Notes from the road: The BAMF Book Tour October 23rd. Somewhere in Seattle.

I am lying in bed to write this.

I woke up in this bed at 4am, completely disoriented.

There was at least one dog on top of me, and at least one woman spooning me - but there were two of each in the bed, and the bed wasn't mine, and I had to pee but it was dark and the door was closed. Someone was snoring. I think it was the dog.

I made the executive decision to go back to sleep and wake up when circumstances had shifted somewhat.

I am able to report that at 5am, there was one less person in bed, but it was still dark and possibly too early for me to interact with others. So I stayed put. Now the need to pee was sort of urgent, but not as urgent as the need to brush my teeth. I pulled the covers up and went back to sleep.

At 6:30am, I was the only woman in bed, but now there was a teenage boy wandering around. Since I have one of those (almost) myownself, I finally felt free to get out of bed to pee - but then I climbed right back in, because I missed the dogs.

Now it's 10am, I still haven't brushed my teeth, and I am panicking because I am supposed to leave for Portland in a few hours, and I only have 5 books. My shipment has been delayed. Or something. That's right, the book tour is on hold waiting for delivery of books. Who can I blame for this shit when I am doing this entire tour myself? I have no idea. Acting as my own editor, publisher, agent and publicist is not easy. My cousin offered to tie my publicist to the roof and drive her to the next stop on the itinerary, however it's cold outside and I didn't bring a hat, so I politely declined. But isn't she sweet? I surround myself with such good people - I wish I was doing my part better.

The first week went pretty smoothly. Started at the Ace for Camp Mighty, was accused of attending some sort of start-up cult tech conference focused on goats and bears, which is funny because I still can't figure out how to work my cellphone so I shouldn't be starting up anything tech-related and I think goats are assholes. I sold some books, gave some books away, and then drove to LA where I gave away some more books, experienced a humbling attempt at speaking to a bookstore about carrying my book, and then flew to Seattle.

And here I am. Spending my nights in bed next to a 4 foot tall spitfire of hotness who rocks a purple mohawk and a sweater vest like no one else and a 6 foot tall retired derby girl who is the most beautiful person inside and out, plus a pug and a yorkie. I am wearing 3 layers of clothing because it is freezing fucking cold, and I spend most of my day emailing bookstores asking if they would be willing to host a reading, in, oh I don't know, a week? Or maybe tomorrow?

Really, whatever you have would be fine.

This is exactly as scary and humiliating as I had worried it might be, but it is also a huge exercise in personal growth.  I am standing there, in front of someone who has the ability to give me a huge opportunity. And each time they say no I put on a big smile and say thank you anyway.



It's going to be fine. I have 2 women and 2 dogs right here that have told me it is going to be fine.
I have friends - so many wonderful friends - who have told me the very same thing. I have been offered their cars and couches and connections to make this tour happen. I am not giving up. Which is ironic, considering: