Notes from the road: The BAMF Book Tour November 5th Re-entry is a bitch

"What happened to his hair, Sam?" I am sitting in my bed. It turns out my mattress sucks. I have become accustomed to much cushier digs while I have been traveling around "on tour" - which sounds so fancy but is really the least glamorous thing that there is - and my own bed does not meet the standards to which I have become accustomed. Also, my mother is no longer around to help me run errands and buy me food. This is unfortunate. But the thing that is currently upsetting me is my son's new haircut: he decided to shave his head last week, and my husband made the unfortunate decision to help him do it  since I wasn't around to man the clippers. I can assure you he is regretting that now, and the results are, um, well...... not very flattering. I'll say that. We are trying to talk it out, but there is not much talking going on. More of the yelling and obscene hand gestures.

The past few days have been brutal. I came home late Sunday night after 22 hours of travel; exhausted, dehydrated, slightly congested and totally constipated. I needed a hot bath, a cup of tea, and a bong. Sadly, I do not own a bong, and I'm pretty sure my bong days are behind me. So I had a bowl of ice cream instead. Almost as good.

Not quite, but almost.

For the first 12 hours, I cried.
I cried because I was tired and feeling like crap.
I cried because I couldn't find the book I wanted to read.
I cried because our homeowners insurance was renewed with the wrong company.
I cried because my son had decided to shave his head the week before school picture day.
I cried because during my trip I had sent home gifts for Christmas and they had been distributed to their recipients already, even though it was only October.
I cried because even though I had bought a ton of presents, I forgot to buy Sam a birthday present.
I cried because I needed to unpack my suitcase.
I cried because the stove was dirty.
I cried because the shower was dirty.
I cried because we don't have a housekeeper and I was going to have to clean the stove and the shower.
I cried because the grapes weren't organic.
I cried because the cream was expired.
I cried because the crying made my eyes all puffy and I looked ancient.
I cried because I need a bikini wax.
I cried because - after 2 weeks of complaining about the cold on the mainland - I was hot.

This went on and on and on.
Sam stayed as far away as possible, and practically skipped down the driveway to go to work on Monday.

The kids, who had thought they might want to stay home from school to spend the day with me because they had missed me so much, decided by 8am that school sounded like a really good idea after all.

I cried about that too.

I didn't used to cry much, until I did. I guess reading that chapter out loud last week was like pulling the cork out of my emotional dam, and now? Waterworks. All day long.

I've been home for 3 days now. I stopped boo hoo-ing like an idiot yesterday, but I still get all misty-eyed when I remember that the shower needs scrubbing. I thought I would return from the mainland feeling triumphant but instead I feel like the world's biggest failure: I set up a series of readings that a handful of people (THANK YOU FOR BEING THERE YOU GUYS WHO WERE THERE) attended, contacted a bunch of bookstores that said no, and left a box of books sitting on my mothers floor unsold. And my kid is bald and my house is filthy.

I am not victorious.

And yet.

Every day, several times a day, someone calls or emails or texts to thank me for writing the book, or to tell me they enjoyed it, or that they gave it to a friend.

And then, of course, I cry. Again.

So that's it. The BAMF tour is officially, as they say in my hometown, OVAH.
I'm still working away - the book is going through a round of edits right now to track down and eliminate all of the pesky little typos and punctuation errors, and then I am going to get it up on a few new platforms and in a few more bookstores. It will be a life-long project, this book. I just want to sell enough copies to buy a new mattress. And a wig for my kid - the crew cut is scaring me.

Notes from the road: The BAMF Book Tour November 2. That one time I cried by accident

The last few weeks have been a healthy workout for my anxiety and self-esteem. I am in the end zone of this tour now, and last night I performed the most jubilant, cathartic - and admittedly, horrifying - victory dance ever. I had to let off some steam, somehow. It is unfortunate that I chose to do it in public, in front of everyone.

Including my ex-husband's new wife, as it turns out.

