Oh dear, I seem to be one of those authors who neglects her blog. Probably because I would’ve lost my “I’m so cool and blasé about publishing a book” persona if I’d been blogging over the past couple of weeks. For the only word to describe the way I’ve been feeling lately is giddy. After so much work and so much waiting, it’s pretty unreal to have the book out and to see it in bookstores and to sign copies. It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I was telling friends, “You know I have this idea for a book about wolves. . .” and now there it is with its gorgeous cover on the shelves of real bookstores.

Since I’ve been so remiss about blogging, much has happened since my last post. I’ll relate in reverse order, starting from this evening as I am sitting watching the sun set over Miner’s Lake in Ely, Minnesota. It’s 9:30 and not dark yet. Miner’s lake apparently really was an old mine that was filled in and is, according to a Minnesotan friend, the only lake in the area you can’t actually swim in. I don’t think I’ll get the chance to do any lake swimming this trip and so must come back. I’m near the Boundary Waters, which are supposed to have wonderful kayaking.

Today was day one of the Alpha Wolf weekend at the International Wolf Center in Ely. Got to see the wolf pups, who are now 47 days old. We watched them greet the adult wolves through a fence and then they pretty much passed out on a blue and white blanket. I have pictures, but forgot to bring the connector that lets me upload onto my computer, so I will add adorable pup pictures when I get back home. They’re all ears and feet, and this week they’ll get to eat their first deer clavicle. Also got to see the adult wolves, Grizzer, Malik, Maya and Shadow, from behind a fence and also from the wolf center’s wonderful viewing room—if you are ever in the neighborhood of Ely, you must stop and visit. And got terrific lectures from Dave Mech and Jim Hammill about the wolf delisting and what it means for wolves. It’s a pretty complex issue, and I was glad to have a chance to hear a bit about it from the people on the front lines. The whole time they were talking the wolves would come up behind them at the observation window and stare at us, which was a bit distracting. But quite amusing.

On the way from St. Paul to Ely I stopped off to visit OJ and Linda and their wolves, who used to visit schools as part of an educational program. The wolves are now in their golden years and are retired, and share a large and lovely yard with several donkeys and many goats (they’re separated by a fence). Pictures of all of them to come, too. OJ gave me a big handful of wolf fur as a souvenir.

Yesterday I had the chance to sign copies of books in stores around the Minneapolis/St. Paul area and to talk to booksellers. Official Author Duty and very fun. And had my first reading at the Borders in Woodbury, at which I discovered I’m just as much of a ham as I was when I used to be an actor. I’ve read aloud to myself, but reading to other people gives me a chance to show off, which is never a bad thing.

More on the rest of the wolf weekend to come, but I really love Minnesota. Of course I’m here when it’s not snowing. . .

BEA
BEA was a blast, though a bit of a blur. Signed many books and got to meet lots of book lovers. But it definitely wore me out. My friend Allison appeared with a latte right as I was about to fall asleep on my feet and saved me. I’d been to the conference before when I was an editor, so it was interesting to see it from the author’s viewpoint.

The Page 69 Test
Before I started on my travels, I participated in the Page 69 test (I haven’t figured out how to link without sending you completely away from my webpage. Working on it.) It’s pretty nifty. You look at page 69 of your book and write about how it does or does not reflect the story in its entirety. The idea behind it is that you can turn to page 69 of a book and get a sense of if it’s a book you would like. Of course I immediately went to my bookshelf and started pulling down books and reading page 69.

And last but far from least, El Anden, the wonderful Spanish publisher just put up a really cool website. I can’t quite read it all (ok, I can read about 10 percent of it) but really nice looking site.

More to come soon (in theory).

Day two at the International Wolf Center was pretty phenomenal. Got to see the pups eating their first deer clavicle, and the adult wolves eating an entire deer. Pretty cool if you’re into that kind of thing. Then a nice hike in the lovely Ely area. Bitten by some pretty nasty flies, which apparently don’t suck your blood like mosquitoes and other respectable insects, but actually take a chunk out of you. Seemed somehow fitting to be watching the wolves have their meal, and then becoming someone else’s meal myself. I just ate pizza that night.

When I found out that I was going to be reading my first novel at Cody’s, it was quite literally a dream come true. Many times as I toiled away, hoping I could finish and then sell my first book, I often daydreamed about it. Even after getting a book deal and seeing the book in print, the Cody’s reading was something special. So Friday morning as I flew in from Seattle at the end of the first leg of my book tour, I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought about that night’s reading at Cody’s. As I unlocked my front door and hauled my bag into my apartment, I got the call. I would not be doing a reading at Cody’s that night, because Cody’s had closed its doors.

For good. Just like that. After 52 years and countless lives changed.

I began spending a lot of time in Cody’s in 1984. When I was supposed to be studying, or when the stress and trials of my freshman year at Berkeley got to be too much, I would escape from my dorm and race down Telegraph Avenue into one of the best refuges there ever was. Cody’s was a book lover's dream. Shelves and shelves of books on every topic imaginable. I still remember what it felt like to walk into that store. A deep lungful of air after not breathing for too long. Outside, the worries and pressures of my life. Inside, the world of stories and ideas and thoughts of the future. They were used to students with thin wallets in that store, and no one ever seemed to mind that I would wander around for an hour and come out with one paperback--or with nothing other than ideas and joy. I learned to value books and bookstores at places like Cody’s, so that in later years when I did have money to spend, independent bookstores were the first places I went. I’m a writer today at least in part because of independent bookstores like Cody’s, and I’m sure I’m not alone.

I waited outside Cody’s a few minutes before my reading was scheduled to make sure to intercept any of my friends who might not have received my frantic email about the cancellation. I watched as people came by, and tried to open the door. They tried once, twice, three times. Then saw the sign on the door saying only that Cody’s was closed. Then they tried the door again. Then cupped their hands around their eyes to peer in the window, trying to see if anyone was there. No one believed the sign. It couldn’t be true. Not just like that. Not Cody’s. It was so incredible that people didn’t trust the evidence. There must be some mistake, they all seemed to be thinking.

I thought of all sorts of things to say here. That we need to support the independent bookstores we have left. That we need to spend our money at Book Passage, and Kepler’s and Stacey’s and Rakestraw, at Powell’s and Tattered Cover, and at Village Books. That we need to fight the complacency and cynicism that lead us to say, “of course independent bookstores are closing, it’s the way the market is going.” But we all know that already. So I guess I’m just saying that I’m sad Cody’s is gone. And yet. The day after Cody’s closed I bought a hardcover at Black Oak. And since have done the same at Book Passage, Stacey’s and at Kepler’s. I have to admit it’s not because of any highly moral decision to shop locally and support independent bookstores for the sake of changing the book industry. I did it because I don’t want them to go away. Because when I walk into one of those bookstores I have the same feeling I had when I was eighteen. The same deep breath of air, the same shrugging off of stress and weariness. The same joy. And because I don’t want that to end.