I think I’ve written about this before, but as there are some questions popping up, I’ll repeat myself:
No booktours for moi.
Why? Let me count the reasons. First and foremost, I’m not a big enough name. It’s hugely expensive to send an author on a booktour, and publishers only do it for the heavy hitters. Those who regularly hit the best seller lists, for example, and the literary icons.
Now, most authors will tell you that booktours are hell and hey, they’d rather stay home. I’m one of those authors. When I have done booktours, I am in a high state of agita, I don’t sleep well, I get no writing done, and I’m homesick. And on top of all that, readings aren’t all that well attended. At least, mine aren’t. The smallest audience I’ve had is three people, and the largest (not counting the PEN/Hemingway award) was maybe seventy-five.
What I have just written is absolutely true, but it’s not the whole truth.
I don’t want to go on booktour, but it would be fun to be asked. I can’t pretend it wouldn’t be nice to have the publisher call and say, hey, can you spare two months? We’ve got twenty cities lined up and oh then, Europe…
Of course that would be really flattering. But I wouldn’t go. Not with a teenager and a house full of pets. Not reason enough? Well, for me it is. As a twenty year old I could travel nonstop, sleep on train station benches, wander for days. Now I don’t like traveling. I think I may be developing a touch of agoraphobia, but whenever I’m away from home I have trouble relaxing and enjoying myself.
I like my place in the world. I’d rather be right here.