In my defense, I didn't know that the lovely woman, who enthusiastically endorsed Amazon Prime and danced near me all night long was, in fact, my ex-husband's new wife. For the record, she has a great haircut, is very sweet, and is one hell of a dancer.

The man has a type, what can I say.

And we danced. Oh, how we danced. Not together, per se, but certainly close enough to have our dancing documented in endless videos and photos which I am just now able to look at without wincing.

I am sure that, for the assembled crowd (even if they didn't realize who the players dancers were) it was all very entertaining. And while it was fun for them, it was cathartic for me. That night in the bar was the topper on a long day, filled with emotion and a lot of weird energy. And not in a good way.

Earlier that afternoon, I had a reading at my home town library. Mom rallied the troops - which is to say, she told my relatives about it. We had a pretty good turnout, all things considered. And yes, the crowd was made up entirely of friends and family, but I'll take it. So we all sat, and I talked a little bit about my experiences foster parenting, and a lot about the system, and then I made the foolish decision to read aloud from the book.

I have to say, at this point, that my book seems to make people cry. I didn't mean for that to happen. But there it is. People read this book and then send me emails and texts telling me that they are sobbing. I never know how to respond - should I say thank you, or apologize? I wrote the book, and lived through all of this, and hardly ever cry about any of it. So it came a huge surprise to me - and a horrifying reality to everyone in the room - when I got almost all the way through the chapter and then started to ugly-cry and was forced to put the book down and collect myself.

Had I simply had a tear roll down my cheek, and sniffled for a few moments, well.......... I could have pulled that off. But no. My mother had to come running over with Kleenex, and it took me much too long (it felt like hours) to regain my composure. I looked around the table at my friends, and family, my English teacher from junior high, my friend's mom, and her friend who was along for what turned out to be a pretty uncomfortable ride. Because, crying.

We - as a family, as New Englanders - do not cry. And we certainly do not cry in public. That is unbecoming. Composure is your most valuable asset, and there should never be a crack in the armor. I am sure most of the assembled crowd was sitting there trying to figure out what in GOD'S NAME would compel me to write a book filled with personal details, and then publish it. But to read it aloud in front of other people? Oh, heavens no. And then to CRY? There would be no further discussion. This little "author event" was over.

I wrapped up the reading shortly thereafter

Embarrassed about the crying thing, I needed to put the afternoon's event's behind me. I went and picked up a friend and we grabbed dinner, then headed to the bar. A band made up of friends from high school was playing, and we knew about 75% of the people in there. Since our friends are all in the mid 30's to early 40s, and most have kids, several people brought leftover Halloween candy. So I sat there at the table for a while, drinking coffee and getting jacked up on sugar. Then I decided to dance. And after that, everything gets a little fuzzy. I blame the Pixie Stix.

I had a great time. In fact, I had one of the best times I have had in a really long while. The memories might be vague, but I remember the evening fondly. However, I could be wrong about that. Was it good for you? Were you there? Seems like everyone was, and they sure looked like they were having fun based on the Facebook coverage. But who am I to say? I am not known for my good judgement.

Or my dancing. At least, not in a good way.

Notes from the road: The BAMF Book Tour October 30. What if you threw a party and nobody came?

A huge part of writing something and then publishing it - whether it is a book, an article, a blog post or a 140 character tweet - is that, once you hit publish it's out there for the whole world to see. There are no takesies backsies. Not really. It is out there, and people can read it, or not. They can pass judgement, whether with words or actions. And when what you write is for sale, and people don't buy it......... well.
Awkward.

When I self-published and then realized that self-publish also means self-promote (at least, it does if you want to sell anything) I ordered some books, lined up a few author events, and hoped for the best. Even though it was last minute. Even though I have no idea what I am doing. Even though I have no first degree literary connections whatsoever. And apparently, self-publishing is like tattooing a scarlet letter on your forehead, shooting yourself in the foot, and coming down with the plague. Simultaneously. If anyone is going to find out about this book, its going to be because I (or one of my fabulous readers - KISSES YOU GUYS) told them about it. I had to get out there and make some noise.

And so today was my first real "Meet the Author" event. The mall was suspiciously empty, and I started to get concerned. But that concern was quickly forgotten because there were signs, and a table with a fancy chair, and a stack of my books, and two pens, and...........me. I was there.

My mother in law was also there, thank god. She spotted a friend walking through the bookstore and went running after her, and possibly guilted her into buying a book. Whether she bought a copy of her own free will or not is beside the point, I like to believe she will enjoy reading it regardless.

And then my friend Kerry arrived and bought a book.

And then Sam's aunt and uncle stopped in, just to say hi and offer their moral support.

And then Sam's cousin came by and bought a copy as well.

I sat there for two hours, sold three books, and walked out of the mall into a gray drizzle, carrying a box of books in the author's walk of shame that I had been so afraid of. It wasn't so bad. I climbed in the car and headed south to New York City. I am here now with Amber, and tomorrow I have another event, in Brooklyn.
For 5 hours.
In costume.
Because it's Halloween.

You should come too. You don't even have to wear a costume!

The info can all be found on my facebook page: www.facebook.com/daffodilcampbell

I'm bringing candy and hoping for the best. And if "the best" is that I eat all the candy, well, I'm okay with that.

Notes from the road: The BAMF Book Tour October 27th The worst they can say is "no".

This weekend, I saw my book get placed in the window of a bookstore.

I walked in there, looked the owner in the eye, and said "Hello. I wrote a book. You have an ad running that says you buy books. I would like you to buy mine."

He was obviously a kind and compassionate soul. He looked at me, standing there nervously, holding out my book.

And he took it.

After flipping through the pages and looking at the cover, he turned and opened the register. "Will you take five dollars?" he asked. 

"Five dollars? Really? That seems like a lot." I hesitated. I had been hoping for two or three bucks. 

"It is more than we usually pay," he agreed, "but what the heck. I'll put it in the window. Let's see what happens. Here, write down your email and contact info for me." he pushed a piece of paper across the desk but my hands were shaking and sweaty and I couldn't actually remember my phone number.

"Can I email you? I can send you all of the information by email, if that is okay." I thought I might throw up, and I really didn't want to make a mess in this nice man's shop.

"Sure," he said agreeably. "That would be great." He handed me a bookmark that he had jotted the email on.

I walked outside and crossed the street on wobbly legs. Leigh was waiting for me, and looked over my shoulder at the store window "OH MY GOD HE'S PUTTING YOUR BOOK IN THE WINDOW."

"Yep." I said weakly. "He sure is. Can you go take a picture?  I don't think I can go back over there right now. I need a cup of coffee. Or something." Mostly I just needed to sit down. I hadn't been expecting it to go quite so smoothly, and I didn't know what to think. Was I excited? Relieved?

No, just nauseous.

But that faded as Leigh dashed across the street to document this stunning turn of events, and then we walked around for a few minutes while I tried to calm myself down. After some browsing and a few indiscreet peeks over at the window where my book sat waiting to be discovered, we climbed back in the car and drove to another bookstore. This time I wrote down my contact info on a note card and stuck it inside the front cover before I got out of the car. I walked purposefully into the bookstore and right up to the counter.

"Hello, may I speak with the person who does your book ordering?"

She fixed me with a look that told me she was the gatekeeper. Or possibly the person who did the book ordering - but she certainly wasn't going to tell me if she was.

"Sorry, there is no one here for you to speak with. If you would like to send an email our address is-" she turned back to her work as she spoke, and I interrupted her.

"May I leave this book with you? I'm from Hawaii, and I just want to leave it for your consideration." I smiled weakly. I was being dismissed, and I was trying to shove my foot in a door that was being politely - but firmly - closed in my face.

"You won't get it back" she warned me.

"That's okay." I tried to be blase about it, but what else could I say? It was better to have the book in her hands than in my suitcase. Right?

"All right." she said. No trace of a smile, and the door was once again closing. She took the book and turned to place it in a stack of other books. I turned away as well, and walked out the door. I didn't look back. I didn't ask her name, or if there was someone I could call and follow up with. I just walked away. 

