Pas de France
Until today, due to Internet avoidance issues, I hadn't looked at my gmail account in about two weeks. I'll try to get to the many messages there soon.
One of the things I was avoiding was a post-Frankfurt Book Fair e-mail from my agent about the French launch of the Liquor novels, and how my publisher Au Diable Vauvert would still like me to come to France. It's hard to explain without sounding ungrateful to people who have faith in me that, at this point in my life, it would be impossible for me to go Be The Author at the bookstore down the street, let alone overseas. Sometimes I barely remember how to act like a human being, let alone a Famous Writer. Now that I'm cruising at least somewhat sanely after the craziness of the past three years, culminating in the series of horrible, dangerous choices I made last winter, I'm not going to force myself into anything. I'm going to help keep vigil at the church and tend my garden and read a lot. If I take a notion to spend a week by myself in Amsterdam in January, well, I just might do so. But a big splashy public week of interviews and signings in beautiful, delicious, kind, but (to me, always) utterly terrifying Paris ... I wish it weren't out of the question, but for now, it is.
One of the things I was avoiding was a post-Frankfurt Book Fair e-mail from my agent about the French launch of the Liquor novels, and how my publisher Au Diable Vauvert would still like me to come to France. It's hard to explain without sounding ungrateful to people who have faith in me that, at this point in my life, it would be impossible for me to go Be The Author at the bookstore down the street, let alone overseas. Sometimes I barely remember how to act like a human being, let alone a Famous Writer. Now that I'm cruising at least somewhat sanely after the craziness of the past three years, culminating in the series of horrible, dangerous choices I made last winter, I'm not going to force myself into anything. I'm going to help keep vigil at the church and tend my garden and read a lot. If I take a notion to spend a week by myself in Amsterdam in January, well, I just might do so. But a big splashy public week of interviews and signings in beautiful, delicious, kind, but (to me, always) utterly terrifying Paris ... I wish it weren't out of the question, but for now, it is.