Everything Old is New Again

In 2007, I decided to blog every day of my tour for What the Dead Know. Now no one seems to blog anymore. And, if I'm honest, I don't read many blogs. Remember when we all used to hang out at Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind? Good times. 

The publication of WTDK was seminal for me. It was my first New York Times bestseller, a decade after my first book appeared. I think it also was my first book to be reviewed in the daily New York Times. Now I sometimes review for the NYT (see Sunday's paper for my thoughts on the flinty brilliance of Lydia Millet's Sweet Lamb of Heaven). I have been a judge for the National Book Award for fiction. I am part of the Establishment, or maybe just part of that sad doomed tribe of the traditionally published. Maybe those two things are the same to you, but I'm not getting on that ice floe, not yet.

In my head, I'm still an outsider, the Anybodys of fiction, always on the edge of the group, trying to persuade the cool guys and gals that I have something to offer. I think most of us feel that way. 

Yesterday, I met Colin Jost of SNL*. I felt obligated to tell him that I no longer watch SNL, not because it's not culturally relevant (it is admirably robust), but because I have achieved, through my own persistence, the odd combination of being an old lady with a young kid. In 2007, I was on tour almost constantly for 30 days and I thought that was a big deal. In 2016, I will have almost 14 solid days of events that have to be balanced with birthday parties, my beloved stepson's college graduation (he shares an alma mater with Jost, as it happens), my husband's newest gig. From here, 2007 looks pretty damn easy. Still, I'm going to try to blog every day. For now the comments are off, but if you find this, it will be via social media, where you can have your say. 

*I met Colin Jost because I did The Wrap-Up Show for the Howard Stern Show, which was only one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me. And I will blog about it later under the heading: Sometimes you have to ask.