Karen Spears Zacharias @ Much Ado About Books, pt. 1

Karen Spears Zacharias is the latest author to send Beatrice her notes from the road, as she spends this weekend at the Much Ado About Books festival in Jacksonville, Florida. Ms. Zacharias is the author of Hero Mama, a memoir about the single mother who raised her and two siblings after her father was killed in Vietnam.

Cassandra King (The Same Sweet Girls) and I crossed touring paths in Columbus, Georgia on Wednesday. We’ve both been on the road promoting our books since late January. Sandra said she knew it was time to wind down the tour when a librarian asked her, “What does your husband do, Vanessa?” (Her husband is author Pat Conroy.) Sandra and I commiserated over the talk show host in Cincinnati who had called me Helen Zacharias and my book Hello Mama. Not once, but twice during the 15 minute interview.

A sense of humor is one of the first things an author needs to pack for touring; the other is a good map.

I live in Oregon but will be spending the next few weeks in my hometown of Columbus as a writer-in-residence for the Carson McCullers Center. This weekend finds me in Jacksonville, Florida. I took the back roads over to Interstate 75 South, east through Parrott and Richland, past the Florida Folk Art roadside stand (not sure why it’s called Florida Folk Art when it’s smack-dab in Georgia) and numerous boiled peanut and fried pecan stands. I wanted to stop and buy some, but peanuts aren’t as delectable at 9 a.m. as they are at 3 p.m. with an RC Cola.

I passed several pecan plantations just outside Albany. I resisted the urge to pull up the winding drive of the Whispering Pines Plantation. The rail fencing of the plantation ran along both sides of the highway, protecting acres of pecan groves, which were all wading knee-deep in water. (Thunderstorms chased me out of Georgia, all the way into Florida.) If I had my druthers, I would mosey my way through these road trips, stopping at anybody's home I had a hankering to. I imagine the folks who live along rural highways would invite me in, offer me a tall glass of sweet tea, then we'd sit a spell and swap tales about their Aunt Mattie and her ornery ex. Of course, I never do stop. Mama taught me that it isn’t polite to drop in on unsuspecting folks. You ought to call first.

I arrived at the Hilton Hotel in Jacksonville without too much fuss, although I had to cross the Alsop Bridge and the St. John’s River twice before I finally got situated the right way. The clerk was all stirred up because John Travolta is in town, shooting a movie. If I run into Mr. Travolta on the elevator, I’m going to give him an autographed copy of Hero Mama and suggest he join me for a glass of sweet tea.

After checking in, I took a drive out to Atlantic Beach, in search of The Book Mark, the fabulous independent store along the beachfront. There was a long line of people buying books when I arrived, so I just poked through the shelves. I was tempted to buy Walter, the Farting Dog by William Kotzwinkle, Glenn Murry and Audrey Colman. But all my children are now in college and being intellectuals and such, they’d be mortified if I brought them a farting book. (The display had a button you could push to replicate Walter’s beastly functions.)

The thunderclouds were heavy-laden, so I made my way quickly back across town. Tim Dorsey was in the hotel’s lobby, asking the desk clerk about the Elvis room when I arrived. According to Internet legend, Elvis kept a suite here at the Hilton. The clerk said it was room 1010 but was now known as the San Marco Suite. Tim wanted to go have a lookey-see and invited me along. I was game but then Tim discovered we had to have a special card to make the elevator stop at the tenth floor. Tough luck, neither one of us warranted an Elvis floor key. John Travolta probably has it checked out for the weekend.

We settled on drinks and fried onion rings in the bar. Dorsey offered up his conference tips to me, the newbie. I’d pass them along but after one drink I can’t remember what they were.

What I do remember, however, is the front-page story in the Florida Times-Union about how ratus ratus (the scientific name for big hairy rodents) are an ongoing problem for Jacksonville residents. Zach Fridell, the reporter, noted that at a recent outdoor wedding one of these roof rats dropped from a tree limb onto a guest’s seat. Mama would likely tell that rat that she ought to have called first before dropping in on a wedding, uninvited.

No telling what surprises awaits in tomorrow’s headlines, but I’ll be up early. I’m off to two of the local schools to field questions about the life of an author. Pat Conroy is the keynote speaker for Saturday. Maybe he has the Elvis Room. Maybe he and Travolta are sharing it.