Category Archives: writing

Serenity and Chaos

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I’ve been looking forward to speaking at the Southern Festival of the Book for some time, not least because I’m being introduced by a fellow bookstore owner named Chuck Beard. I’m scheduled for an hour this Saturday at noon in the library (with the pipe wrench).

Of course, looking forward to something involves having done some planning, and I thought the ducks were aligned for this trip. Yesterday, after teaching speech class and racing back to throw professional clothes in a bag for an overnight conference, I went to my “author drawer”–the place in the bookstore where I keep any and all correspondence pertaining to my current or prospective book–and reached for the Southern Festival envelope.

It wasn’t there.

Check to see if it’s fallen behind. Nope. Check the drawer below. Nope. Check the bill drawer in case it got mixed up. Nope. Make accusatory comments to Jack about moving envelope. Nope. Apologize to Jack. Panic.

Now normally, I can solve simple problems, but this was the week we opened the cafe, my speech students gave their midterms, and the medical organization I work with holds its flagship conference. So instead of choosing door number one–adult behavior involving calling the festival to determine hotel arrangements and reprinting a map to Nashville from the conference hotel–I opted for door two: curl into the bookstore armchair in a fetal position and place a whiny desperate phone call to Serenity, the appropriately-named festival director.

Hearing oneself on the phone saying in a shaky voice to someone you have never met “…and I swear to you I’m a competent adult not a prima donna I just lost the envelope” is kind of a wake up call for how much stress you’re actually juggling. As soon as we get back from this festival I’m enrolling in a yoga class.

Serenity talked me down from the ledge, and Chuck offered us a place to stay when it turned out we didn’t have one. (We have always relied on the kindness of strangers.) Life went on. The sun did not deviate from its normal course. It’s amazing how persepective-a-fying it is to realize, in the middle of a full-blown adult meltdown, that you’re the only one worried. Kinda restores a little sanity, y’know?

Jack and I made it the medical event last night, and are about to hop onto the road to Nashville, the address of our couch-surf B&B in the GPS, coffee-to-go in the cup holder.

Decaf. Best not to take chances, y’know?

Hey Ho for the Open Road – – –

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Since moving to the U.S. I’ve had many a long road trip. Coming from a country where the opposite coast could be accessed by a  2-hour drive (but the trip required packets of sandwiches, a thermos flask of coffee, and other emergency supplies) you can imagine how I’ve adapted to a place where 7 or 8 hours is the norm!

Usually Wendy and I do these long trips together and she does most of the driving. In a couple of weeks, though, I head off solo to Colorado to attend the annual PVS conference (Prison Visitation and Support, and by the way thank you for all those postcards).

Wendy was originally slated to go with me and visit with old friends who recently moved to Pueblo, so she organized a couple of book gigs along the way: LuAnn Locke’s Afterwords in Edwardsville, Illinois and in Wichita, Kansas at Al’s Old and New Book Store, managed by Anita Siemer. And we’d hoped to meet Hilda, owner of BookMedley, who helped arrange the KS gig.

And then—-

Unable to find someone to mind the shop in rapid succession over four road trips (we have the Southern Festival of the Book this weekend and a trip to NYC in November to see Wendy’s agent and visit Word Up Bookstore) not to mention the small matter of finding time to write her new book, and the brand new cafe upstairs in our bookstore, forced Wendy to call off. So it’s over to me.

My first big US road-trip solo! 8 hours on Tuesday to LuAnn, 7 1/2 hours on Wednesday to Anita, and 6 hours on Thursday. Then the whole thing backwards in a straight shot homeward, no stops, when the conference finishes on Sunday.

I suppose my biggest worry is navigating through the cities to find the bookstores and the conference hotel. Talking with the book clubs and guests at bookstore events is fun. Wendy wrote the book, but we both lived it, and over the months we’ve been doing events patterns of questions have emerged, yet pleasant and surprising insights as well.

Then as soon as I get back we prepare for New York, but that will be (at least partly) a train ride. And we will get to visit with last year’s live-in shopsitter, Andrew “perfect” Whalen, who promises to show us a good time in Brooklyn.

Should we be afraid, do you think?

Meanwhile, I have nothing to fear but the drive itself. I used to think, when a little boy, that the annual summer holiday trip from Dunfermline to Aberdour (about 15 miles) was a long journey and a real adventure. We took a break halfway at Otterson Loch–in the words of the famous old ballad: Half Ower, Half Ower, tae Aberdour–where I’d catch minnows and put them in a jar.

That was then, this is now! I’ll settle for finding the hotel.

Editor’s note: Wendy would like to mention that Jack may not be worried, but she is. He keeps telling customers that he’s driving to “Arizona.” She has pointed out several times that Colorado is a different place, but Jack just waves his hand. “Pshaw, it’s out west someplace, and it’s all America, isn’t it?” {sigh}