First Fiction Tour: That's a Wrap

Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, Marya Hornbacher, Matthew Carnahan and Ed Schwarzschild in a photo taken by Karen Ducey for a Seattle Post-Intelligencer article about the tour. Miranda's back in Brooklyn, with one more story to tell us...

I'm so sad it's over. And I'm surprised at how sad I am; it snuck up on me yesterday morning as I awoke in Austin and realized that Marya, Matthew and Ed were already homeward bound. My flight didn't leave until 3:00 p.m., so I had some time to sit around, mope and reflect.

Austin was fantastic. None of us had ever been there and we were thrilled by the heat; it was a good 80 degrees when we landed yesterday afternoon. As I mentioned in my last installment, Ed finally lucked out in the hotel game by nabbing a room at the gorgeous Hotel San Jose, while the rest of us stayed in what may have been the most depressing hotel in the world: the Doubletree Club. I don't want to talk about it. I spent the afternoon wandering around Austin while everyone else took naps and generally relaxed. I spent a long time sitting by the river and realizing how right everyone is who decides to move to Austin.

Our pickup for the reading was at 7:40 and we piled into the car and talked about what we'd be reading. Matthew and I'd be heading into new territory, Ed would read his consistently hysterical passage, and Marya would read one of the really devastating suicide scenes in her book, which has not once failed to make me cry. We arrived at Club De Ville, the sweetest little bar with a big, candlelit outdoor space set facing a natural limestone cliff. The stage we sat on abutted the cliff and as we read, there would be the occasional crackle of limestone breaking off and falling behind us, which was a little alarming but caused no injury. There were about sixty people there, smiling up at us, and BookPeople, who organized the event, gave us all goody bags with BookPeople Nalgene bottles. But what made us even happier was the sweet groove of each of our readings, and the gasp at knowing, when Ed read his final sentence, that it was all over. There was a great Q&A, mostly about industry stuff ("how did you each get your agent?" "can you describe the process of writing to publication?") and then afterwards we ordered margaritas, signed stock, and mingled with the crowd.

We were starving and had already planned on a wild, late night full of good food and great music, so the four of us headed over to South Congress, and found delicious Mexican near Ed's hotel. This is when the whole thing gets sentimental and a little blurry because many margaritas were imbibed (the 200+ pound Matthew, somewhere around 2am: "You guys? I think I'm drunk. And that's really saying something."). We talked about how intimidated of each other we'd all been: I thought everyone would be so much more grown-up, together, and generally professional than me; Ed thought we'd all be "major publishing house" snobs; Marya thought she would be waaay too crazy for us, and Matthew thought we'd all be super-literary and pretentious. And, happily, we were all wrong.

Then we headed over to the Continental Club and listened to some fantastic blues/country that made us all tap our feet. And we ended the night in the courtyard of the Hotel San Jose, signing each others' First Fiction Tour posters as if they were yearbooks, writing our addresses in each others' blank books, scheming about meeting up soon. Here's what I'm going to miss: Matthew's way of looking one straight in the eye when he's listening, his stories about his children, his obvious love for his girlfriend and thrill when he hears from her, his quiet way of reading when he's at the microphone. I'll miss Marya's loud laugh, her wonderful stories about all the crazy places she's been in her life (literally and metaphorically), her two broken suitcases and many ripping carry-on bags, and her beautiful prose. And I'm going to miss Ed's self-deprecating humor that puts everyone and ease and reveals his softness, the way he says "burning" at the end of his perfect passage, the shy way his head dips when he walks, and how he helped my sweater on last night when I couldn't find the sleeve.

I told you I was going to get sentimental. But I guess that's to be expected when you put four strangers together and give them the chance to travel around the country, sharing their work. I hope I'll have the chance to do something like this again someday. We're praying for the First Fiction Paperback Tour. Or the Second Fiction Tour. Or the Reunion Tour. Because as exhausting as the travel was, as disorienting as it is to bounce from city to city, as lonely as it can be to sit alone in a hotel room and miss your family, it is a gift to do it with great people. Thanks, guys. I'm going to miss you. And you've spoiled me: book touring will never be half as fun again.