7/01/2009
I was ripping out the voluminous weeds that have overwhelmed my garden since I went on the cataclysmic book tour '09 edition. My head's still spinning--literayyly. I had a harsh attack of vertigo that comes and goes since the awful/wonderful events on the road. (See postings, below.) But I was out there in my Border Angels shirt with Chayo, our youngest, otherwise known as Sheena Of The Jungle. We were thrilled to find an albino millipede. That felt like some kind of good omen.
Well, you long-time victims, er, readers, of this blog are familiar with the wastelanders. I know lots of new people are looking in on us now. So a brief word of explanation.
I wanted to come up with a form of writing--not writing but sketching--that was agile and flexible and impressionistic. I wanted a form that would lend intself to the wanderings of soul and mind, as well as to the wanderings of body and event. Had to be fast, you see. And fun. Otherwise, really, why do it? I wanted to inject Big Fun into my writing/being! Recess! Everybody--hit the monkeybars!
This style started to assert itself. Looks like poetry, but it is not poetry. Though there are some poems in it, even haiku. It looks like Kerouac's sketches, but it isn't like them. Maybe a little like Thomas Wolfe's old notebooks, but more lyrical. Maybe like Joe Ely's wonderful book, Bonfire of Roadmaps, but more intuitive. Basically, all me, for better or worse. My thoughts, my eyes, my spirit. I like to see how things start to create themes in the real world, how images surface and shadows oif plots and stories seem to connect pine trees or aspens, say, 4000 miles away from each other.
Certain readers take offense when I talk about FAMOUS PEOPLE, as if their fame is something that I am using to boost myself. Perhaps, if you take these sightings as WTF moments, you will enjoy them. Seeing a famous guy is like seeing a bear. Besides, these are the folks I work with now. My...colleagues. Think of them as cafeteria ladies and hotel doormen. Or bears.
Finally, the term "wastelander" is a synonym for "writer" and comes from the fabulously out-of-date book, Dictionary of Modern American Synonyms by Homer Hogan. I have taken it as my own, and will put it on ball caps, t-shirts and lit journals till I drop.
And on these scribbles.
So watch for it. I'll be posting part one of the new series here soon. You can read older ones in the archive of this blog...until I put 'em in book form!
Wandering time 4ever, wish U were here, I remain
Yrs., Luigi
How I Spent My Summer Vacation II: The Sequel
Well, you long-time victims, er, readers, of this blog are familiar with the wastelanders. I know lots of new people are looking in on us now. So a brief word of explanation.
I wanted to come up with a form of writing--not writing but sketching--that was agile and flexible and impressionistic. I wanted a form that would lend intself to the wanderings of soul and mind, as well as to the wanderings of body and event. Had to be fast, you see. And fun. Otherwise, really, why do it? I wanted to inject Big Fun into my writing/being! Recess! Everybody--hit the monkeybars!
This style started to assert itself. Looks like poetry, but it is not poetry. Though there are some poems in it, even haiku. It looks like Kerouac's sketches, but it isn't like them. Maybe a little like Thomas Wolfe's old notebooks, but more lyrical. Maybe like Joe Ely's wonderful book, Bonfire of Roadmaps, but more intuitive. Basically, all me, for better or worse. My thoughts, my eyes, my spirit. I like to see how things start to create themes in the real world, how images surface and shadows oif plots and stories seem to connect pine trees or aspens, say, 4000 miles away from each other.
Certain readers take offense when I talk about FAMOUS PEOPLE, as if their fame is something that I am using to boost myself. Perhaps, if you take these sightings as WTF moments, you will enjoy them. Seeing a famous guy is like seeing a bear. Besides, these are the folks I work with now. My...colleagues. Think of them as cafeteria ladies and hotel doormen. Or bears.
Finally, the term "wastelander" is a synonym for "writer" and comes from the fabulously out-of-date book, Dictionary of Modern American Synonyms by Homer Hogan. I have taken it as my own, and will put it on ball caps, t-shirts and lit journals till I drop.
And on these scribbles.
So watch for it. I'll be posting part one of the new series here soon. You can read older ones in the archive of this blog...until I put 'em in book form!
Wandering time 4ever, wish U were here, I remain
Yrs., Luigi
6/15/2009
Kathi and Sam were so funny, and the wedding was warm and full of laughter and love.
