So I’m sitting here making up my weekend supply list. Here’s what’s on it:
- books to sell
- copy to read from (duh!)
- origami paper
- directions for craft
- directions TO camp
- sample cyclop’s eye
- DVDs of Big Bang Theory*
- Everything else that I’m currently forgetting
*Those are for Trish the Dish (aka: Mom)
And I’m making this list because this weekend I’m going to Surprise Lake Camp to read from Lizzy Speare and the Cursed Tomb to a bunch of 11 year olds FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.
Nah, not nervous at all. What made you think that?
See the thing is I’ve never read fiction in public before. I’ve read poems, lots and lots and lots of poems but poems are different. They have a start and an end.
Start with the title.
End with the last period.
Done. A self-contained little nugget of thought and words and feelings.
But fiction starts at the title and keeps going for a long long long time. And I have no idea which part to read. The beginning when our heroine gets snatched and whisked away into her new life as the only living descendant of Shakespeare? The middle when she meets the cast of characters at the Belch Palace? When Marlowe gets pelted with tomatoes by a member of the Society and Noble Order of Bardolaters (aka: SNOBs)? Or when she battles the Medusa, creating a manticore using Prometheus Ink?
Do you see my dilemma?
Sunday is Parent’s day where I’ll attempt to charm Moms and Dads into buying a copy of my book and Monday is the reading and craft project for the kids.
If you never hear from me again, assume I was devoured by rabid mythology loving 11 year olds.
I want this on my tombstone:
PS. In other news, my buddy Don Wentworth was interviewed. He’s a TREASURE TROVE of awesome and you should read it. You’ll learn something about writing, publishing or living gracefully. Probably all three.