The realities of what is involved in a book tour now in my arsenal of experience, I finally have a moment to think. It's not so bad, actually. Like everything, it's how we respond to the events that make it how it is. I could easily make it frustrating. I mean, one's entire schedule and life is thrown imperceptibly out of whack. There is effort on P.R. and publishing people to make it more pleasant, but even they cannot predict the inevitable challenges of the airlines, the traffic, the hotel and the food.
There are the call in's to radio shows from the hotel room. If people could only see what you look like, they'd maybe rethink you as an expert. Some radio hosts are interested, which makes it fun, and some, like the A.M. host in Harford who said "Christopher Hopkins is here with his new book....um...what's the title, Christopher?"
that make it deflating.
There is media training. I put media training up there with voice training. I think I was probably a better singer before I had voice training, but of course you MUST have voice training, so I did. You can lose yourself when someone is retraining you on how do to it. But, back to responding to things positively, in the long run it's a good thing. Right?
Trying to be a good student.
During media training a 50 plus reporter, freneticism defined, burst into the room with her first question. -- to Robert.
"Who are you!?"
Caught off guard and flustered, he managed, "Christopher's...personal assistant."
"My Love Slave," I shot back, smiling. (Don't mess with my man, girl!)
Undaunted she turned to me, sat down, and began scribbling imperceptibly as I spoke.
"So, why not MEN over 45?"
? "Um. Well, I guess, I don't think they'd buy that book. Maybe if it were for women to makeover their man..."
"Well, don't you think men need a makeover?" (She is woman, she is posturing,I hear her roar.)
"Yes, but really, that isn't what I wanted to write about."
It's morning, I'm puffy and sitting under a florescent light with a north facing window to my side when out comes her digital camera. I move to face the light in hopes of some photo flattery, but, alas, when the article comes out, I realize my eye bags made their appearance for the camera.
Check it out in the Hartford Currant.
After spending countless rehearsals in my mind and audibly at dinner with Robert I knew I didn't quite have "Sally Hansen Line Fix Lip Repair and Volumizing Lip Shield available at Sally Hansen Lip Lab, Luminous Blonde Collection including rich colors like Vanilla Malt and Honey Butter by Garnier Nutrisse and Smooth MIneral Collection by NYC New York Color with a blend of mineral powders including Mica that minimize fine lines and imperfections....down pat. But the show goes on, ready or not.
Robert, my "personal assistant."
THE TOUR HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN!
So I whipped through it on air. (Click here, then click The Makeover Guy, to watch)
The at 6:00 a.m. the next morning a "media escort" picked us up and off we went to appear on what I must admit was one of the liveliest and exhaustingly entertaining syndicated morning shows called, "The Daily Buzz."
As the commercial drew to its close the anchor mentioned, "We only have about three minutes."
In other words, "I'm used to having to drag these things along, don't be boring, and get to the point."
I need no encouragement to speed up. But morning coffee and adrenalin in check, I was pretty much done in two minutes.
They asked me to stay for another segment an hour later, and I did. The media escort ran to a nearby fast food restaurant pick us up a "chicken in a biscuit, with tater tots and ketchup on the side." Mmm. More coffee.
At this point all those talking points whirling in my head I began to feel like I'd had a chip inserted into my hard drive that re-created the me I know closer to a robot that could not think for himself. I was not pleased.
Following "The Buzz", our media escorts drove us to book stores around Orlando for drop in book signings. Here I realized that no one really cares that you're an author. They don't really even seem to care that you just appeared on television in their city and they should be stocked with more than two books. They look at you more as if you are a mild irritant to their already miserable day of stocking books.
"What book?" "What's the name?" "We have two in stock."
Thunk.
I wasn't feeling good. Off center. I expressed my frustration via email to my publicist.
She encouraged me with a "that is so not nice what you are saying!!! Authors would kill for a tour like yours."
I was reminded why I keep my dark moments exclusively to Robert who has never in 20 years, put baby in the corner.
Be positive, be grateful, be polite. And carry a large stick.
On to the Orlando Sentinel. While just barely holding onto this side of positive, feeling a little edgy and nauseous from my Caramel Frappucino and disinterested bookstore associates, (and having now uploaded the awful photo from the day before on my iphone) I was a bit anxious for my next interview knowing full well how one can become a diva.
WHAT JOY! Jean Patteson, the fashion and beauty editor for the Sentinel floated down the escalator in sleek low waisted black slack and a crisp white blouse, upturned collar, sleeves rolled up, fantastic accessories and a chic haircut. I was in heaven. With a lovely British accent she said she love the book. Out of the 20 on her desk mine was "the most relevant." (Do I hear an angelic chorus?) It was a great interview, and I floated on the entire 2 hour road trip to Tampa.
We arrived at the Sheridan in Downtown Tampa feeling like we'd spent hours riding around with strangers making polite, getting to know you, small talk. Oh yeah, that's because that's exactly what we'd been doing since 6:00 that morning.
Be positive. Be polite....
Check in. Check email. Take nap. Work out. Find restaurant. Eat dinner. Rehearse talking points. Take Ambien, anti-histamine. Crash.
The following morning our new media escort was standing ready at the hotel lobby ready to take us to "Daytime" a syndicated television show where I met some of the most entertaining women on the trip. Lisa Daily, author of "Fifteen Minutes of Shame" and whom I had met in Minneapolis in March was there, as well as Gadget Grrl (yes two r's) who shared story after story of her experiences on the road...she even has her own jingle....
