Vol 881 Num 114
America's Cup sailboats are strutting their stuff right in front of my house, (well, in the water right in front of my house) getting ready for the big races held throughout the summer and into early September here on San Francisco Bay.
Can you imagine a cadre of incredibly tall-masted sailboats that skim over the water at a thousand miles an hour? Imagine that you have a front-row seat. That's me, the best spot on the Bay. Tell me, what do you think I should charge for admission (without refreshments) for the actual races? Should I give a friends' discount? (without refreshments) Maybe charge a tad more for family? (I mean, why should blood get them in for free?) Hmm, what about other writers? I really like writers, maybe I'll give them a big honker discount. Maybe if I do, one of them will give me a mention in their book acknowledgement. If I include guacamole and chips maybe I'll even get a dedication. Maybe I can make this the price of admission: 'To my generous friend, Catherine, may she never move from her front-row seat on the Bay.'
Not to be Missed: I'll be in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, on Sunday, the 19th, speaking and signing books. The event is Books in Bloom. There'll be loads of readers there and maybe a dozen local and out-of-state authors, like me. Don't forget the 200-mile rule. (If you're within two hundred miles of Eureka Springs you MUST attend or rotten karma will come to your way.) And I will know if you break this rule, never doubt it. I have spies everywhere.
Reckoning, the 18th FBI, out next year, is proving to be so wild I have to take deep breaths every couple of minutes to keep calm and carry on. If you've ever skied Snowshoe in West Virginia, email me and tell me about it because I've got really bad stuff happening there.
In three weeks, I'm off to the Outer Banks, North Carolina (the barrier islands off the coast), for the yearly family reunion in Duck (how's that for a memorable town name? No, next town is not Chicken). We rent three houses, one right on the beach, the other two close by (called the "Dog House" -- pets) and the "Baby House" (I've never visited there). We'll have the usual suspects -- about 35 adults and this year, six kids -- count them, SIX KIDS, all under six. A different family cooks for the horde every night, so all you have to do is sweat it one time, then you're done. Also we have two birthday celebrations every night and that means not one, but TWO cakes of the recipients' choice, made to order by Tom, the sexy local baker. (You want an assortment of éclairs, bear claws, cinnamon buns, etc., you got it; you want pies, you got it -- name it, it's yours.) Before the dessert is handed out and Happy Birthday sung, there's this sudden lull in the conversation while everyone discreetly (the guys, not so much) unfastens their belts, sits back and groans very softly and with great pleasure.
Have a great May -- Anchors Aweigh!