But here's where you get fooled by all the joy and cake. We were both so tired we were thinking only of home. Dragging through the last event. Delighted that all reviews (barring Kirkus and a few bloggers) had been amazingly positive. So. I had a mid-day interview with the books editor at the SF Chronicle.
Wandered down there to the Yerba Buena Gardens. He set up his tape recoredr and told me he'd seen the reviw of my book. I smiled and went into my prepared pre-paid Humble Author mode, when he stopped me. "It's not good news for you," he said. Zim-zam and bam! Tour ends on an uncomfortable note--his reviewer hates my book because I "trivialize" the border. ha ha! Joke's on me, y'all! So I thanked him (?) and staggered off.
San Francisco tried to ameliorate the let-down as only SF can. The next day, we were treated to a 40 person totally nude bicycle parade. Yes, indeed. Purdy nude, my friends. Like, shaved nude. And, as I pointed out to my next audience, a few of the gents were rising to the occasion.
OK. Here's how love wins out, though. My last gig in SF and for the tour was the loegendary Writers With Drinks. At the Make-Out Lounge in the Mission District. Perhaps not the perfect fit for me, since I barely drink. But I thought it would at least be joyous.
Yes. Yes. Joy. Yes.
Our hostess was the hilarious and brilliant trans-gendered Charlie. When people wanted pictures of us together, we told them they were our senior prom pix. I did the greatest reading in the long history of readings. Ever. Nobody can tell me different. And, when I told the audience about my forthcoming drubbing in the paper, they raised their glasses in a very loud toast: "Fuck you, San Francisco Chronicle!"
How can you not be thankful?
Wow. I can't even tell you more. It was like that. Up and down. Terrible, then exploding with light and love in ways I would only sound silly or pompous to share with you. Now, coffee. Poems. Gardening. Exercise.
And into the sacred Rockies for some peace and...oh yeah, more autographs.
Thank you from both of us. We love you all. We love you, Charlie.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX, L & C
How I Spent My Summer Vacation
But here's where you get fooled by all the joy and cake. We were both so tired we were thinking only of home. Dragging through the last event. Delighted that all reviews (barring Kirkus and a few bloggers) had been amazingly positive. So. I had a mid-day interview with the books editor at the SF Chronicle.
Wandered down there to the Yerba Buena Gardens. He set up his tape recoredr and told me he'd seen the reviw of my book. I smiled and went into my prepared pre-paid Humble Author mode, when he stopped me. "It's not good news for you," he said. Zim-zam and bam! Tour ends on an uncomfortable note--his reviewer hates my book because I "trivialize" the border. ha ha! Joke's on me, y'all! So I thanked him (?) and staggered off.
San Francisco tried to ameliorate the let-down as only SF can. The next day, we were treated to a 40 person totally nude bicycle parade. Yes, indeed. Purdy nude, my friends. Like, shaved nude. And, as I pointed out to my next audience, a few of the gents were rising to the occasion.
OK. Here's how love wins out, though. My last gig in SF and for the tour was the loegendary Writers With Drinks. At the Make-Out Lounge in the Mission District. Perhaps not the perfect fit for me, since I barely drink. But I thought it would at least be joyous.
Yes. Yes. Joy. Yes.
Our hostess was the hilarious and brilliant trans-gendered Charlie. When people wanted pictures of us together, we told them they were our senior prom pix. I did the greatest reading in the long history of readings. Ever. Nobody can tell me different. And, when I told the audience about my forthcoming drubbing in the paper, they raised their glasses in a very loud toast: "Fuck you, San Francisco Chronicle!"
How can you not be thankful?
Wow. I can't even tell you more. It was like that. Up and down. Terrible, then exploding with light and love in ways I would only sound silly or pompous to share with you. Now, coffee. Poems. Gardening. Exercise.
And into the sacred Rockies for some peace and...oh yeah, more autographs.
Thank you from both of us. We love you all. We love you, Charlie.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX, L & C
"I retire at the end of every tour. When I'm on the road, I'm gritting my teeth and putting up with hotels and sleep deprivation and upset tummy. But when I'm off the road, the road suddenly sounds like a magical idea again...It's just the nature of the beast." Eric Clapton
Not that I'm Eric Clapton. No. I am Atomiko.
