Hola from Burbank, CA. Noah and I are ensconced in our Stoker hotel among all the Stoker people and we're drinking much but not enough because every fucking drink is $12 and damn, how does a poor writer get drunk in L.A.-ish? We tried to sally forth and find a liquor store but our hotel is near the airport and the best we did was nothing, nothing at all. We haven't actually talked to many people yet but we are observing, observing, observing and tomorrow will be a marathon day. I have an interview at 11 AM a reading at 1 and I'm sitting on a first novel panel at 4 and then the Stoker awards/banquet in the evening.
Tonight I will bury myself bashido style and live tomorrow as if I am already dead and feel no fear.
Though when you think about it that's a little extreme. Perspective, Blogagaard!
Blogagaard Loves to Ponder
About Me
- David Oppegaard
- St. Paul, Minnesota
- I am the author of And the Hills Opened Up, The Suicide Collectors, and Wormwood, Nevada.
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3 comments:
Hello Mr. O:
I just finished your novel The Suicide Collectors. Astonishing. Being a person who lives with depression, you really know the feeling of despair. Thank you for amazing characters and a truly unique road trip. I'll look for your follow-up in December.
Thank you, Michael. I appreciate that very much!
Cheers!
D
Ah yes, Burbank, CA! I lived in a crappy apartment there for 2 years. If I'd seen your post sooner I could have pointed you to a liquor store on Glenoaks Blvd., which isn't far from Bob Hope International.
Sorry you didn't take the prize.
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