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We leave Friday for Italy. Our Italian publishers wanted us to do a tour for them, and we finally ran out of excuses. Yeah, the evil bastards flying us to Milan and Rome. Forcing us to interview with magazines, newspapers, radio, websites, and television. Yeah, I know your heart bleeds. The way we’ve been dreading the trip you would think it was a bad thing. For me, it’s all about that whole fear of flying thing. It will be the longest flight I’ve ever attempted. About nine hours. All you guys in Hawaii, Australia, and elsewhere pray that I can do this flight, because if I can’t you guys are so out of luck. I don’t sleep on any method of transportation, so I can’t even take a boat to far shores. So pray that I’m not a basket case on the plane. If I can do nine hours, then maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for longer flights in the distant future. If the nine hours wrecks me, well, there you go. Jon sleeps on long flights unless my nails are too deeply embedded in his thigh, arm, or hand. He also stays awake if I have hysterics, or start to cry. I haven’t done the latter in a few years, but the memory lives on.
When we traveled to England two years ago it was eight hours at it’s longest. It might have been nine on the way back, but we had the kiddo with us, and I do not allow myself hysterics in front of her. She loves to fly, because I have not shared my fear with her. She sits by the window. I point out interesting clouds and stuff. I chat, and explain how the plane works. The hand not pointing at clouds is hanging onto Jon so hard I often leave little half moon marks in his skin. I don’t mean to. One memorable flight, I marked him through jeans. But Trinity never knew. She loves to fly, to travel, stay in hotels. All things I detest. Okay, some hotels are nice, but there isn’t a single type of transportation that I’m not somewhat phobic about. I guess trains are the least stressful. Hell, I finally realized the reason I don’t like horses all that much is they count as transportation, too.
We are about to travel to two of the most romantic cities in the world, and we’re so stressed out of our minds that we’re ruining it for ourselves. Yeah, the interview schedule will be very, very full, and that is exhausting after awhile, but if we, if I, don’t get a handle on my fears I am going to kill whatever pleasure we could get out of this trip. I’m trying. I really am.
I’m trying to find a happy place about it all. We’ve gotten books on Italy, and the areas we’ll be in. There are so many cool things to see. It will be wonderful to finally meet some of the fans in that part of the world.
Part of it, I think, is that we haven’t recovered from me finishing DANSE MACABRE. It’s only been two weeks, and most of that time has been spent getting ready for the trip to Italy. There hasn’t been a lot of time to simply relax, and do nothing. I was hoping to refresh myself, but instead I feel empty. I no longer dread my office. In fact it looks bright and cheerful, and welcoming. But I have no desire to sit down and write again yet. I am still licking my wounds, still waiting for the first round of edits to come back from New York. The book isn’t really done. Not done-done. Maybe that’s why it feels like I’m still waiting.
If I could get over the whole being terrified about the flight, being somewhere for nine hours where no one can phone me, or interrupt me, or make demands on me, or Jon, sounds pretty good, actually. The addition to the house is still not done. Maybe by Christmas.