Christopher Moore's Blog

You guys, I’m going to post some interviews that are going to appear in pretty “limited” publications. Most of it is stuff you guys know, but I thought I’d at least give you a look.

Here’s one from Vampirella Magazine (There’s a Vampirella Magazine?).

Can you give us a little background about yourself? Generic stats: Born, raised, family upbringing, etc. What do you do when you aren’t writing?

I was born in Ohio and grew up in small industrial towns. My father was a state patrolman and my mother sold appliances at a department store. I kinda of went to college, sort of, for a while, then I didn’t anymore. When I’m not writing I swim, surf, snorkle, mow the lawn, screw around on the internet, watch TV, read, and travel around talking about my books.

What does your work environment look like?

It’s a disaster area. Right now if I look at my desk, which is a big L-shaped monster, I have: four remote controls, a camera, two phones, two monitors, a laptop, three jars of wood putty, an electric fan, two flashlights, three cups full of pencils and pens, a stack of Post-its, a copy of Fluke, three computer catalogs, two vertical file holders, one in/out box, full, a wireless router, two firewire hard drives, a paper plate holder, two pocket knives, two pocket notebooks, two phone cards, a Wi-fi shotgun antenna, a roll of duct tape, a utility knife, a towel, a set of headphones, a flossing machine, a box of paper clips, two large plastic glasses, a cup of coffee, an electric fan, a halogen desk lamp, some puka shells, a LED head lamp, a pot holder, an inkjet printer, a box of envelopes, a set of computer speakers. And all this, given that I actually cleaned off my desk about an hour ago. I’m not kidding. Around my desk chair there are big binders full of CD-Data disks and a ton of other crap. I’m never going to be the guy with no stuff on his desk.

Can you describe an average workday?

I usually get up, have some coffee, watch the news for about twenty minutes, then I go to work on the book. I work for about four hours, then I’ll do e-mail and other administrative stuff, go to the gym and the store or go do something in the ocean, then in the evening I usually plan what I’m going to write the next day.

Was writing always foremost in your mind as a career path?

No, as I kid, I wanted to be a sailor, then a spy, then an actor, then at about fifteen I started thinking about writing for a living. A few years later I shifted my ambition to being a photographer because I didn’t think I could make a living as a writer. I got side-tracked by survival until I was about twenty-five, when I started seriously pursing a career as a writer.

Who are some of your favorite writers?

John Steinbeck, Harper Lee, Mark Twain, Carson McCullers, Billy Collins, Kurt Vonnegut, Tom Robbins, Douglas Adams, Carl Hiaasen, Neal Stephenson, William Gibson, Dave Barry and David Sedaris.

From whom do you glean inspiration from (either literary or not)

I get most of my inspiration from life, from running across goofy situations while I’m traveling or while I’m just hanging out. As for literature, lately I’ve been inspired by the simple elegant wit of the poetry of Billy Collins.

Does humor come to you naturally or is it something you worked on through other venues/writing jobs?

I think it comes to me naturally. My father was a funny guy. He had a very high sense of the silly, as well as that macabre sense of humor one often finds in cops and emergency workers who have to deal with death and human tragedy on a daily basis.

Do you see yourself more as a humorist, satirist, something in between or some creature entirely different?

I think I do a little of it all. I think that comedy better describes what I do rather than humor or satire, simply because most of the funny stuff I write is based in the characters. I have no problem with all elements of humor, however. I’ve even been able to pull off some physical comedy in my books, which I wouldn’t have thought possible (it’s sort of a contradiction in terms, isn’t it) but when I wrote Coyote Blue, which featured the Native American trickster god Coyote, I was forced to write “visual or physical” comedy because that is really more of Coyote’s nature than is rhetorical humor. It worked.

Have you ever considered writing a “straight” book – one that doesn’t utilize humor?

I’ve considered it, but I don’t think I’m capable of it. I mean, I could probably write an unfunny book, but not on purpose.

