My last solo event for LOCKED ROOMS was Tuesday, followed by forty-eight hours of rushing about getting a daughter onto a plane, and then a rare eight-hour night’s sleep. And now I face a stretch of seven weeks of all Martinelli, all the time.
We ought to have a name for the book any time now, the emails fly fast and furious between the coasts as I propose and my editor disposes, then we reverse the process for a while, just so we both share the varieties of irritation. Honestly, my children were easier. Hell, buying a house was easier. Don’t be too surprised if you see a book with a slash in the title, her name for the thing on one side and mine on the other.
I had a very nice packet from a reader in Cuba, who sent me a set of postcards from the Hemingway house museum through a friend in Spain. For those of you who don’t know, US travel to and from Cuba is severely restricted, limited to educational groups and service organizations, with enormous penalties should some college student decide to catch a flight out of Cancun just to take a look (happened to a friend’s son–do not try this.) The ban seems ever more ridiculous, petty even, given the current state of international politics, but heaven forbid that I should be able to answer a reader there directly. (Post to Cuba isn’t exactly banned, it just tends to get lost along the way.) In any case, Dear Reader, your English is just fine, mucho mehor que mi espanol, en que yo me necessita un dicconario para hablar como una nina de tres anos. (Sorry I can’t add a tilde to that last word, I think you know what I mean.)
And for those of you who have asked specific questions here over the past month, well, maybe you should ask again. Touring is a black hole, and anything that happens during that time tends to remain there.
Glad to be back, and thanks to all of you who showed up at events, and those of you who bought copies of the book. I’ve just picked up the mail from my PO Box, so if you’ve requested a bookplate, they’ll be on their way soon.