Or are you kept awake with anxiety because you’re not a Christian, don’t expect any midnight ministrations from jolly old elves in red suits or anybody else, and have the distinct feeling that none of the Republicans who are hoping to become your President really believe in their heart of hearts that non-Christians like you are thoroughgoing American citizens like they are?

Well, don’t let your sleep deprivation paralyze you. There’s still time to rush to one of those malls that are staying open late on Christmas Eve, where you’ll hopefully find at least one bookstore that’s selling Awake!, a brand new anthology of writings (plus a few comics and some photo spreads) that address the subject of insomnia.

This choice literary compendium is edited by Steven Lee Beeber and includes contributions by such luminaries like Joyce Carol Oates, Margaret Atwood, and, uh, me!!

Buying this book won’t solve your Santa dilemma, since you’ll be so engrossed in reading it that you’ll stay awake even later than you would have if you had simply lain in bed tonight fretting. And it certainly won’t make you feel any safer from the belligerent religiosity running rampant across the land.

But you may find yourself so delightfully distracted by this entertaining bundle of reading matter that you’ll barely hear the sounds of coal chunks dropping plop, plop, plop into the stockings (if indeed there be any) hanging from your mantelpiece (if there be such) in some distant, dark room of your dwelling.

And sometime between 1:00 and 6:00 on Christmas morning (if you buy this book today) you may find yourself reading "A Little Night Misery," my Headrack story from the third issue of Barefootz Funnies that was published in 1979 and has now been out of print for a quarter-century.

The Juicy Mother "queer comix" anthology series is the brainchild and pet project of cartoonist Jennifer Camper, who put together the first installment a year ago and is now back with more, thanks to Manic D Press, who stepped into the breach when the first volume’s publisher was forced to scale back its commitments.

With the new book hitting bookstores now, it’s time to party! And as I’ve learned from experience there’s nobody more fun to party with than Ms. Camper, whose been a best buddy of mine since her comic strip "She’s My Two-Timin’ Truck-Drivin’ Mama" popped over the proverbial transom while I was putting together the second issue of Gay Comix in 1980.

So it you’re in or near the Big Apple on Saturday the 13th, hie thee downtown to Bluestockings (172 Allen Street) so you can meet a bunch of the Juicy Mother contributors. Not all of them can be there, of course, but some who will reportedly be making the scene are Diane DiMassa, Ivan Velez, Jr., Joan Hilty, Victor Hodge, David Hooper, Fly, Michael Fahy, Katie Fricas, and Chitra Ganesh.

Meanwhile, if you pick up the book you can also spend quality time with comics by the other JM cartoonists who, like me, can’t make it to Bluestockings this weekend (or if they can, are keeping it a secret so they can make a splashier entrance). They are Alison Bechdel, Tristan Cowen, Jamaica Dyer, Leanne Franson, Justin Hall, G. B. Jones, David Kelly, Robert Kirby, Carrie McNinch, Erika Moen, Sara Rojo Pérez, Karen Platt, Carlo Quispe, Lawrence Schimel, Ariel Schrag, Serpilla, Scott Treleaven, Robert Triptow, and Stephen Winter.

The are more Juicy Mother 2 events to come in other cities, by the way, so mark your calendars if you’re gonna be in Boston on November 4 (4 PM at the Center for New Words) or in Philadelphia on December 1 (at Robin’s Bookstore; check locally for the exact time). I can’t make it to the Philly signing but expect to be at the Boston one (along with Jen and Dianne).

Specifically, I see that my pal and cartooning colleague Mikhaela Reid, whose political cartoons have recently been collected in book form under the title Attack of the 50-ft. Mikhaela, is making a public appearance in Cambridge tonight (that’s September 28) in the company of her husband and fellow ‘tooner Masheka Wood.

Be prepared to be blinded by Mikhaela’s dazzling red hair as well as her dazzling intellect. (I haven’t yet met Masheka, but I’m sure he’s no slouch when it comes to hair color and intellect himself.)

And now to explain what Books In My Bookcase is all about.

The Friendly Impulse

Many of my friends are, like me, authors. Periodically they publish new books (usually with far greater frequency than I do), and when that happens my impulse is to do what I can to help make the reading public aware of their newborn offspring.

Ignoring the fact that my blog has significantly less clout when it comes to spotlighting new literary works than does, say, Oprah’s Book Club, I choose to behave as if a mention of the book in this space can make a small difference in a work’s commercial fate.

Ideally I would prefer to swing into action soon enough after a new book’s debut to contribute to its initial marketing push (maybe even provide a quotable blurb when my admiration for the book inspires me to compose blurb-level verbiage). Unfortunately, I have such difficulty finding time to simply write blog posts, much less digest entire books, that I inevitably fall behind the marketing curve when I manage to write anything at all. This is a source of great chagrin to me and I shudder to think how many friends I’ve let down over the years by failing to step up to the plate fast enough to conceivably be of some help.

In the past, of course, my uselessness as a volunteer publicist has been aggravated by the fact that I have lacked access to a publication that was itching to help me get the word out about anything, be it books or politics. But now I have my own blog, so what’s to stop me from doing what I can, even if it’s done tardily, to help the world know about what my talented friends are up to? Nothing. So there!

The Compulsion

Whenever I visit someone’s house, be they friend or foe, I can’t stop myself from drifting innocently toward any available bookcase. Having strategically positioned myself, I will stand and chat as if no ulterior motive were at play until my host leaves the room to fetch a beverage for me or see if an entree needs to be plucked from its burner. Once the coast is clear, I go into bookshelf-scanning mode.

I can’t help it. I like seeing what other people choose to stock their personal libraries with.

(By way of reassurance to any of my friends who are becoming alarmed at this point, let me add that there are limits to my nosiness. I would never, for example, go furtively burrowing in bedroom sidetables or under mattresses to see what the household’s preferred varieties of porn are. Your secrets in that arena are safe.)

But to return to a more elevated plane, I suspect that I’m not the only bookcase snoop running loose. So as a service to readers of this blog who share such proclivities, I’ve decided that I will occasionally pluck volumes randomly from my own bookcases and share a remark or two about them with you. Some of these will be books I’ve recently acquired; others will have followed me since my high school days. Some will be ragged; some pristine. Some I have kept because I actively cherish them; some are just too weird or impossibly bad to throw away.

Some of you will find this kind of indulgence entertaining. If enough of you beg me to stop, I will.