One of the weird things about being a novelist is that you often work with people in absentia—that is, sometimes you never meet, or rarely. I’ve never met my agent, Kristin Nelson. I was going to pop over to Denver last fall, but my schedule just wouldn’t allow it. But, soon, very soon, we’ll meet. And if I have it my way, it’ll be just in time for football season.


Another handsome member of the Literary Witness Protection Program: Jerome David SalingerThen there’s my editor, her assistant, my copy editor, copy chief, marketing mavens, in fact everyone at Random House, has either been an amazingly enthusiastic voice on the phone, or email, or letter––until this week. I’m so excited, not just to spend some time in NYC, but to finally…meet.

Writers are sometimes typified by their extremes, like Thomas Pynchon, whose entire career has basically been off the grid. He’s so far removed from the public that book critic Arthur Salm once wrote:

“The man simply chooses not to be a public figure, an attitude that resonates on a frequency so out of phase with that of the prevailing culture that if Pynchon and Paris Hilton were ever to meet—the circumstances, I admit, are beyond imagining—the resulting matter/antimatter explosion would vaporize everything from here to Tau Ceti IV.”

I love that quote. But, it doesn’t apply to me. I’m not a ham, mugging for the spotlight, but I’m fairly gregarious and outspoken by nature, and curious to finally meet the crew at Random House that has invested so much time and effort into something that came out of my brain.

And if I run into Paris Hilton, I’ll be sure to let you know. Okay, gotta pack. The next time you hear from me, it’ll be from the Hotel Chelsea.