Got in last night at the end of the most tiring, vexing, horrible, wonderful successful book tour I've ever experienced. Readers who come here or follow Cinderella and me on Twitter know the story. I am, frankly, too tired and too charred to tell you everything. And I developed vertigo somewhere on the road, so this keyboard is lazily spinning through space as I try to write to you. But I'll give it a bit of a go. Won't have much time--going down to Chi tomorrow for my 10,000th NPR show in the morning; doctor on Wed. to make sure I have thwarted diabetes with my superhuman physique and workout regimen; then, to make sure the life extends for another week, we go to our trainer on Thursday. Not the optimum week as far a peace and quiet go, especially because we have to drive out of here for Aspen on Friday. Poor Cinderella. After all that, she will have to return to Seattle to continue to deal with the ghastly mom-death details.
Didn't Joe Walsh sing, "I can't complain but sometimes I still do"?
Life's been good to me so far...
All right. Let's see here. One terrible sad death. One funeral. Two weddings. Two receptions. Eight (?) radio shows. Chicago, Kankakee, Naperville, Phoenix/Tempe, Philadelphia, NYC, POrtland, Seattle, San Diego, Pasadena, San Francisco, Berkeley, Menlo Park, Capitola, Napa. Sorry, Washington, DC. Sorry, Printers Row, Chicago. And sorry, Elliott Bay Books in Seattle. We did what we could. Most days had three to four events--interviews, book signings, radio shows, readings at night. By the end of the month, we were down to our last bath-tub washed clean underpants. For sale on E-Bay! No, no. Gad. Just kidding.
For fans who get mad when I mention famous types, I will say that we met a lot of really wonderful writers. Heroes and new friends. Michael Connelly was a true gent. Saw lots of beloved old pals, too. Sherman Alexie and his wife Diane were bright lights at BEA for us--big hugs and love in da house. Spied on James Patterson and James Ellroy. And that "View" lady. It's like bird-watching. Saw China Mieville across the room because he's seven feet tall and rises like an alabaster tower of awesomeness. Were lucky enough to see Amanda Palmer sing, and Neil Gaiman lurking like Lestat in the shadows. Etc. Just so you know. Much fun available to you on book tour.
F'r example, let us examine the end of tour--San Fran Effin' Cisco. We were in rought, sad shapr, I'll admit. The funeral for grandma had been devastating, but sweet. I know Cinderella is going to piost a guest-blog here to try to answer the meny, many, many of you who wrote and tweeted us with such kindness and soul. It made us cry. Often.
What you don't always get in this career is a sense of family from your publishing house. Little, Brown and Hachette were, in every way, unfailingly generous and loving with us. From helping us with travel, to arranginmg for flowers to be delivered to us, to picking up our funeral hotel bill. They kept in contact with us all through that bad epoch. And Geoff Shandler offered me an out at any point in the tour. But WE REFUSED TO QUIT! No way, man. No. Not stopping. Tour discipline dictates that we finish. Besdies, poor grandma was so excited about Into the Beautiful North. Imagine how sad she would have been to destroy the tour. So we marched on. March or Die!
But Geoff offered to let me come home right to the last.
We got to SF after a brutal morning. Had to get up at 4:00 to catch a 6:30 flight. Uh-huh. You who know me know that was the time I used to go to bed. You don't go on book tour to sleep. Our charming escort, Alexandra (Alex! we love you!) picked us up in her 100 foot long Benz and started the Urrea marathon, going for hours anbd hours and miles and miles, from book store to radio station to book store to church hall to0 radio station to book store in every imaginable direction. I can't tell you where we went because I don't remember.
We stayed at my beloved Hotel Monaco. I have mentioned the Monaco in past blogs. I always stay there. You find The Kings of Leon or Chrissie Hynde in the lobby. But the staff knows your name, the rooms are really sweet, they have leopard-spot robes and naughty lingerie in the closets. A chihuahua mans the night desk and wags at you. And, if you're lonesome, they bring you a bowl with a goldfish. Stay there! The French restaurant next door is also excellent, and when the Mexican waiters figured out I was from Tijuana, they kept giving us extra goodies. We damaged ourselves with the food there. (Oh no--more treadmill, more sit-ups.)
In the middle of the occupation, we attended the delightful wedding of our pals Kathi Kamen Goldmark and Sam Barry. You lit fans might recognize them from The Rock Bottom Remainders.
6/02/2009
I'm checking in with you, Dear Reader and Friend, from the middle of book tour. It has been a magnificent run so far, many cities and many hundreds of new amigos. But the tour is broken right now, and so are we.
