- I’ve gone from “comfortable shoes,” to Converses to… flip flops. That’s right. I wore flip flops today. Shh. Don’t judge. I also wore great earrings and a cool necklace, hoping people would be dazzled by sparkly things above my neck and not look at my non-pedicured toes in flip flops.
- I gawked at one of my literary heroes (yes, Zadie Smith, that would be you), drank my weak coffee, and put the complimentary cream cheese from the Author Breakfast on a gluten free roll I brought from home. I just couldn’t bear to ask for another fruit platter.
- Michael Chabon was also pretty darn inspiring. Ok, Michael, I’m going to read all of your books this summer, including the new one, Telegraph Avenue. Really.
- And then the surprise: J.R. Moehringer, who really was a fabulous speaker. When he wasn’t talking about his debut novel, Sutton, which sounds kind of interesting, he spent quite a bit of time talking about a Youtube video, which he said was what it felt like to write a novel. I’m not sure if this link will work, but if it doesn’t just search for “Skydiving Grandma”:
- There are no words to adequately describe how Kirstie Alley did as an emcee. Suffice to say… oh forget it. I just won’t go there. *shudders*
- Oh wait! Jimmy Fallon also was there, but he was onstage and offstage so quickly I almost forgot!
- I trudged from the Author breakfast to the Uptown Stage, and took a seat during the panel which had already started, about African Americans in Publishing. Fascinating. I wish I’d get more manuscripts by African Americans or about African Americans, but I’m not interested in “urban fiction” really, and that’s all I seem to get. I want stuff like Zadie Smith and Jesmyn Ward!
- Next up was a panel that was supposed to be about writing strong female characters in MG fiction but it…um… wasn’t. It wasn’t about anything really, although it was nice to hear the nice authors talking about writing up there. Just I kind of wanted to hear about strong female characters. Ok, I was clearly done with BEA.
- I left. I went out to lunch with some Women’s National Book Association friends. And then I hopped in my car, yes my car which cost me $1 million to park in NYC on a weekday, and I drove home. I did not walk uphill to Penn Station. I sat in traffic, instead, listening to the Grateful Dead on my satellite radio.
Do your feet hurt? Did you opt out of public transportation this week? Can you live with yourself?