It's Wednesday and I'm on the Acela to Boston. That's the fast train, which a friend once referred to as a rolling gated community. I'm headed to Boston for an appearance at
Brookline Booksmith. If anyone is actually reading
these posts, the Strand reading went fine. Afterward I went around the corner with some friends to The Old Town for a cheeseburger and a drink (and an extra order of onion rings). It's an excellent old bar. Yesterday was also the official publication day. I think it was Monday morning that a friend, sitting at the coffee shop where I spend an inordinate amount of time, called me first thing to say someone was there reading
my book. I know this is an unsophisticated thing to admit, but it's nice and meaningful the first time you hear your book is spotted outside a store being read. Then about two seconds later another friend texted me to say, "I'm sitting at your coffee shop reading your book." So I called the first friend back and said, "Does the man reading my book have a beard?" "What a strange question," she says. "Yes, he does." "Go introduce yourself," says I. "His name is Josh."
I know Josh through his wife
Rachel, who went to Iowa with me. She's an excellent poet. I mention this because not only was I thrilled at the possibilities blogging allows when I linked to the Little Debbie page on
Tuesday, but I saw that after I referenced, say,
Lethem, his book popped up in the virtual margin and I think there was a link to him, too. Rachel's been blogging this week and she just called, and so
maybe they'll link to that. And as long as I'm linking to every phone call that comes through on this train ride, the editor of
the Argentina essay I just finished checked in to discuss some spellings (yes, the racy world of writing). The essay is about a trip I made there in March.
It was sort of a visit to the city of my imagination, as I hadn't been there in sixteen years and, in the end, decided not to return until the novel ? until my Buenos Aires ? was complete. As for receiving phone calls on the train, in my defense, I've kept the calls very short and very whispery and am tempted to head over to the silent car, as the man behind me has said, 'human resources' or 'HR' no less than 38 times since Stamford.