It is Tuesday as I write this. On Sunday night, Cinderella's mother died. They were shocking her heart at her house as we talked to the terrified siblings on the cell phone. How perverse is life? We were in NYC's Hotel Warwick, Elvis's favorite hotel, and the hiding place of the Beatles. Living large. BEA had ended, and I had met heroes and critics and old friends--got to give big love to Sherman Alexie and his wife Diane. A wild little show at the KGB Bar. Everything you could hope for after five cities, seven or eight signings, four radio shows and even a wedding. With a couple of weeks to go. And...death.
It will never leave my mind that I spoke with "Grandma" on Friday as we trained from Philly to NY. She was giddy with the book and the tour. She had been calling all the book stores in Seattle to order the book so it would be all over town. She even figured out Twitter and this blog. If you look in the last posting's comments section, you'll see her first--and last ever-- comment.
My publisher has been so kind and generous to us. I still can't believe how good they have been to us. They got us home yesterday to get the kids, and they have helped us get airline tickets to Seattle for the awfulness. Ironically, Cinderella and I would have been there by Thursday anyway. Just a few days. But you don't always get a few days.
So events have been cancelled, and I apologize if you were looking for me out there. I know she would have wanted me to keep going, and she wouold have been mortified that her death blew this silly tour apart. So I'm going to still do selected things, in her honor. Believe it or not, we are flying to Portland tomorrow and I will do my appearance at Powell's. The publisher and the store to a lesser extent are counting on me. After the signing, we drive to Seattle. Funeral home details, and sadly no Elliott Bay Books noon appearance. But I will honor the University Bookstore gig at UW. The weekend is for the funeral--they want me to do the eulogy. I guess that's the curse of being the family writer.
We'll send the kids home Sunday and stagger on to California to honor all those events. Won't get home again till the 14th or so of June.
There are no guarantees, it's true.
We have been love-bombed by so many people, I can't even start to thank them all. Bloggers and critics, writers and Twitterers, students and agents--everyone. Thank you. We're doing our best. We're going to get through. But I'm telling you, if you love somebody, tell them now. If you're mad at them, get over it. If you miss them, write them or call them. Tomorrow might not come around in time. Love them now.
Don't squander your love.
L
So Long, See You Tomorrow
It is Tuesday as I write this. On Sunday night, Cinderella's mother died. They were shocking her heart at her house as we talked to the terrified siblings on the cell phone. How perverse is life? We were in NYC's Hotel Warwick, Elvis's favorite hotel, and the hiding place of the Beatles. Living large. BEA had ended, and I had met heroes and critics and old friends--got to give big love to Sherman Alexie and his wife Diane. A wild little show at the KGB Bar. Everything you could hope for after five cities, seven or eight signings, four radio shows and even a wedding. With a couple of weeks to go. And...death.
It will never leave my mind that I spoke with "Grandma" on Friday as we trained from Philly to NY. She was giddy with the book and the tour. She had been calling all the book stores in Seattle to order the book so it would be all over town. She even figured out Twitter and this blog. If you look in the last posting's comments section, you'll see her first--and last ever-- comment.
My publisher has been so kind and generous to us. I still can't believe how good they have been to us. They got us home yesterday to get the kids, and they have helped us get airline tickets to Seattle for the awfulness. Ironically, Cinderella and I would have been there by Thursday anyway. Just a few days. But you don't always get a few days.
So events have been cancelled, and I apologize if you were looking for me out there. I know she would have wanted me to keep going, and she wouold have been mortified that her death blew this silly tour apart. So I'm going to still do selected things, in her honor. Believe it or not, we are flying to Portland tomorrow and I will do my appearance at Powell's. The publisher and the store to a lesser extent are counting on me. After the signing, we drive to Seattle. Funeral home details, and sadly no Elliott Bay Books noon appearance. But I will honor the University Bookstore gig at UW. The weekend is for the funeral--they want me to do the eulogy. I guess that's the curse of being the family writer.
We'll send the kids home Sunday and stagger on to California to honor all those events. Won't get home again till the 14th or so of June.
There are no guarantees, it's true.
We have been love-bombed by so many people, I can't even start to thank them all. Bloggers and critics, writers and Twitterers, students and agents--everyone. Thank you. We're doing our best. We're going to get through. But I'm telling you, if you love somebody, tell them now. If you're mad at them, get over it. If you miss them, write them or call them. Tomorrow might not come around in time. Love them now.
Don't squander your love.