Are you your worst critic? Have you ever finished writing and said “Geez, What was I thinking?”

Usually, when I’m about a third of the way through a book, I’ll walk around the house going, “Well no wonder it’s not working, it was a stupid idea to begin with.” By then it’s usually too late to turn around, so I just stagger on, finish the book, then get nauseated for a couple of weeks when I think about reading the manuscript. (I’m not kidding. My stuff, right after I finish, nauseates me.)

Given your abilities to write both humorously and with a fantasy bent, why do you feel it necessary to do extensive research when working on a book (EG, for Lamb I understand you traveled to the Middle East.). Why not just make things up completely?

I really want people to be able to identify with the characters. Even if they have extraordinary lives. I am going to be asking the reader to suspend a lot of disbelief, and the best way to do that is to give them reality in which to stay grounded. I also like the idea of my readers learning something in the context of the book, painlessly, joyfully. I’m not out there to lecture, but I think readers come away from my books knowing a little more than when they went in (I know I do). And I have to know a subject pretty well in order to write funny stuff about it.

Are you thoroughly upset that you didn’t have to pull a Salman Rushdie and go into hiding after the lack of Religious backlash from “Lamb?”

I’m not upset, but I’m a little surprised. People, especially people of faith, have been overwhelmingly positive about Lamb. I’ve been pleasantly surprised that people “got it”, and that gave me a little faith in the intelligence of my fellow Americans at a time when I thought that they’d abandoned intelligence for Jingoism and knee-jerk Patriotically Correct responses to everything. There are a lot of bright, tolerant, funny people in this country, and I had started to think that wasn’t the case.

Your next book is “The Stupidest Angel.” Can you offer a synopsis? (Spoiler free obviously) I understand it’s a Christmas tale, but do you think you’ve got another chance at pissing off the religious types?

The Stupidest Angel is, very simply, the story of an angle who comes to Earth at Christmastime to grant the Christmas prayer of a small boy, and because the angel isn’t exactly the brightest halo in the host, he completely screws up the assignment, thus putting the little village of Pine Cove into a Yule-tide battle with undead evil. It’s darkly cheerful, or cheerfully dark. Something like that. Oh yeah, it’s pretty funny too. I don’t think it will garner any negative reaction from religious types, but it does have a cute little cartoon angel on the cover, and a few people might buy it for a kid or their grandma, then be surprised when the get to the people boning in the graveyard and the cannibalism.

Seriously though, religion seems to be becoming a topic important to your writing. Is it close to your heart? Why so? Are you trying to convey some message to your loyal masses?

I play in the realm of mythology, and lets’ face it, mythology is just a religion that you don’t believe in. I like thinking about faith, the basis of religions, and the stories that come from mythology. There’s no real message beyond trying to recognize that as human beings, what unites us is our human frailty, from which faith often springs. Faith is the result of the human consciousness trying to impose order on chaos, storytelling is no different.

You’ve had fun writing about everything from Christianity and Native American lore to Vampires, Sea Creatures and marine biology. Is nothing safe from you?

As long as I’m interested enough in a subject to spend a couple of years of my life thinking about it, I’ll write about anything. I tend to be more interested in cultures than in hard science, in the human element, if you will , but as long as something is interesting and I can find a story in it, I’ll pursue it.

Now that “Angel” is close to release, any thoughts as to who’s or what’s next in your line of literary sights?

I think it’s time to write about Death. In the last couple of years I helped care for my dying mother as well as my dying mother-in-law. I got a very close look at death and dying and the experiences gave me some perspective I didn’t have before. We tend to ignore death as a part of life, when, obviously it’s something we all will go through. It’s time to explore the archetypes of this under-examined human experience, and make fun of it.

Do you have a secret deal with Stephen King to have as many books set in Pine Cove as he does his in Castle Rock?

