At one point, it looked like there might never be a day one in Boston. I lost track of the number of flights I was booked on then cancelled. I did not fly out of Omaha at 5:58 am as planned. By 7 pm, I was just grateful to be in Chicago, where I had a long conversation with a very nice man who was also just trying to get to Boston, but he was heading home. He was talking about the difference between personal and professional fulfillment, how he thought he might go back to graduate school. I can't honestly relate. I get to talk about writing and thinking everyday, and so far, my students seem willing to put up with me even though I am, for Fremont Nebraska, ridiculously liberal. And then here I am in Chicago with a suitcase full of books, and my phone is filling up with texts from writers and friends and they all say the same thing: you here yet? So no, no difference for me. My life is all tied up together and if I could just get to Boston, it'd be fucking amazing. Anyway, I did get to Boston sometime around 1 am, and to the hotel around 2, but of course it's hard to sleep after a day of anxiety and adrenaline.
Jen and I made it to the bookfair first thing and somehow I got through the day on 3 hours of sleep, a lot of caffeine and just a ridiculous number of buttermints that we're supposed to be giving away at the table. And of course, there were panels and writers and great friends and editors and more conversations than I can remember or process and I've already spent too much money. Really, how many Rumpus mugs does a girl need? (2, obviously, because they're 1 for 10 or 2 for 20 and everyone knows I can't do math).
If you're in Boston, you should come see us, table O11, though to be honest, I probably won't be there much today. There are a lot of panels I plan to go to. You can find me tonight at LIR, where we have just amazing people reading. I have not met Vikas Menon yet, but his poems in the first issue of burntdistrict were some of the first we took and they are just phenomenal. I'm super excited.