THE END
September 27, 1999
6:45 a.m.
  On the plane home, I read the book. It's an interesting feeling, to read a book of short stories and novelettes in which you know each and every author. Some years ago, I played basketball with a bunch of people, and each year it seemed that someone would video tape a game. The feeling I had reading the book was like I used to get when we would gather immediately after the game, sweat-drenched and still breathing hard, but dying to see what we looked like on tape. I read in the airport, waiting. I read on the plane. I read again in the airport, holding my frozen yogurt in one hand and the spoon in another, somehow managing to keep the book open. It's a fun collection, a collection of tales that somehow manages to define the group quite well. through it all, I had this constant feeling of expectation--and not a pleasant one, really. Tim Powers spoke to the crew while we were waiting at the rehearsal before the big event, and he did his bit on the fact that the only reason to write is the "Show Off Value". You know, the way you can have a book on the coffee table and casually mention that, "Yes, that's my new novel," whenever a friend comes over. He was being funny when he did it, but the feeling he expresses is one that I'm sure every writer can sympathize with at some level. It's why that bit works so well for him. This expectation was like that. After a week of constantly feeling like you are the center of attention, a week where people at the hotel and people at the event are constantly asking you how it's going and saying they've read your stuff and liked it, a week where you have a constant audience, sitting alone in the airport, or reading alone on an airplane is an odd feeling. It's like being in the woods and suddenly realizing that all the insects have gone completely quiet. I kept waiting for someone to come up and say "Hey, you're that new writer, aren't you? Is that your new book? Oh, yes, it's fantastic. I ran straight out and bought fifteen copies specificaly for your tale. Can I have your autograph?" I have to say, I don't like that feeling. And, of course, nobody did that. Dave Wolverton talked about this at one of his workshop sessions. He commented on being very famous within a small circle of influence, but completely anonomous elsewhere. He said this is a Good Thing, he thought, because that meant he could enjoy the fame that went with being in the entertainment industry, without the pressure in his everyday life. It means he can walk around in his hometown, and go to dinner or generally out and not have any problem having a normal life. That I like. I think it's a matter of experience, and getting used to handling it. With any luck, I'll get better at it. With any luck, I'll have the opportunity! So, I got to Indy, and Brigid and Lisa gave me big kisses and hugs. We went to dinner at Arni's in Columbus, a small sandwich shop. When we got home, the cat said hey. Cats, I think, are God's way of letting you know that you haven't really done that much, you know? I mean, she was happy to see me, but never even mentioned the book. :) Lisa, it turns out, was busy while I was gone. She had bought new filing cabinets, a new thing for my shoes in our closet (I have this tendancy to just toss my shoes around in there, now I won't), and some new shelving for her work space. She's also pretty much finished her work project. And she spent time at a furniture store, looking at a piece we've been looking for for several weeks. I read Brigid a bedtime story. Nancy Drew on the case again. After unpacking and getting ready for bed, we turned out the lights, and I lay back in my favorite waterbed, feeling its heat engulf me. The past week echoed in my mind. Lisa lay beside me. It's good to be home, you know. Success is fun. But it's good to be back in the place I belong. Or more appropriately, it's good to be back with the people I belong with. Somewhere in the middle of the night, the cat curled up and slept in the crook of my arm.   Have a great day.
 Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins | ||||
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