I tend to write about Pine Cove when I am either out of money or out of time. Pine Cove is based on Cambria, California, where I lived for twenty years (until I recently moved to Hawaii). Since I didn’t have to travel to research Pine Cove, whenever I was up against deadline, I would write about the little town. My first book was set there because I couldn’t afford to go anywhere to research. I like writing about Pine Cove because there is a dynamic in a small town, where every ripple will effect everyone else. I probably learned the (small town) multiple point of view construction of a horror story from Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot, so I suppose I need to give him props for that.

You’ve mentioned in previous interviews the possibility of a sequel to “Bloodsucking Fiends” (it really does scream for a Part 2). Other than that, however – are you not a fan of sequels? Do you find them too anti-climactic? Is it a matter of “Been there, done that”?

I’ve never wanted to do the same book twice. It probably has as much to do with my own short attention span as anything else. That said, Bloodsucking Fiends was always meant to have a sequel. The problem was that my publisher at the time, sort of dropped the ball on the release of Fiends, and they put a hideously ugly cover on it, so the hardcover didn’t do that well. You’re not going to get anyone to pay you to do a sequel to a book that didn’t do that well, so I went on to other projects that didn’t have that negative track record.

Now, after ten years, the paperback has stayed in print and has done consistently well, so my current publisher has agreed to release a sequel to Fiends. This one is called YOU SUCK: A Love Story, and it opens up the day after the last book ends. I’ll start it sometime next year, and if it does well, I may even do a third one. I really enjoyed writing the characters in that book, Tommy and Jody, who were both smartasses. I’m really looking forward to hanging out with them again, as well as hanging out in San Francisco again, which is my favorite city and a great setting for “gothic” stories.

Some of your books have been optioned for movies. Are any closer to coming to life than others, or has Hollywood bureaucracy driven you crazy? Maybe they need a lesson taught with a book about them?

The Hollywood book is not a bad idea, but to be honest, I learned early on, when there was a big splash when my first book, Practical Demonkeeping was bought for a film, then nothing happened, that it was just best to keep pursuing my career as a novelist and generally ignore what was going on in Hollywood. As of now, all of my books except for Stupidest Angel have been optioned, but no one has gotten past the script stage. Meanwhile it’s nearly fourteen years since Disney bought Demonkeeping. I would have gone nuts if I’d tried to keep my hand in the mix in Hollywood. I like writing books. I have a lot more control over my destiny there.

What’s immediately next for you? And I mean **immediately** (in the next five minutes. Quick!)

Thought I’d get another cup of coffee.

Okay, you guys, there will be a Stupidest Angel tour, starting the first week in December. The book will be out on October 12th, but I’m not touring right away.

The tentative cities are:

Denver Seattle Portland Los Angeles San Diego San Francisco

There may be cities added as well and there may be more than one event in some of the cites.

I will also appear at PNBA, the Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association Convention in Portland on September 11-12, and the Barnes and Nobel Manager’s meeting in Ft. Lauderdale on Sept 29.

I’ll post updates as I get them. Ignore the NO TOUR posts in other parts of the board.

So, as you all probably know, the Governor of New Jersey is stepping down due to the fact that he likes guys. You know, more than most people, I mean.

Thing is, even democrats want him to resign before November 15th,so a new election can be held and a new governor installed for the next four (or six, I’m not sure) years.

Problem is, the dems want to run John Corizine, the ex-investment banker senator from the Garden State.

Problem is, Corizine, despite that he won the office by throwing tons of his own money at it, has actually turned out to be a pretty good senator who has seats on several powerful committees, and we can ill-afford to lose a good Democratic senator right now.

Solution?

Governor Gay Guy resigns, and for governor we run…

That’s right:

Bruce Springsteen.

Like he would even have to campaign. There he’d be, governor of one of the more powerful and populace states in the union.

One, maybe two terms as an incredibly popular governor, and…

That’s right:

The President of the United State of America, The Leader of the Free World, Bruce Springsteen.

First hundred days: Born to Run is made the national anthem. Clarence Clemens is made the head of FEMA (that’s right, the Master of Disaster), Miami Steve is made secretary of Heath and Human Services, Bono becomes ambassador to the UN (under the conditon that he never wear racketball goggles unless he’s actually playing fucking raquetball), and the first lady is a hot redhead who plays guitar.