"You don't have a book in your hands!" Leigh said encouragingly. "That's a good sign!"

"Well, I don't know. But at least I gave it to her, right?"

"Absolutely."

I am learning a lot on this trip. 

I am learning about rejection - and humility.

I am learning about accomplishment - and pride.

I am learning about myself, and finding strength I forgot I had.

I am learning to ask for help, and accept it.

And I am learning that people can see when someone's heart is in their hands. And the people who matter are the ones who treat it gently, and then hand it back in one piece.

Notes from the road: The BAMF Book Tour October 25th somewhere in Oregon

I am currently on a Bolt Bus traveling I-5 from Portland to Seattle.

The last few days have been wonderful - not in terms of book sales, just the warm fuzzies of seeing old friends and visiting a city I love. And wearing a fleece vest.

I left Seattle feeling pretty defeated. I was out of books - which sounds like a good thing unless you are traveling around trying to sell as many books as possible, in which case it is bad news bears. So there I was, cold and tired, sitting outside of a place called "Sip and Ship" which is apparently a wine bar, coffee shop, and mailing center. God I love the Pacific Northwest.

Anyway, I was sitting on an adirondack chair that was set up on the sidewalk along the storefront, freezing my ass off. A woman walked up leading a small terrier. She started to go inside, and then saw a sign on the door, saying that dogs were no longer allowed inside. She stopped short, not sure what to do. I reached out my hand. "I can sit with your dog - it's no problem!"

"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yep, I'm going to be sitting out here for a while waiting for my ride."

So I sat outside and spent a few minutes patting a very sweet and clearly terrified dog, who was craning her neck looking through the windows for her mama who had left her outside in the cold with a total stranger. When the woman returned, her dog was delighted, doing that full-body tail wag of enthusiasm that always makes me grin like an idiot. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee or a pastry or something to thank you." she said gratefully.

"Oh, no.... you don't need to do that - but thank you."

"No, really - I want to!"

"No, no. I don't need anything."

"Are you sure? I really want to give you something."

"Well. You know, there is something you could do......you could buy my book." I was nervous, but what the hell. This is what a book tour is all about, right?

She looked confused for a moment.

"It's on Amazon, you can buy it there, or on my website..... I mean, you don't have to. But you could take a look and if you think it might interest you......" I started to falter.

"No, I mean, yes - I will definitely buy your book. What's it about?"

I gave her a brief summary - the elevator pitch I am still working on. "It's about foster parenting and adoption. I am a foster mom, I take care of newborns that were exposed to drugs in utero."

Her eyes welled up as she stood there on the sidewalk. She reached for her face. Maybe it was the cold? It was REALLY cold outside. I was confused, and thought maybe I needed to lighten it up but she stopped me. "You do? I am a labor and delivery nurse. We just opened a rehab center for moms."

We stood there together for a few moments, talking about what each of us did, and how important it was. We parted ways with her agreeing to buy my book when she got home. I sat back down and wrapped my arms around myself against the wind. That experience - those few moments on a sidewalk in Ballard, WA, are exactly what this book tour has been like. One person at a time, one book at a time. I don't have stores ordering copies, and I don't have a ton of sales on Amazon, and no bookstore in Boston wants to have me do a reading - but that is okay. Even if I tell just one person a day about my book, I have accomplished something. Almost every day a text or email comes through with someone telling me that they are reading - or have just read - the book. Sometimes they send me notes about misspellings, or a missing word. Two people pointed out that Jeff Bridges - not Jeff Daniels - played Dude in the Big Lebowski. Every message has been welcomed. Keep them coming, because some days are (much) better than others, and even hearing about a typo is better than the deafening silence of indifference.

That is a life lesson, right there. If I have learned nothing else this week, I have learned to communicate when I appreciate something - whether it is your lovely sweater or a delicious meal or a comfortable sofa, sharing appreciation is the best way to go through life.

And so, gentle reader, I want to take this opportunity to say thank you for reading. I appreciate you, more than you know.

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: