This is the fifth place to find me on the internet. Please don't tell me I need a sixth.
My Italian publisher on how to speak with an Italian accent: “Pretend you have lived your whole life under the sun. Then imagine you are in a room, and you have pushed open the window and the sun is coming in, and fresh air, and outside the room is a courtyard and there are people there drinking coffee and laughing and having a good time. Think of all of that. Now speak.”
I’m at CDG in Paris waiting for my flight to Rome, trying to recall anything and everything that happened this week. The opportunity to meet so many amazing writers and readers, plus all the people who have worked so hard to publish my book well in France. The intensity of having the translator of my book work as my interpreter for two days straight on interviews and panels and having the sense that this woman now knows my voice better than I do. Late night drunken shit talking sessions about love and sex and literature and our lives away from it all. All the gossip. All of it. Then mumbling sweetly in the morning at breakfast. That thing that you think it is, that you want to believe it could be, with a trip like this and it’s more than that, or exactly what it should be anyway. Some people have been doing this for years, these trips abroad, but for me this is the very first time I get to connect with this bigger world. What a world! What a great big world. I ate it, and I was full.