Yes, it’s true, there was a time, when as a drive-time DJ, I tried to rally a campaign to have Springsteen retroactively killed in a plane crash right after the Darkness on the Edge of Town album. For that, I am deeply sorry. (But dude, he was going through this whiny Roy Orbison/Woody Guthrie phase and something needed to be done. Those were desperate times, as are these.)

All I’m saying is, at every baseball game, someone has to get up and sing Born to Run. At some point, Celine Dion will have to sing the words, “Baby this town rips the bones from your back, it’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap.” How can that be a bad thing?

State of the Union Address? Introduction by vice president John Stewart. Maybe fifteen minutes of, “Hey, we got your back.” Then, “My fellow Amercans, the state of the union is… WE ROCK!” the Boss rocks the capitol for three hours, Bonnie and Jackson singing back-up, Republicans and Democrats wave lighters in the air, united, 535 points of light, like a starmap in a primative planetarium, and they sing along:

“And the poets down here they don’t write nothin’ at all, they just stand back and let it all be…”

The Boss abides. Amen.

As you know, I subscribe to word of the day at Dictionary.com, which is a worthwhile thing to do, however it does sort of make you feel like you have an irritating friend with a better vocabulary than you, who e-mails you every day. While I won’t always share the wordadaday with you, today’s word seemed particularly useful, and frankly, I didn’t know it had a verb form. So here you go:

abominate uh-BOM-uh-nayt, transitive verb: To hate in the highest degree; to detest intensely; to loathe; to abhor.

I had no wish to study or learn anything, and as for Latin, I abominated it. –Charles Tyng, [1′ target=’_blank’>Before the Wind

“Sir Laurence,” he said, smiling wanly, “I detest literature. I abominate the theatre. I have a horror of culture. I am only interested in magic!” –John Lahr (editor), [2′ target=’_blank’>The Diaries of Kenneth Tynan _________________________________________________________

Abominate comes from Latin abominari, “to deprecate as a bad omen, to hate, to detest,” from ab- + omen, “an omen.”

Synonyms: abhor, detest, hate, loathe. [3′ target=’_blank’>Find more at Thesaurus.com.

ME AGAIN:

Since fundamentalist Christians often refer to homosexual behavior as “an abomination”, and the root of the word abomination, is to deprecate as a bad omen, to hate, to detest,, are they, in fact, refering to gays and lesbians as “The Hated”? How does this reconcile with the Christian doctrine of love and forgiveness?

Discuss.

Since a majority of Americans appear to(along with the President) oppose Gay Marriage, does that make a Constitutional Amendment banning it right?

Discuss

Compare and contrast the proposed “anti-gay marraige amendment with the 1846 Dred Scott decision by the Supreme Court which, by declaring the Missouri Compromise of 1820 unconstitutional, allowed for slavery in all states.

Discuss

The first article of the 14th Amendendment of the Constitution reads: All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

When the amendment says, “No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States,” are they talking about “straight” citizens only, or does the phrase “all persons” actually mean “all motherfucking persons, just like it says, you paranoid, biggoted, flock of asshats”? (You know who you are, flocking over there.)

Discuss.

Exercise: Use “abominate” in a sentence.

Drive thru, please.

Last Friday, the 23rd of July.

So, it all started around the tenth of the July, I got a call from my editor telling me that Nicholas Sparks had chosen Fluke to be the next book on the Today Show Book Club. The M.O. of the club, evidently, is to have a very well known author pick the book of a lesser known author. Now Nicholas Sparks is second only to J.K. Rowling in number of simultaneous books on bestseller lists, so whether you like love stories or not, he is very well known. I met him about eight years ago when he was at the Northern California Booksellers Convention in Oakland, where he was promoting his first book, The Notebook. He seemed like a pleasant enough guy, and we had a couple of friendly exchanges as we were signing books at adjacent tables, but that was about it.

