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The Road
Posted in The Kitchen Sink on Thu, August 28, 2008
Right now I’m reading Cormac McCarthy. He’s one of the great ones. It’s got me thinking about the road I’m on. So, in that vein, and for all those enamored with the glamour and starpower of a high-powered book tour, here’s a sample day on the road:
Heavy trucks on the road below. Hitting every pothole. Horns rattle the glass. Orange street light out my hotel window. Alarm sounds. Clock reads 6 a.m. Back stiff. Mattress too soft.
Feed hotel room coffee maker.
I sip. Spit out. Brush teeth. Brush teeth again.
Dressing. “Did I wear these clothes yesterday? The day before?” Sniff test. “Wow.” Call Christy and the boys. Breakfast in the background. “You guys doing okay?” Off to school.
Stumble downstairs. Starbucks across the street.
“Grande Latte please.” Pause. “Better make that two.”
Back in my room. Check e-mail. Tab over to word document. “Where was I?” Work a while.
Dress quickly. Coat. White button down.
Walk to studio. Bright lights. Local morning show. The anchor waves. They walk me in. Clip microphone on. I pull up my collar. Light turns from red to green. She speaks to camera, “And after the break, we’ll be talking with an author who’s written a self-help book for caretakers of the terminally ill.”
Commercial. She turns to me. “So, how’s a young guy like you come up with a self-help book like this?”
“It’s fiction. A novel. My 6th. It hit the New York Times list.”
A wrinkle appears on her forehead. “It’s not a self-help book?”
I shake my head.
Red light turns green.
Back to hotel. Fitness center. Woman next to me on the treadmill keeps curling her nose. A quick whiff. I’m rank. One too many days in these workout clothes.
Move to stationary bike. Read Cormac McCarthy. Counting Crows on my ipod. Back in room. Pushups. Stare in mirror. “I used to be stronger. I’m nearing forty.”
Checkout. Drive three hours. The next town in a thirty-town tour. Listen to Vince Flynn on tape. Call agent. “Any news? Any of those movie studios ever call back?”
Stomach growls. “Did I ever eat breakfast?” Fast food as far as the eye can see. Subway. “Tuna on wheat. Provolone.”
City limit signs. Hotel. Valet. “Do you have a reservation for Charles Martin?”
Elevator to room. Pull six different plastic keys out of pocket. “Which one fits this hotel?” Look around. “What city am I in?”
Back down to counter. Show her my deck of cards. “My key doesn’t seem to fit my room.”
“It’s this one.”
“Sorry.”
Schlepp back up to room. Rolling my life with me. Dial Christy. “How’re you doing? Well…just lay down and take a twenty-minute nap before the boys get home. Don’t they have piano this afternoon? Yeah, I’ll call you. Make sure you’re up.”
Plug in laptop. Work a while.
Make coffee. Still no better. Drink it anyway.
Phone rings. Telephone Interview. Thirty minutes. Talk while staring out window over city.
Sit back down at laptop. Brilliant sunshine outside. Go for a jog.
Another shower. Dig for clean clothes. Drive to bookstore. Conscious of my wrinkles. Sit in parking lot. “Please, Dear God, let somebody be here.”
Walk through doors. “Hi, I’m Charles.”
A small group of women huddle together. They are holding my books. Well worn. Bindings are cracked. “Hi…we’re from from...”
“But that’s like two hours from here.”
They nod enthusiastically.
Turn another corner. Forty people are sitting in chairs. My books on their laps. The manager is smiling. “Do you need a microphone?”
“No, thanks.”
I read. Talk. Answer questions. Sign for an hour.
Back at hotel. Collapse onto bed. Check in with Christy. The boys. Bedtime prayers. The thousand mile tuck-in.
Glance at television. Remote control. Grab my laptop, headphones, head down to the lobby/bar, order a bite to eat, beer, “Do you have any salmon? Blue cheese please.”
Work an hour or two or three.
Save document. Book #7. Far Side of the Mountain. E-mail to self. Three different accounts. In case of fire.
Brush teeth. Fall into bed. Flip channels. Three minutes. Lights out. Lay there. “God, please take care of my wife and kids. My life. Our dreams.”
My mind replays the day. Final thoughts: “Where am I tomorrow? When do I go home? Is Christy awake?” Text message. Iphone to iphone. The thousand mile kiss. “Love you. Miss you. C.”
Lie in the darkness. Eyes blink open. Book #7 bubbling up again. Click on the light. Scribble on the pad next to the bed. Lights out.
…
Heavy trucks outside my window. Orange light shining. Alarm sounds. Clock reads…
I met you in Rabun County GA during a book signing. I am a nurse and When Crickets Cry changed my life. I hope to see you again at the Margaret Mitchell house next month. You are a very gifted writer, I can’t wait for your next book! Luanne Grissom RN.
Wow. This post was brilliant. And made me laugh. Who knew short sentences could say so much? I hope you find a laundry mat.
Write away.
Madison
Hi Charles - I met you at your Nashville signing. I just read your blog from the 28th and it sounds a lot like the group discussion we all had. I was surprised when you said that no one showed at your last signing - I hope you felt welcome in Nashville. I had never been to a signing, but have read all your books except for the new one I bought that night so I was very excited to see what you are all about.
I also asked you about making a movie about your books and you coyly answered, but in your blog you asked your agent if any of them called back. That would be awesome if they made a movie out of any of your books! I would definetely see it!
Well, continued success to you.
A Loyal Reader
Please hurry with the 7th book! I am running out of good reads!
Thank you for taking your time to come to Joseph-Beth in Lexington KY on Wednesday evening.
My husband, Bill, is not an avid reader but he always reads your books and for that I thank YOU.
You wrote me a few weeks ago regarding my writing a review of “Where The River Ends”.
I was so pleased to do so and put it on Amazon.com as you suggested.
I have only one complaint....you don’t write fast enough. I think I’ve solved that problem with Bill’s suggestion, “Joyce, start re-reading his first books “,so I will.
Again thank you for coming to our beatiful city. You were a gracious young man to talk to so few.
Joyce G Davis
I just finished reading Wrapped in Rain. Of When Crickets Cry and Chasing Fireflies, this, so far is my favorite. What a compelling story.
Mr. Martin: Reading what you write is so vividly, real it’s as tho the setting and character telling the story is a true person. I look forward to reading all the books you write.
Well, I have looked forward for forever to meeting you in Birmingham and now I don’t have a babysitter for my mother-in-law. I am so disappointed, it has been on my calendar for two months.
Maybe next time I guess =[
Hello,
My friend Donna Gunn turned me on to your books. I grew up in Jacksonville and I can relate and recall many memories growing up on the St. Johns.
I turned my book club onto you and would love for you to come a vist us in in November. Please let me know your availablity. Or do I need to call your agent to set something up?? God speed.
I can see that you are putting a lot of time and effort into your blog and detailed articles! I am deeply in love with every single piece of information you post here. Will be back often to read more updates!
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