L
5/19/2009
Today is the official launch date of the book. We'll see what happens. You never know.
Thanks, everybody, for writing to us. Soon, the Beautiful North artcards will be sailing to you. I'll try to fill the requests as long as I can, so drop me a line w/ your address. As always, the Urrealists promise not to sell your data to spammers, porn sites, or male enhancement marketers.
We are leaving for Kankakee. Hope to see some of you there, Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Oh no--I won't see who wins American Idol! (Go, Adam.) Then back here for Anderson's Books in Naperville Thursday. After that--crack of dawn--Denver. See some of you at The Tattered Cover on Tudesday next week.
The schedule should be posted here on the new website. Wish we could all go together. Maybe for the paperback tour--we'll get an old Greyhound bus and take 40 pals with us! Everybody blogging and Twittering.
I'll be looking for you....
Swag! Merch! Goodies!
Thanks, everybody, for writing to us. Soon, the Beautiful North artcards will be sailing to you. I'll try to fill the requests as long as I can, so drop me a line w/ your address. As always, the Urrealists promise not to sell your data to spammers, porn sites, or male enhancement marketers.
We are leaving for Kankakee. Hope to see some of you there, Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Oh no--I won't see who wins American Idol! (Go, Adam.) Then back here for Anderson's Books in Naperville Thursday. After that--crack of dawn--Denver. See some of you at The Tattered Cover on Tudesday next week.
The schedule should be posted here on the new website. Wish we could all go together. Maybe for the paperback tour--we'll get an old Greyhound bus and take 40 pals with us! Everybody blogging and Twittering.
I'll be looking for you....
5/16/2009
Pssst! You wanna get a present from us? Send us your mail (street address) and we'll ship you a teeny tiny bit of Into the Beautiful North memorabilia. The Twitter folks are already on it.
Hit "contact," above, send me an email w/ your data. I promise not to sell it to a porn spammer.
Here Comes the Flood
Hit "contact," above, send me an email w/ your data. I promise not to sell it to a porn spammer.
It's almost quiet around here this morning. Cinderella's off getting her Book Tour Hair done. I dreamed last night I dyed my hair black--Adam Lambert Fever? Oh, maybe the book tour jitters. I've put myself through book tour boot-camp with America's Top Personal Trainer, Nicki Anderson (TM, Patent Pending). My quads and my lats and my blatz and my shats are all stronger now.
And we've been preparing some merch and swag for fans--yes, there are copies of "The Magnificent Seven" for raffle. Yes, we are making a big stack of "Nayeli and Tacho's Drive-Time Playlist" of all the favorite songs of Tres Camarones and the main characters in the book. Yes, we have hand-fans made (if you've been in a tropical Mexican moviehouse, you'll recall these cardboard fans) with the logo of Tacho's "La Mano Caida" restaurant and internet cafe. We're having 500 post-cards made to give away and/or mail to fans. Thinkin' about t-shirts.
We're arranging for the tour to be a Twitter-fest: I'm hoping Cinderella and whatever Twitteroos present will keep up a running record of each gig--and we hope to use the twits to run some of the raffles. (It's the First Inaugural Tweet-Up Tour, for those of you who follow: never tried before. My small addition to the Twit alternative history being brought into the world 140 characters at a time.) Twitta Hatas don't "get it," but I always tell long-time fans of the blogs here that Twitter is a continuation of "The Wastelander's Notebooks," one of the most popular features of this website. I can't think of a better, more immediate way to peek into a writer's mind/soul/lunchbox. So, I guess, it's a way for us to whisper secrets, enjoy pillow-talk, laugh, share notebooks and journals. It's the phone call at midnight I might have made to you when we were 16--before we were respectable and married and too sleepy to play Leonard Cohen and Shawn Phillips songs over the phone.
A Tweet-Up is when Twitter folks meet face-to-face. I'm hoping to have at least one meet us at each gig. I also hope readers of this blog will come--a Blog-Up? Ugh... That sounds like stomach flu. "Mom! Chayo just blogged-up!" Anyway, if you want to follow the scribbles and the jottings, you can always see it all: Twitter.com/Urrealism. Join us!
I will "Wasteland" the trip as best I can on here, too. We'll have a teeny tiny notebook computer w/ us.
So. I'm not ready, but I never am. The clock runs out and we'll have to leave, ready or not. As the saying goes, "No choice, no problem."