Anyway, part of the agreement to do the Today Show Book Club is that you must tell no one. All the parties involved have to sign a confidentiality agreement, and if you tell someone and it gets back to NBC, they’ll cancel your appearance and send that obnoxious fucker from Fear Factor to your house to make your family eat worms. The surprise is a big deal, which is why I haven’t posted anything here until now.

So it began. Meanwhile, the process of remodeling on our house was going on, and the contractor we had hired to put in the floors and remodel my office got notice that he and his wife’s application to adopt a Chinese baby had come through and he had to take off for China. (We are taking them a case of Kung Pao Infamil as soon as they get back.) The painters were due in two weeks and there was no one on the island who could do the work before the painters came. Long story short, we flew Charlee’s brother over to do the carpentry. The bad news is that I was going to have to help because he doesn’t have a crew. For two weeks we installed flooring and did other construction things that I am totally not qualified to do — in 90 degree 90% humidity weather – and all the time I’m thinking, “I’m going to have to go on National TV for the first time with fewer than the regulation number of fingers.”

I survived filanges intact, but after we dropped Charlee’s brother off at the airport I realized that:

A. I had no clothes I could wear on TV. (I had thrown away my only pair on non-sneaker shoes because they turned green and fuzzy, as leather tends to do in this climate.) B. I had to lose 20 lbs in 4 days. (My only pair of non-scuzzbag pants were bought by a younger, skinnier fellah.) C. I had to get in shape, have my teeth whitened, and make a deal with the devil to make me younger. (My sorcery skills are way, way out of tune.) D. I had to figure out what I would say. (“Hi Katie, I truly enjoyed the video tour of your colon. I’ve brought a few Polaroids of mine to share with your viewers at home.”)

I’m writing this on Friday before I leave on Monday night for New York. Yes, the show isn’t until Thursday, but it’s twelve hours flying time, without layovers, usually closer to 15 hours, which puts me into NY mid Tuesday. The show films notoriously early in the morning, so I would have to be there at least by Wednesday, but if something went wrong, as it often does connecting through LA out of Hawaii, I’d be hosed. I thought the extra day prudent – especially since I might need to buy pants, shoes, a jacket, and get liposucted.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Well, I spent all evening trying to whiten my teeth with those little Crest strips. I used about half a box. They are kind of like cellophane with special whitening slime on them. You stick them on your teeth and then they slide off and you get whitening slime on your tongue. My tongue is so white it looks like I just licked the paint off a hospital ship. My teeth, sadly, are still a gray. Man, if I’d known I was going to have to go on the Today Show next Thursday I wouldn’t have smoked for twenty-five years.

So, perhaps I am a little vain, but only in the face of being seen by millions of people. Okay, I’ve officially just freaked myself out by typing out the phrase “millions of people”. You guys who have seen me speak before a crowd of tens have no idea how I can fold in front of a camera. Millions of people, and they won’t know that I can write a mean Jesus story, or that I will come to their house and help them move and they won’t even have to buy me beers – no, all they’ll know is that my teeth are a little gray and that I may be slightly cross-eyed. No, it’s this left eye, it’s sort of the stupid one.

NOTE TO SELF: Get eye patch before Thursday.

There is a good chance, however, that some act of terrorism will preempt my book club thingy. I have terrific faith in the power of irony. (If we let a random act of terrorism disrupt our appearance on the Today Show, haven’t the terrorists won?)

TUESDAY NIGHT

I left Kauai at 10:00 PM Monday night and finally got to my hotel at 4:30 PM Tuesday. This wasn’t a mix-up, this is how it is.

Anyway, I got backed up in security – kept setting off the metal detector. Look, I fly a lot, I don’t carry metal in my pockets. I know better. So I’m looking at the guy like, “Dude, you have to be joking.” But I go to the grope zone and he goes at it. And finally, after I get very close to losing it, it turns out I am carrying metal.

