish us luck, we will need it.