This Is What It Means To Say LATFOB

As I noted below, and every other year that I've had this blog, I love the LA Times Festival of Books in a way that borders on stalking. Part of this is emotional baggage: I remember going to the first year of the Festival of Books and waiting in line to get a Scott Turow book signed and telling Wendy, "One day, I'm going to be here, and people will be asking me to sign their books." A few years later, when Turow and I were both up for the Book Prize and I was signing a book for him I nearly broke into tears. And part of this is because I absolutely love books and it's a pretty incredible feeling to be surrounded by people who feel likewise.  

The Festival feels like a seamless event for the authors, no small thing when you go to other book festivals and you feel like you are somehow putting people out by being there to do what you've been asked to do. (I can't tell you how many festivals I've gone to where they don't ever take into consideration that after your panel, it would be a pretty good idea to, you know, have books for sale somewhere within, say, a mile of your event, but, even better, right after you've done your panel...at one festival that shall remain nameless, I remember well looking at my schedule and asking the organizer why I was doing a reading and panel at noon and signing at 4pm and the organizer saying, "We thought it would be better if the authors weren't actively trying to sell their books at the same time they are talking. It's just tacky to have the books for sale and all of you signing at the same time, don't you think?") From the moment you're invited to the moment you pull out of Lot 2 and head home, the LA Times event staff, headed by the awesome Maret Orliss and Ann Binney, make you feel so totally appreciated and admired for what you do that it's really kind of sad to go home, slip back into your boxer shorts and start, you know, typing again. Turns out there's no catered green room at home.

The weekend started this year with a somewhat muted Book Prizes, this year held at the LA Times vs. the normal fete at Royce Hall. It was still a lavish affair, it's just that Royce is such an amazing space and with a thousand or so people in the audience, the Book Prizes at Royce always feels a bit like the book Oscars. Still, it was a cool event and the Chandler Auditorium at the Times was filled with writers and literary luminaries for the awarding of the prizes. You can never predict the LAT Book Prizes because they are always so idiosyncratic, so everyone I thought would win the awards I was really invested in -- Crime, Fiction and First Fiction -- lost. I thought Nina Revoyr would win for Crime, Marisa Silver for Fiction and Uwem Akpan for First Fiction and I was wrong all accounts. The full list of winners is here. The single oddest moment was Terry Pratchett's acceptance speech for best YA novel -- his book Nation was the winner -- which was videotaped. That it was videotaped isn't the odd thing as every year a few people are piped in via video (I recall one year a 10000 year old Jewish fellow won for something and his video was like sitting and listening to my grandfather bitch about poorly made furniture, but less interesting by a large margin); no, the odd thing is that Pratchett's cat was in the video as well and all anyone could concentrate on was the cat. At first it started with a little nervous tittering as the cat licked its paws and pondered whatever Pratchett was saying and then, within a minute or two, people were just giggling outright all through the room and no one could hear a thing Pratchett was saying, particularly not when the cat turned and looked directly at the camera while the author was making a particularly salient point about the writing of the book. He could have announced a perfectly fine solution to the Gaza Strip issue and no one would ever know. 

Interesting Observation Of The Evening: Uwem Akpan, whose book Say You're One Of Them was one of my favorites of 2008, is also a priest. That's not the interesting observation. The interesting observation is that he came to the awards in full collar and black priest suit and the dude looked sharp. How come Rabbis never look that sharp? 

Wendy and I didn't stay at the party for too long, which is usually not the case, but we'd spent the previous two nights not sleeping on an airbed and were ready for bed before even getting to LA. Imagine our surprise upon getting to our hotel room and finding that we had a Murphy Bed:

Me: Uh, nice room, but where's the bed?

Wendy [investigating the bathroom]: What do you "where's the bed?"

Me: I'm in the living room. I see a sofa. I see a desk. I see a microwave, an oven and fridge, but no bed. Oh, and a big ass armoire.

Wendy: [coming in to investigate] What?

Me: Maybe this isn't an armoire?

Wendy: Oh, no, no.

Me: [opening the armoire] Uh...

Wendy:

Me:

Wendy:

Me:

Wendy: You got us a hotel room with a Murphy Bed?

Me: I'm thinking we should get one for our new house. Great space saver. Put it in the office.

Wendy:

Me: Imagine how convenient that would be.

Wendy:

Me: Anyway, it's just a bed, right? It'll be fine.

Wendy: You're an idiot. And this time I really mean it.

On Saturday, we headed to the book festival first thing in the morning and spent some time with friends in the green room before heading off to see Lee moderate a panel on crime writing and then to catch our friend Susan Straight interviewing Marilynne Robinson. Now here's the thing about Marilynne Robinson: Amazing writer. An icon. Housekeeping, Gilead and Home are all brilliant works of fiction. But as a conversationalist she's a little dry. Like the next time one of those states in the middle has a terrible flood where people end up standing waist deep in water in front of their barns, wearing only denim shorts and Testament t-shirts, you could drop Robinson into the middle of it all and she'd be like that old Bounty commercial. She just absorbed the life out of the room, which is tough because Susan is filled with energy and was asking really interesting questions that we're usually answered with a cock of the head followed by the phrase, "I don't know."

