Musings
July 2007: Final Stretch
A couple of weeks ago, I received my first copy of the book in the mail. It was exciting at first. I noted how the weight of the book felt in my hand. How the new paper and ink gave off a whiff of that bookstore smell—minus the coffee aroma. How the cover felt like satin, and the cover art that I had only sorta liked, now suddenly made sense as a complete package. It was all there: The acknowledgments to friends and former teachers. The dedication (in code) to my parents who blush at such attention. Yes, there was joy in this product, but the package didn’t feel like it was for me. I had already felt the weight of this book for many years. Still, I wanted to share it with someone. Any one. None of my neighbors were home. My car was in the shop so I couldn’t travel to my parents’ house and surprise them the dedication page. My husband was at work, my kids were in school, so I just showed it to my wall-eyed black pug. He blinked twice. I put some Chris Botti into the CD player, so just in case anyone asked, I could tell them truthfully that I heard trumpets playing.
So as the countdown nears, I find I’m not getting much writing done. This may add to my agitation. A writer needs to write. My excuses are as follows: the kids are home from school, vacation, summer camps, mail merge (I never learned this feature for holiday cards. What makes me think I can learn it for book promotion postcards?). In addition, I’ve had a few newspapers call to interview me. My publicist has set up some signings and readings for the beginning of August. I have a radio interview for a syndicated program set up for August 1st. I am a little nervous and have some strange anxieties about this whole process. The normal (and vain) fears of exactly how heavy I’ll look in the newspaper. If I exercise constantly between now and when the photographer shows up on my door, will it make a difference? I worry that my voice will be in tact for my interview. Harry Potter premieres 10 days earlier, and I always read aloud to my kids at a pace of about 70 pages a day. Will I even be able to talk? I worry about the reading I will do in front of my hometown crowd where my parents still live. Can I say “lesbian grandmothers” in front of a mixed audience? Should I say the cuss words I’ve written or use “rats” or “sugar” (the only sanctioned expletives in the Althouse household)?
By next month, I will have answered many of these questions for myself. And I hope my mind will be busy in dialog with those who have rushed out to buy the book. I hear one word resounding in my head. YES!
Musings archives
JANUARY 2007
FEBRUARY 2007
MAY 2007
