Giving readings of Burned: A Memoir across the country: first at Bird and Beckett Bookstore, my local San Francisco Glen Park haunt—filled to the brim with friends, colleagues, students. In Conn. at R.J. Julia Bookstore, I was introduced by the director of an organization that deals with childhood trauma(Clifford Beers). The room was filled with friends of my step-daughter's—therapists—family—an old high school friend. In NYC at Borders Park Ave.—a big sign in the window with the picture of my book(a matchbook) and a display case. My editor, agent, publisher all sat in the audience—my sister(who lived the story with me) in the front row. Sat. night at Book Passage in Marin, the day after Isabel Allende read there. What do I feel? That instead of worrying about how the book is doing—looking at the amazon stats go up and down—that I can finally take in this honor—to have gotten to this place—to walk out of Book Passage with a box of thank you notes embossed with my name(a gift to all the authors). That I can savor the get-togethers before the readings—the drinks afterward—the fact that my husband has faithfully come to all the readings even though I am reading the exact same passage and keep asking, “How was it? How can I make it better next time?”
This Thursday I go to Kepler’s in Menlo Park—welcoming places where the years of labor have landed me—This story that has been unraveling for so many years can now fit in my purse—the perfect size paperback. Burned: A Memoir is out in the world.