I was too exhausted to type yesterday evening. No, really. My fingers were all Stop bothering us, woman! We’re off for the night! And it’s never a good thing for one’s fingers to decide that the only way to get that message across is to make it literal. So rather than attempt to write with fingerless hand-stumps, or my nose, I went to bed early and here I am.
I still could have slept more, to be honest, but my typing fingers, at least, are sprightly once again.
So. Yesterday. The good folks at Random House decided they need a more formal photo of me for publicity. I went in at nine and a kindly make-up artist tidied up my face. It turns out I clean up OK – who new? The photo shoot itself was fun, although apparently I have to look skeptical before I can smile. The photographer and I fell into this little pattern, where he’d say something silly (“Look like an author!”) and I’d make a suspicious face – honestly, without meaning to – and then he’d say, “Not THAT kind of author!” and then I’d laugh at him. And somewhere in the laughing, I’d smile and he’d catch it.
Then my editor, two of his colleagues, and I had lunch with some lovely librarians at an Italian restaurant called (by astonishing coincidence) “Serafina”. That was great fun. Librarians are some of my very favourite people; I know a legion of them (yes, that’s the collective noun: a legion of librarians), and I’ve never yet met one who wasn’t super. There must be some self-selecting principle at work, there. I really enjoyed talking to everyone.
I met many, many people at Random House, all of them saying such nice things about the book. I was quite overwhelmed and deeply touched by it all.
We shot some video of me in the afternoon, while I still had my face on. Those clips are going to pop up on the internet at some point, and I shall let you know when they do. By that point I was getting very tired, so I don’t quite remember what I said. It’ll be a nice surprise for everyone, including me! I have the distinct impression it was sometimes goofy, but that would have been the case even if I weren’t tired. I should also warn you that I sang. That’s right. I sang. Nobody burst into tears, so I think I did all right, but for that lapse of dignity I’m going to have to blame the exhaustion.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’d probably have sung even more if I WASN’T tired. I am incorrigible.
Rachel Hartman 