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Dec. 13, THE BIG WRAP UP. With the
Vette now braking smartly at all four corners, back to
Orlando for a final reading. For a couple of hours beforehand, sit at a
table near the door to sign books. Another author is there doing the same.
His book: a military history of Gulf War I. He asks me what my book's
about. Explain it's somewhat related, but when he hears the word
"Quaker" he says quickly, "Then you wouldn't be interested
in my book." As if being a pacifist means being a squeamish,
lace-doily kind of person who would rather stick her head in the sand than
face the facts about violence. War is where the rubber meets the road, where you have to face the really
hard questions. Hold the reading on a patio outside the store with a small
group of five, including two friends, Anne and Steve, who win the Selfless
Friends Award for attending both Orlando readings. During Q&A, we five
pacifist types engage in a vigorous
discussion about -- eek! -- war.
Next day, home to the Carolinas, where the
husband has loaded balloons into a leftover piece of desert camouflage
netting and hung it from the living room ceiling. Welcomes Rosie and me
home with a blast of music and a balloon drop. Laugh myself into his arms
for a big kiss and fade to black...
P.S. Before the Fall
2003 Big Book Tour, I expected to enjoy the driving and dread the
readings. I never expected to...
...get sick of driving. And
not just because the Vette kept needing repairs. Used to think I'd
like to be a trucker, but not anymore. Truckers, like authors on a
book tour, have no time for meandering. Drove 15,000 miles in two
months, a third again farther than the original trip, and this
time around most of it was on interstates. I'm tireder than I've
ever been. Now know I would rather open a vein than long-haul the
interstates again. Truckers of America, I salute you.
...talk to large groups of
people without getting nervous. Just goes to show you can get
used to anything. Not only do I not get nervous anymore, it
actually energizes me. Every person I meet is a new and unique story,
and yet also a very old and familiar one that I never seem to get
tired of hearing.
...owe so much to so many
people. To Blanca, the hardest working publicist in
New York, who planned this marathon; to all the booksellers, family, and
friends old and
new, who hosted me along the way; the strangers who went out of
their way to help; and everyone who attended the readings, bought
the book, or wrote to share their thoughts and encouragement -- I
never could have done it alone. Thanks to you I have a more powerful sense of my
interconnectedness with the wider human family than I've ever had
before. In this holiday season, I wish the same to all of
you. We are nothing
without each other.
Peace,
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