I’m flying to California tomorrow to meet with my agent, book editors, and publicists for the first time (or as my friend Jay calls it, “The New Curious George: Pete Goes to the Big City for a Business Trip”).
Honestly, I’m going to try not to look or sound like an idiot.
My editor has published some of my heroes (Anne Lamott, Wendell Berry, Gary Snyder), writers I teach, writers who are better than me.
Yet, I’m supposed to be part of that crew now, although it’s only recently that I’ve started introducing myself as a writer. Mostly I hide that fact. Who’s reading climbing magazines anyway? No one’s heard of me.
In fact, who reads at all?
It is a funny thing to be trying to break into the book world as fewer and fewer people actually read books. As my new book editor, Jack Shoemaker, said in an interview:
“This is an increasingly aliterate culture. Books are more and more an anachronism to large parts of the country. Sometimes you find yourself thinking you’re working in a museum of the past.”
I’m hoping people are still willing to buy museum pieces, book relics, when The End of Boys comes out in the late spring.