Tooth Whitening Strips in their little foil wrappers.

That’s right, all week I’ve been trying to whiten my teeth with those little strips, and because of it, I got sent to security. That’s some embarrassing shit, that’s all I’m saying.

Now, I iron. I’m ironing a jacket and two shirts and two pairs of pants. I’m not planning on wearing all of those, but, you know, I could spill coffee on one jacket and one pair of pants and one shirt, and then I’d have an emergency back-up. I’m not sending them out to be pressed because, you know, they could get lost. Fuck, the pressure.

Thursday Morning – Early

Woke up at 5:OO AM with my stomach tumbling. No going back to sleep now. They’ll bring coffee at 7:OO, at which time I can start freaking about my hair and stuff. It’s two minutes camera time, max, so how badly can I screw it up. Of course Nicholas Spark wasn’t supposed to get into town until late last night, so maybe he won’t be there. I’m very skeptical about this all coming off.

Turns out that all of the Borders Managers got news of the Book Club Choice yesterday so they could inform their staff in the morning – so when I got a note last night from a Borders person congratulating me I sorta freaked, thinking that someone had spilled the beans and that they would pull the whole segment.

Leslie Cohen, the Perinnieal publicity person, will come to get me at 8:40, so if I don’t pass out or burst into flames between now and then, I should be okay.

Where the fuck is the coffee!

AFTER THE SHOW

Well, my editor and my publicist picked me up in a town car and took me three blocks to the back door of NBC. They led us into the green room where Nicholas Sparks and his publicist were waiting with a couple of other guest who were scheduled.

The short of it, I didn’t throw up, Nicholas Sparks couldn’t have been nicer, and neither could have Anne Curry. I think I looked about 1000 years old on the tape, but that might be because I am a thousand years old. Either way, it’s over, now you know, and I’m off to airport to fly home.

I get on a plane in a few hours to fly to NYC. It’s almost 15 hours with layovers, and with the six time zones crossed, I lose something like 21 hours.

I can’t tell you why I’m going there. I had to sign a vow of secrecy. It’s secret author stuff. SECRET. AUTHOR. STUFF. S.A.S.

Do you think this has something to do with the 911 commission saying that the attacks on the World Trade Center was a “failure of imagination”? Maybe they are bringing in all the people with overactive imaginations to fight terrorism, you think? Will it be like me and Neil Gaiman figuring out how sexy Goth babes can take over the Pentagon by the clever application of alienation, Dead Can Dance CDs, and body piercing? (“For the Love of God, Colonel, they’re pumping clove’s smoke under the doors, we’re doomed!)

That could be it, but I can’t say. They made me sign a thing not to tell, so I’m not. Forget it.

Thursday. That’s when you’ll know. That’s when I can tell you, maybe. As long as everything goes okay, that is.

Could it be that they want me in New York before the Republican convention, scouting the free speech zones? Maybe they want me on the first response team, thinking up snotting things to say between the speeches. Could be, but I’m not saying. (“You baby-killing doof-tool of an oil-whore! You know, political stuff.)

All I’m saying is, it’s big. Huge. (Imagine the Author Guy balloon making its way down Fifth Ave on the Macy’s Day Parade. Big, tan, goofy Author Guy balloon in a Hawaiian shirt, menacing the crowd, scaring the bejeezus out of the Underdog balloon.)

Thursday. If I can, I’ll hip you to the whole story. But for now, I can’t say a friggin word. Don’t even ask.

So, you know what’s weird? To come around the corner at the Foodland and come face to face with James Bond. That happened to me about an hour ago. And for those of you who tease me about my Hawaiian shirts — Mr. Brosnan was wearing goofy floral board shorts and a t-shirt and flip-flops. (Okay, they were probably rocket flip-flops, but still.)

Other than that, my life consists of tearing carpet out of my house and being called into different rooms of the house by the lovely and talented Chuck to look at the various colors she has painted on the walls. Know what? There are a shitload of shades of brown.

