Tomorrow at this time I will be in the air. As in, flying. On a plane. I’m going to Boston to begin a week of bookseller dinners. Which means I’ll be going to four cities in seven days to eat with people who work at local bookstores in the hopes that they might really be enthused to then go forward and recommend my book when it comes out in May.

This is a big deal, if only because my wonderful publisher is putting a lot of time and money into setting everything up, and all I have to do on my end is, in their words, “be yourself.” Not hard to do most of the time—it is the default personality setting, right?—-but a bit harder under pressure. God, I just hope I don’t say anything stupid. Although that, too, is often the default setting for me.

Anyway. Hopefully my next post will be full of fun details and pictures from this trip, me recounting how I charmed everyone so very effortlessly. (Yeah, right. The last big publishing dinner I went to I actually knocked a piece of halibut into the purse of the woman sitting next to me. Which left me facing the decision of telling her right then, or just letting it stink up her very expensive purse until she found it sometime later. I told her. Luckily, she thought it was funny.)

No matter what happens, I’ll have some good stories to tell. And that, in the end, is all I really ever want, anyway.