I'm on my way back to Maine this morning and it feels like I've been gone a week although it's only been three days. But flying hundreds of miles each morning can play tricks on your internal gyroscope.
Last night's event was a dinner at Zingerman's in Ann Arbor, and my companions were a delightful mix of booksellers and librarians. Their excitement and interest in my novel was exhilerating. I felt myself to be among friends. Again I signed some galleys and realized I need to come up with an assortment of inscriptions for all occasions. It's no picnic to be witty on demand.
When I returned to the Marriott, I checked my email and received a surprise. A Google Alert popped up referring me to a story on the Huffington Post on the state of contemporary crime fiction and I was mentioned favorably.
The publication date of The Poacher's Son might still be a ways off, but every day this author thing becomes more real.
So I'm going home to Maine for five nights and then it's off to the book-loving Pacific Northwest.
To be continued...