A.K.A. Two Childhood Dreams Made Real
We’ve chosen a cover image for the book. It’s a little unsettling, quite beautiful, and suits the work well. And really, all this book stuff still feels very Christmas-morning-y to me, as in: What a thrill when a group of seasoned publishing pros all agree that this unsettling-and-quite-beautiful photo suits 200-some pages of my very hard work. What a thrill to talk fonts and design and preferred styles for quotes. What a thrill to talk ARC date (October) and pub date (March) and pre-pub-date AWP copies for late February. (Yessiree!)
This is what I’ve wanted to do with my life since I was six, and I’m finally not (only) in a room, by myself, and not (only) in a car, alone, on the way to or from someplace where I interview amazing people and witness amazing things and then rush home to write, write, write about them. There are other people—a relatively small circle, still—reading what I wrote and saying: “More people should read this. We want to make this happen.” This very thought still sends me over the moon.
I’m feeling grateful tonight.
Also, here’s something weird, for which I’m also oddly thankful:
Sunday night, I’m introducing Roger Hodgeson as he performs at a show here in town that the radio station is sponsoring.
“Who’s Roger Hodgeson?” you ask.
Roger Hodgeson’s the guy with the high voice from Supertramp. The guy who sang, “There are tiiiiiimes when all the world’s asleep/these questions run too deep/for such a simple maaaaan.” That guy.
How on earth did this end up happening? I mean, I know how it’s happening. It’s happening because when I got a list of concerts that needed introducers from my boss, I jumped on this one.
It’s surreal. Rather than a thing for work, this feels instead like a slice of my childhood showing up as some sci-fi hologram that I’m supposed to step into now, in my mid-30s. For me, Supertramp = Riding along in the backseat of my dad’s black VW Rabbit as a child, peeling the ceiling-lining from the roof as we listen to Breakfast in America. “Goodbye Stranger.” “The Logical Song.” And ESPECIALLY “Take the Long Way Home.”
I still really love the album. It’s a love that’s powered its way through several Supertamp-mocking boyfriends and one Supertramp-indifferent husband. I will still play Breakfast in America in the late stages of a car trip I’m taking by myself, and I will still sing, sing, sing along, like it’s the early ’80s and I’m seven and it’s always this perfect moment. If I can roll down the windows, even better. Tomorrow night, when I’m up on that stage welcoming Roger Hodgeson to our fair city, I’ll be in my own world. And thinking, again, with a weird, wild start: How exactly, is this happening?