So far, Into the Beautiful North has gotten generous, sometimes ecstatic, reviews. Except for Kirkus reviews--which often ahs the same guy review my books. Anonymously. It's easy to drygulch a cowboy when you have a mask over your face! I would take the review to heart and mend my bad-writer ways, except the review is full of crap. I do listen--though paying too much attention to reviews good or bad will drive you crazy.
One of my Twitter pals calls the book Into the Tweetiful North. Ha ha ha! Or, as my Mexican readers say it: Ja, ja, ja!
First stop: Kankakee, Illinois. May 19/20. Why? Because the book ends in Kankakee, and we have a long sweet history with that fine town. (I wrote a NY Times piece about them once.)
May 21: Anderson's Books in Naperville, IL. Home town, locals coming. We'll adjourn to a pub afterwards so I can say hey.
The next day, we leave for Denver. The Holy Rocky Mountains! Home of my Eternal Soul! The Bella Luna gang is having a wedding! And afterwards, The Tattered Cover. May 26, 7:30. B there or B square.
Tempe, AZ the next day...and on and on. Updates here.
I'll be looking for you.
Hope you win the raffle.
XXX, OOO, XXX
Ludwig Aethelbert Urias
And we've been preparing some merch and swag for fans--yes, there are copies of "The Magnificent Seven" for raffle. Yes, we are making a big stack of "Nayeli and Tacho's Drive-Time Playlist" of all the favorite songs of Tres Camarones and the main characters in the book. Yes, we have hand-fans made (if you've been in a tropical Mexican moviehouse, you'll recall these cardboard fans) with the logo of Tacho's "La Mano Caida" restaurant and internet cafe. We're having 500 post-cards made to give away and/or mail to fans. Thinkin' about t-shirts.
We're arranging for the tour to be a Twitter-fest: I'm hoping Cinderella and whatever Twitteroos present will keep up a running record of each gig--and we hope to use the twits to run some of the raffles. (It's the First Inaugural Tweet-Up Tour, for those of you who follow: never tried before. My small addition to the Twit alternative history being brought into the world 140 characters at a time.) Twitta Hatas don't "get it," but I always tell long-time fans of the blogs here that Twitter is a continuation of "The Wastelander's Notebooks," one of the most popular features of this website. I can't think of a better, more immediate way to peek into a writer's mind/soul/lunchbox. So, I guess, it's a way for us to whisper secrets, enjoy pillow-talk, laugh, share notebooks and journals. It's the phone call at midnight I might have made to you when we were 16--before we were respectable and married and too sleepy to play Leonard Cohen and Shawn Phillips songs over the phone.
A Tweet-Up is when Twitter folks meet face-to-face. I'm hoping to have at least one meet us at each gig. I also hope readers of this blog will come--a Blog-Up? Ugh... That sounds like stomach flu. "Mom! Chayo just blogged-up!" Anyway, if you want to follow the scribbles and the jottings, you can always see it all: Twitter.com/Urrealism. Join us!
I will "Wasteland" the trip as best I can on here, too. We'll have a teeny tiny notebook computer w/ us.
So. I'm not ready, but I never am. The clock runs out and we'll have to leave, ready or not. As the saying goes, "No choice, no problem."
So far, Into the Beautiful North has gotten generous, sometimes ecstatic, reviews. Except for Kirkus reviews--which often ahs the same guy review my books. Anonymously. It's easy to drygulch a cowboy when you have a mask over your face! I would take the review to heart and mend my bad-writer ways, except the review is full of crap. I do listen--though paying too much attention to reviews good or bad will drive you crazy.
One of my Twitter pals calls the book Into the Tweetiful North. Ha ha ha! Or, as my Mexican readers say it: Ja, ja, ja!
First stop: Kankakee, Illinois. May 19/20. Why? Because the book ends in Kankakee, and we have a long sweet history with that fine town. (I wrote a NY Times piece about them once.)
May 21: Anderson's Books in Naperville, IL. Home town, locals coming. We'll adjourn to a pub afterwards so I can say hey.
The next day, we leave for Denver. The Holy Rocky Mountains! Home of my Eternal Soul! The Bella Luna gang is having a wedding! And afterwards, The Tattered Cover. May 26, 7:30. B there or B square.
Tempe, AZ the next day...and on and on. Updates here.
I'll be looking for you.
Hope you win the raffle.
XXX, OOO, XXX
Ludwig Aethelbert Urias
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