Cindy Edwards , the host, made me feel instantly at home and, score, I had a whole 5 minutes to talk. Meaning I could actually talk about the book! I was then told by the producer I could NOT SELL anything as it was a paid television show. A little glitch since those products are paying for the tour, but I went with it. I positively and politely toook out micro chip, found my ground, and managed to slip in all three products under the radar.
My equilibrium restored Roberta took us to a restaurant where we enjoyed a great steak sandwich and fries, engaging and easy conversation (where I learned that Adrien Arpel never chewed, but ate meals blended her food, then sipped it through a straw). Three Gin and Tonics later we were off to the airport, and on our way to Balitmore.
As we settled into our room at the Hyatt in downtown Baltimore we realized something was amiss. The front desk gal said we had a harbor view, but the reality we we had a view of a dead pigeon and the top of the mezzanine's roof. Being a true Midwesterner, my instinct was to just let it pass. I would rather pick and choose my battles. Actually I'd rather send Robert to fight them, which is partially why he was with me. I'm the star, you're the ass. I can trust Robert to go to battle when I'm upset. Or when, in this case, he saw dust everywhere. The carpet had not been vacuumed and the bathroom mirror was anything but sparkling. Suddenly, I turned into my mother and Robert turned into his grandmother, and around the room we went confirming our disgust, dragging fingers along every horizontal in the room.
"Ewww, look at this."
"That's just gross."
"All the rooms can't be like this..."
"Harbor view, my ass..."
The cheery front desk associate apologized professionally to Robert and moved us to another room a few floors up.
"It has a harbor view, if that's o.k. with you."
"Yeah, we know about the harbor view, we'll just take clean, please."
We were now on radar. As if we weren't already checking in. Even though it is 2008 there are some cities where you suddenly remember what it used to be like to fashionably dressed men checking into the same room. The only difference is now the looks are balanced by an overcompensating, I didn't even notice you are a gay couple, politeness.
After settling into the room, blood sugar lowering, I changed clothes. Then it started.
"Robert, why didn't you bring the plastic bag?"
"Why do I need a plastic bag?"
"The clothes stink. They smell like I'm at church camp. How many trips have we taken and we always put in a plastic bag..."
"Well, we have to wear clothes more than once anyway, I put the dirty socks in the zippered compartment..."
"The odor sifts through, and now we smell like homeless people."
"Well, why don't you just fire me now, I can't do anything right."
"I can't fire you, I'm stuck with you. Just use a plastic bag so we don't have to have this discussion."
Time for cocktails.
Clothes strewn on the beds to air out, we left the hotel to walk along the harbor (in search of Febreeze) and ended up at the Barnes and Noble "Power Plant" located in an old power plant, which was truly amazing. And dusty. And unpleasant.
"The books are down in health and beauty," said the disinterested sales associate.
I signed. Robert put them in a conspicuous spot on the shelf and we left, distinctly unheralded.
Since we had had enough of airport burgers and "near the convention center" restaurants we were hoping to find a hot spot along the harbor. We passed Hooters, Cheesecake Factory, California Pizza Kitchen, Hard Rock Cafe and Hoolihan's and decided to head back to the hotel where the concierge suggested Meli Pattiserie and Bistro in Fells Point.
We took a cab and breathed a unison sigh of relief as we headed down the cobble stone to an historical area of charming shops and interesting people. It was perfect.
Fantastic food, beautifully prepared and served by an entertaining, young "Oh no she didn't!" waiter complete with inside scoop.
"See those girls over there? It's her graduation party, though we dont' know how she
graduated..."
"They're constantly touching their hair," I replied.
"I know, then they touch me and I have to run and clean up. Two more Grey Goose, up, twists?"
The next morning our escort was waiting outside the hotel, trunk open, to take us to the weekend morning news show on WBAL. Blah blah blah, haircolor, blah blah blah, SPF, blah blah blah, instantly fills in lip lines.
After more Barnes and Noble "I'm sorry we only have 2 books, thank you for letting me know, I'll tell the manager's" and one I hear crickets is anyone here Border's later, we stopped at a huge mall to sign at Books A Million.
On my way I was sucked into the discount Neiman Marcus, then accosted by an attractive 27-year-old Italian kiosk barker who attempted to amaze me with how shiny my nails could look with dead sea products and a "truly amazing" nail buffer. Before I could think, he grabbed my hand firmly and asked to see my nails.
With no chance to explain how I get this stuff at cost, or that I own a salon and get regular manicures, he jumped into his pitch and started assertively buffing my thumbnail. I found myself hypnotized by his dark thick eyelashes and thick Italian accent.
"Oh you are making me hot, you cannot be 44 you look barely 34..."
I bought two.
At the airport we were back on Northwest Airlines. The saving grace, however, was that there were no children on board. But to balance the joy that I was seated in the exit row, I found myself next to a rather portly man whose waist billowed over onto my arm rest. Managing to find place for my elbow just behind his rounded mass and the back of the chair I watched over his stomach, "Lions for Lambs" on his lap top with the closed caption on. It helped the two and a half hour flight with the impossibly disenfranchised flight attendants go just a big quicker.
We arrived into Minneapolis, rolled our bags to the cab stand, and headed home.
Home.
Opening all the windows to the fresh lilac scented spring breeze we stood silently, staring out the window at the lawn that needs seeding, the plants that need watering and the red bud tree that peaked while we were away.
"Home."
"Yeah."
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