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I'm in New York, the Big Apple. Tonight is my NY reading at the Barnes & Noble near the Lincoln Center (7:30, 1972 Broadway) -- the one with the huge room for events, big enough for rock groups, and too big for the likes of me. My hard-working publicist, Kelly Bowen, has warned me that of all the events on this very long one-month tour, this is the one likely to disappoint.
I walked by that store yesterday, and the photo of me on the poster made me look like a burn victim. Oh well.
At least it's no longer threatening to rain -- according to CNN, that is, but not according to the dark overcast sky from my hotel window.
I don't mind small crowds, in truth. There are always a few avid fans, and it's moving to meet them.
I've yet to work out the logistics of my gown. The skirt wrinkles, which I hadn't planned on. Yesterday I bought a Jiffy Esteam -- a clothing steamer. (It works like magic! How did I ever manage without it?) Today I need to find an extension cord, because although there may be an outlet in my improv dressing rooms, they are rarely set close to where I can hang the skirt.
By the time this 4-week tour is over, I hope to have all this worked out.
Showing posts with label travel gear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel gear. Show all posts
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
On the Road (at 63): travel advice for ageing authors
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An unhappy thumb is a wonderful problem to have to deal with, since it's caused by swarms of fans wanting their book signed. The Calgary reading was one of my favorites — intimate, yet of a good size. They forgave my stumbling delivery. (Note to self: write my talk out, experiment with reading different sections, practice.) And then they bought books and lined up to have them signed.
I write out names before I sign because people often want me to sign more than one, and I fear misspelling a name. And so I have a record, neatly recorded in the lovely Moleskin I thought would be for recording thoughts about my next novel, but was rather quickly taken over by promotion notes. So: at my Toronto launch in February, I signed for 28. This was considered a smashing success: many had more than one book to be signed, and several, as well, only wanted a signature.
In Calgary, however, I signed for 46! Many, many of these were for more than one book. It seemed like I was signing for a very long time — an hour and a half? (Impossible, surely.)
The next morning, in Vancouver, my right thumb showed signs of stress. This worried me: if my thumb completely gives out, I'm incapable of shaking a hand, much less holding a pen — much less writing.
Add to survival gear list: an ergonomic pen.
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An unhappy thumb is a wonderful problem to have to deal with, since it's caused by swarms of fans wanting their book signed. The Calgary reading was one of my favorites — intimate, yet of a good size. They forgave my stumbling delivery. (Note to self: write my talk out, experiment with reading different sections, practice.) And then they bought books and lined up to have them signed.
I write out names before I sign because people often want me to sign more than one, and I fear misspelling a name. And so I have a record, neatly recorded in the lovely Moleskin I thought would be for recording thoughts about my next novel, but was rather quickly taken over by promotion notes. So: at my Toronto launch in February, I signed for 28. This was considered a smashing success: many had more than one book to be signed, and several, as well, only wanted a signature.
In Calgary, however, I signed for 46! Many, many of these were for more than one book. It seemed like I was signing for a very long time — an hour and a half? (Impossible, surely.)
The next morning, in Vancouver, my right thumb showed signs of stress. This worried me: if my thumb completely gives out, I'm incapable of shaking a hand, much less holding a pen — much less writing.
Add to survival gear list: an ergonomic pen.
The true danger of travel
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One night "on the road" and already I fear I'm coming down with a cold. This two-stop tour (Calgary, Vancouver) is something of a test run. The big tour will be in June – four and a half weeks of travel and promotion from New York to San Francisco. I can see that one of the (many) challenges will be staying healthy, given all the different hotels with variable temperatures, all the hand shaking and closed airplane air, all the late nights and early mornings — not to mention the excitement and consequent stress.
I add to my survival gear list: Echinacea (with Golden Seal, made in our local area by St Francis Herb Farm: the best), Tea Tree oil (vile even in drops, to gargle). And Airborne, which I still believe in.
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One night "on the road" and already I fear I'm coming down with a cold. This two-stop tour (Calgary, Vancouver) is something of a test run. The big tour will be in June – four and a half weeks of travel and promotion from New York to San Francisco. I can see that one of the (many) challenges will be staying healthy, given all the different hotels with variable temperatures, all the hand shaking and closed airplane air, all the late nights and early mornings — not to mention the excitement and consequent stress.
I add to my survival gear list: Echinacea (with Golden Seal, made in our local area by St Francis Herb Farm: the best), Tea Tree oil (vile even in drops, to gargle). And Airborne, which I still believe in.
Test Tour
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Mr. Seat by the Window calls out and waves to all the crew. "Hey, Joe! Nice to see you!" He obviously lives on WestJet — which, I can attest, is a perky sort of airline (superior, in my view, to grumpy Air Canada). I quickly dig out my earplugs and open a book. I think of Alexander McCall Smith, who writes on airplanes. I think of Margaret Atwood, who writes poetry on tour. "What else is there to do?" They are the gold metal winners of the tour circuit. I'm just aiming to get through it in one piece.
I begin a list of survival gear: iPod, earplugs. I will need a purse/backpack that fits under the narrow aisle seat I now favor, something sturdy I can put my feet on (given that the seat heights are too tall for me, designed for men). A shawl and slipper socks for when it's cold; a layer I can slip off when it's hot.
I've chosen an excellent novel for travel — The Book Thief — but it's too fat. I need a slender yet engaging book. I remember traveling through Europe with War and Peace, tearing off pages as I read them, returning home with a few pages and the back cover — but I don't want to do that with this book. This is a book to pass on.
(Written last Thursday, but not posted.)
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Mr. Seat by the Window calls out and waves to all the crew. "Hey, Joe! Nice to see you!" He obviously lives on WestJet — which, I can attest, is a perky sort of airline (superior, in my view, to grumpy Air Canada). I quickly dig out my earplugs and open a book. I think of Alexander McCall Smith, who writes on airplanes. I think of Margaret Atwood, who writes poetry on tour. "What else is there to do?" They are the gold metal winners of the tour circuit. I'm just aiming to get through it in one piece.
I begin a list of survival gear: iPod, earplugs. I will need a purse/backpack that fits under the narrow aisle seat I now favor, something sturdy I can put my feet on (given that the seat heights are too tall for me, designed for men). A shawl and slipper socks for when it's cold; a layer I can slip off when it's hot.
I've chosen an excellent novel for travel — The Book Thief — but it's too fat. I need a slender yet engaging book. I remember traveling through Europe with War and Peace, tearing off pages as I read them, returning home with a few pages and the back cover — but I don't want to do that with this book. This is a book to pass on.
(Written last Thursday, but not posted.)
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