So, I went to a reading last night. After doing a string of my own over the past three months, it was so luverly to simply sit with a latte and listen, be part of the audience, be able to (save for one very squirmy and yappy 11-month-old daughter on my lap) just close my eyes and soak it all in. I didn't have to worry about what I was wearing, how I sounded, who was there, how many books were selling, if my pen had ink in it, nothing. Just kick back. And she was great -- a well thought out presentation interspersed with excerpts from her book to illustrate the points being made. Nice! Calling out various themes of the book, like creativity, work, and love. A lively Q & A ensued. In the world of Author Events, this was a good one.
And then I went home and had this dream:
I'm at a big, fabulous bookstore in New York, something very Elliott-Bay-Book-Company-like, all the bricks and shelves and the undercurrent of activity, that hum of literary energy running like a pulse through its walls. My editor and agent and publicist and all their friends are there. The room is
packed. I am dressed really, really well (this is also how we know it's a dream) and feel somewhat confidant and non-nervous while waiting in the wings (ditto). I get up to the podium, there is a smattering of applause, I look down at my hands -- and realize I don't have my trusty old dog-eared, post-it-noted, penciled-in galley copy, the one I from which I always read. I panic. I try to stall. Someone hands me a new hardcover copy off the table, but there is something weird about it -- like the whole thing is in a foreign language, or has been taken out, shuffled, and re-bound as a book, one that I cannot make any sense of even though it has my name and my cover and my title attached to it. I try to describe scenes that I wanted to read, saying things like "wait...I'm sure I can find...um...okay...hang on...just a sec..." as people are getting up to leave. I actually ask (beg?) one man on his way out to please just give me just another few minutes, that I am sure I can find what I wanted to read, but he just sort of hangs his head and shakes it gently, as if to say, "sorry, kiddo." My hand has dropped to the podium, wrist flopped backwards at a funny angle, limp, defeated, the book splayed out like an offering, a weak explanation.
And then I woke up.
Writing, publishing, and promoting this book has been one of the most incredible experiences of my whole life. (If I had not experienced pregnancy and childbirth, I would say it has been
the single most incredible experience, but something about a) creating and then b) birthing a whole new human or two -- that's the ultimate party trick) ...but as I was saying -- incredible experience. Love the reviews. Love that I haven't even gotten a single bad one (
Kirkus was neutral, with one unflattering comment and one compliment, as per their formula). Love radio interviews and signing-only events* Love hearing sales figures and watching my Amazon ranking, nebulous as it may be, shoot from like a million-something up to 2,269 last weekend (it's fallen back to the 6-10 thousand range, but STILL!). But the getting up in front of large groups of googly eyeballs, people hanging on your every word, staring, waiting, just camped out in their seats wanting to be entertained, dazzled, taught, enlightened, while my mouth goes dry and my hands shake...not so much.
The first few were pretty bad (according to me) (and to one brutally honest friend) (there are times one would much, much prefer to be lied to. Tell me I have lipstick on my teeth maybe, but let me think, for one more blissfully ignorant day, that my favorite jeans do NOT make my butt look big. I'll take a simple yet dishonest "hey, you were great" over a full-blown critique any day. I am fragile. Some things I don't want to hear, at least not NOW and maybe not EVER) ...but then a really freaky thing happened, eventually, where I got pretty comfy at the podium, making people laugh, reading with dramatic pauses and a strong voice; suddenly possessing the ability to look away and look back down and not lose my place with a swiftness that would impress even the most seasoned newscaster. Fielding questions, sounding smart and witty and confident, chatting away about the publishing biz like an old pro.
And then the dream. A mortifying little reminder that I am still a total introvert, a spaz, not a performer, and that there are still even worse fears that I hadn't even thought of yet.
Well, no more speaking engagements for a while. PHEW.
Just these things on the slate for now:
*Monday, September 4 (Labor Day) at 9:30 a.m. on KMUN 91.9 -- a radio station out of Portland, Oregon. I'm splitting a half-hour interview show called "Literary Cafe" with writer Jami Attenberg (http://www.jamiattenberg.com/lipstick.htm). the interviewer is Kerri Buckley, and it'll be streaming online worldwide (!) at
www.coastradio.org
*Saturday, September 23 from noon-2 pm I'll be at the Carillon Point end of the Recovery Walk in Kirkland, Washington. It's like the Pride Parade, but for recovery, and it's along the Kirkland waterfront. Pretty! My part will include me, at a table, with a buncha books and a pen, talking to and selling and signing copies of Beachglass and generally just hanging out and having a grand time. Should be fabulous, we're expecting thousands of people. See www.recoverywalk.org
