Apologia

(Apologia, n, “a defense especially of one’s opinions, position, or actions,” which seems appropriate to the moment.  Also, the word has that Huh? quality that I like.  But not enough to try using it out loud in a sentence.)

Here’s the situation: When I was preparing to launch Fifth Avenue Famous, I started a blog on an author’s page that was conveniently provided by a distributor.  That was fine . . . until I discovered that their particular blog system would only archive the three latest blog entries.  Anything older would be completely deleted.  (I discovered that fact slightly too late, by the way.)  With several entries floating somewhere in cyberspace and lost forever, I stopped contributing to the blog.

As you can see, this blog now comes courtesy of my own website, and is generated by a different system, one that doesn’t delete.  With that new arrangement in place, let me promise not only the junkshop of topics that I promised the last time, but some continuity.  Daily, or every other day.  I haven’t decided yet.

That said:

Since we last talked, Fifth Avenue Famous has been published, launched, and I’ve had a great time knocking around various Northeast locations on publicity jaunts.  It’s been an interesting few months, and friends who know me very well have made a point of grasping my arm and saying emphatically, “Enjoy the ride.”  (I’m a worrier by nature.)

But a number of people—none of them with media access, thank God—have asked, “What are the high points so far?”  Whoof.  High points are memorable, and there have been plenty.  But it’s the small ridiculousnesses that are more fun.  Such as:

– The book’s launch, a beautiful event provided by Fordham Press in a swanky environment with a spectacular high-rise view . . . a wonderful evening, marred only by the fact that, as I was leaving the apartment to get there, the front doorknob went kerflooey in my hand.  So The Author arrived at his own book launch twenty-five minutes late, out of breath, and snarling.  (Some people would say that’s an omen.  I’d say, after that particular experience, that anything else that evening is an improvement.  Besides, how many important life events include the memory of running to get the screwdriver?)
– The editing period that preceded the publication, when every day was a blur of galleys and indexing and illustration problems.  I thought I was handling the whole thing very well, balancing the writing with the rest of my schedule . . . until I finished the morning’s corrections and headed downtown for a music appointment.  It was only when I happened to glance down, in the middle of Seventh Avenue, that I realized I was wearing one black and one brown shoe.
– The first book signing at Barnes & Noble.  A snazzy occasion.  A major venue.  A high-pressure talk.  A wireless microphone.  And a podium with the wrong mike stand.  The manager had to fasten the whole thing together with duct tape.  Don’t ask me why, but that duct tape did a whole lot to restore my self-confidence.

Can’t wait to see what comes next.