Evidently I have just inheirited a shitload of cash from my relatives in Nigeria.

Later, Losers!

It was in Chicago, but I was too busy to tell you about it, so I’ll tell you about it now.

I checked into my hotel, and it was a very nice hotel, one of chain of boutique hotels that are cool enough to seem kind of trendy, but not so cool that the entire staff appears to be vampires (Soho Grand, NY). These hotels are usually three degrees more whimsical than would be, oh, say a brothel designed by Tim Burton but left out of all but the director’s cut of Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. Nice, but fun, is what I’m saying.

Anyway, when I get to my room, there’s a goldfish by the door. And I look down the hall, and there’s another room with a goldfish by the door, so I realize I’m not the only one.

Well I’m going to be in town for less than forty-eight hours, and the fish is sort of lying on the bottom, on a bed of very-whimsical blue and green marbles, and frankly, he doesn’t look like he’s long for this world. And I think, “There is no way I’m going to bring him in my room just to worry about him and have him die before checkout.” So I leave him there.

Well, I settle in, turn on the TV, brew a little in-room Starbucks, and I hear some commotion outside in the hall. And I go look.

Noone is there, but the fish is all perked up, sort of fluttering there, looking all hopeful, like he’s auditioning for the sequel to Finding Nemo, but I look around and there’s nothing going on, really, so I close the door and go to check my e-mail.

So maybe ten minutes goes by, and I’ve answered the tenth or so letter explaining why it’s not my call whether I go to [insert your obscure town that no one has ever heard of here’ target=’_blank’>, but, in fact, my tour schedule is determined by a complex equation involving market factors, demographics, and the proximity to hotels that can place me in rooms next to people from the LIKE TO SCREAM DURING JACKHAMMER SEX WHILE THE NEWS BLASTS IN THE BACKGROUND Association. (There’s no acronym, so don’t look for it, they are too busy screwing and screaming over the news to spell anything out.) Anyway, so I start to think about the fish — about how maybe I should let him in — about how the fish down the hall was gone, was probably in the room enjoying some seventy-dollar fish flakes from the mini-bar — about how the fish looked eager to please, and how he would probably be a pretty good little friend for a day or two, if I could get past his damp orangeness.

And I go back to check on the fish, to, in fact, bring him inside…

But he’s gone.

I don’t know where, and now, of course, I can’t very well call the front desk and say, “Hey, what happened to my fish?” Because they’ll say something snotty like, “What fish?” Or, “We assumed that you didn’t want him, so we sent him down to the restaurant, wrapped him in some rice and nouri, and gave him a Japanese name, if you get my meaning, Monsieur.” (God the hotel desk people can be so fucking French sometimes.)

So I don’t know what happened to him. The fish.

Is it too much Dickens in my youth, that makes me think that some day, perhaps years from now, I’ll be surfing, or swimming somewhere, and this huge pair of jaws will emerge from the waves, perhaps snapping off my tibia or fibula or other part, and he will look up at me, through his good eye, the other one under the patch (because I’m sure he’ll have an eye-patch, which will show what a rough time he’s had of it) and as my blood runs from between his teeth, and right before I go into shock, he’ll say, “I’ll bet when you left me in the hallway at that hotel in Chicago, you never thought you’d see me again, huh?”

Fucking fish, anyway.

Mint on the pillow? Yes. Excellent idea, that chocolate before slumber.

Fish by the door? Not so much.

Did I tell you about that? I can’t remember.

I’m counting down hours until I climb on a plane and fly home.

I’m in Alaska, and it’s stunningly beautiful and hideous all at once, but I don’t have the energy to even go outside.

Over 200 people at the event last night. All very nice and extraordinarily patient. I signed books until about 11:pm and still got out before dark. In fact, it was still light enough to read by window light at midnight.

Pictures from Alaska, San Francisco and Worchester will go up when I get home to a high-speed connection. Until then thanks everyone for coming out to the events and for lending moral support thorugh the BBS and E-mail.