Today, the awesome comes in two flavors: local and international!
(1) Local: Tomorrow night, Friday July 29th, my story “Commuting” will be performed by actress Bonnie Antonini at Sacramento’s Stories on Stage! The show starts at 7:30 PM at the Sacramento poetry center on 25th street (at R). So exciting! Also terrifying! But mostly exciting!
(2) International: 13 rue Thérèse was nominated for the Guardian’s First Book Award. Sweeeeeet! I just received a copy of the paperback edition for the UK (coming out in September; apparently they do paperback six months later over there rather than a year later like over here) and it is gorgeous–complete with a fabulous blurb from Simon Schama front and center: “A flirty, dirty tease of a novel.” Rowr.
Also: some great write-ups for my book from the Commonwealth: Australia’s MC Reviews, South Africa’s TO>NIGHT, and England’s The Spectator.
With all this worldwide fame, I have to wonder why I still live in a messy apartment filled with dilapidated furniture mostly pulled from dumpsters, and carpeted almost entirely in old cat puke stains. (Fortunately the carpet is cat-puke-colored, so the stains are invisible. But if you scan it with a black light, it’s like a fucking House of Horrors in here. Forensics EVERYWHERE.)
Well, I must decamp, because I have cats meowing at me for dinner. Off to go refuel their squirty stomachs so they can juice up the last few square inches of our living quarters that don’t glow like a freaking nuclear reactor when swept with my Stinkfinder. (Yes, that is what my hand-held black light is called by its marketing team–poetic, is it not?) As the husband likes to say about our dwelling: “Well, it’s a rental.”
Here I am announcing to the world that I ate an entire loaf of banana bread for lunch for I have no shame. It was delicious, and I regret nothing.
There is a great interview of me up at Fiction Writer’s Review; they asked the best questions! If you’re into books and authors, definitely look around that website, it is full of interesting, well-written stuff.
I just heard a cat throw up in the next room, but for now I am going to pretend I didn’t and continue typing… A couple of weeks ago, I was one of five featured authors at a scholarship benefit for the Christamore House in Indianapolis. It was an amazing trip: we raised over a hundred grand and I sold (and signed!) nearly three hundred books. I completely winged a 10 minute speech in front of a crowd of 1000 people–and I happened to be AWESOME. I only found out after that my image was projected to the audience from a GINORMOUS SCREEN above the stage, and I am exceedingly glad I did not know that while doing my thing up there as the self-consciousness of that knowledge would have definitely dampened my gregarious awesomeness. (Seriously, imagine the zits and lines on your face blown up like a bajillion times for an audience big enough that you can’t hold it all at once in your visual field and you will see what I mean.) Anyway, I had a grand time hanging out with the other fabulous authors (Meg Waite Clayton, Michael Koryta, Louis Bayard and Victoria Brown), being shuttled around in a gigantic limousine, cramming hors d’oeuvres in my face at a shameful rate in a room filled with women each wearing jewelry whose cost exceeds my annual income, and generally living someone else’s glamorous life for a couple of days.
I came down rather hard on my return home, as I caught quite an extravagant cold on the plane back, which is only now abating. I’ve extruded a truly stunning amount of coagulated-pea-soup-looking mucus during the interim; I should have saved it all in a massive glass jar and submitted it to the Museum of Modern Art as an “installation.” But, I bet Marina Abramovic already thought of this. (Probably she mixed the mucus with accelerant, drenched her body in it, set herself on fire while chanting L’Internationale, and called the piece “Loins of Judas.”)
Tomorrow I am flying down to Los Angeles for the LA Times Festival of Books, where I will be performing “Loins of Judas.” For now I am off to play a really exciting game called Find The Cat Puke, Hopefully Not By Stepping On It With My Bare Feet.