My panel that afternoon was at 3:30 with Larry Wilmore, Lalo Alcaraz and Christian Lander, the topic being Humor & Race. I'd like to be humble here and say it seemed like a good panel, but the truth is that it was a fucking hilarious panel from beginning to end. Larry Wilmore almost made me piss myself, Lalo Alcaraz did make me piss myself (sorry, Lalo, just send me the cleaning bill) and Christian Lander comported himself well while attempting to educate the masses on the little known facts about white culture. Hopefully there's video floating around somewhere.

Other hightlights: I introduced myself to Michael Silverblatt. He didn't punch me in the neck, but then he didn't really seem excited about the experience, either. This was noted by the fact that he, you know, didn't say anything. I'm pretty sure I'll be invited onto the show when Other Resort Cities comes out. 

I saw Bob Barker in the green room. He looked like someone wearing a Bob Barker Halloween costume. I wanted to have an awkward conversation with him, but he was projecting a "don't fuck with me, I'm Bob Barker" vibe. Which is why I always preferred Monty Hall. 

During my signing, a woman walked up to me and said, "You're funny. You should write books."

I said, "I do write books. They're for sale right over there."

"Oh," she said. "I'm not sure I'd like them."

"How can you ever be sure you'll like anything?" I said.

She stared at me for a few moments, didn't say anything, and then just walked away. So that was nice.

The weird thing about the book festival this year, and likely an indication of our economy, was that neither Borders nor Barnes & Noble had a presence at the festival. In year's past, B&N was a huge supporter with their own stage and a huge B&N tent selling books, and Borders, too, always had a huge tent and a really great line up of authors signing books (I'll never forget the great moments I shared signing next to Tom Arnold, who, as I recall, couldn't have been a large dick), plus both had lots of staff, including my two favorite bookstore people on earth, Jan Valerio of B&N and Lita Weissman of Borders, both of whom have been huge supporters of, really, my entire family. Instead, there were a notable number of ebook and self publishers with tents (alongside, of course, a ton of indie stores like the Mystery Bookstore, Vromans, Book Soup etc.). The oddest non-traditional publisher with a booth, without a doubt, belonged to Immigration Enforcement Publications. Inside their booth were two people, a man and a woman, dressed completely in black like they were Ninjas, but specifically Ninjas who were going to keep our borders safe from, uh, presumably, those awful brown people of all nations. And as ever, it's always neat to see various religious sects and cults parked next to one another, like the Kabbalah folks and the Scientologists (who were calling themselves Bridge Publications, which I guess is the arm of Scientology that publishes the non-fiction of L. Ron, as opposed to canonical texts of L. Ron...). Apparently the Ayn Rand people didn't want to get into a turf war and opted to be a few booths away. A shame, really, as it's fun to watch them all battle for the soul and minds of California's literary minded fucktards.

Sunday was another full day. We started early again, this time meeting up with our friends Ryan and Trinity so that they could eat breakfast with us in the green room. Ryan admitted to us, after Wendy and I had a brief conversation with Jane Smiley, that he really didn't like A Thousand Acres and didn't really see the King Lear comparison. When I noted that Jane was just a few feet away and that he should maybe, you know, take it up with her, he demurred. I pointed out other writers he didn't like, but still no luck in getting him to pick fights. I spent an hour or so my UCR-Palm Desert MFA booth, which was fun as I got to talk to people about the program. I sadly also had to talk to an inordinate number of fucktards about the program. Sample conversation:

Woman: So, I'd like to get my MFA but I don't want to read a bunch of books.

Me: That's sort of part of the deal.

Woman: I just want to have someone write my story.

Me: That's not part of the deal, actually.

Woman: Isn't everyone in an MFA writing?

Me: Yes, but they have their own stories.

Woman: But my story is very interesting. I lost my job about five years ago in a workman's comp scandal -- they didn't believe I'd hurt my wrists, but I had, and that's why I still wear these braces -- and how I was screwed by my old company and how I finally decided to sue them.

Me:

Woman: Like Erin Brockovich.

Me:

Woman: Don't you think someone would want to write that?

Me: Did they find toxic waste in your wrists?

Woman: No, no, of course not.

Me: Then it's not like Erin Brockovich. It's more like you lost your job and now you're suing your old boss for workman's comp. Not a lot of drama there, I'm afraid.

Woman: You're not selling your program very well.

Me: No, no, I guess I'm not.

I had a panel at noon with Seth Greenland and Ben Greenman moderated by Carolyn Kellogg, It was called Humor & Fiction. So it was a lot like the panel I moderated the previous day, only this time I was a panelist and therefore was allowed to just tell funny stories, or to laugh at Seth and Ben, which was very easy as both of them are quite funny. The interesting thing here, really, is that none of us actually write comic fiction. Seth's The Bones is funny, but funny, but it's pretty dark stuff, too, and Ben's new book, which comes out shortly, is a serious novel, too. I'm not sure if I've ever written anything intentionally funny -- well, maybe apart from some of the Burn Notice stuff and a few stories -- but there the three of us were talking about the nature of comedy, which somehow devolved  -- in the first question -- to be talking about teaching an entire class at UCLA with my penis sticking out of my pants. And, you know, it just went down from there. It was another excellent panel, needless to say.

After that, I headed over to the Mystery Bookstore to sign books with Lee and Bill Rabkin and was then joined, unexpectedly, by Matt Nix, the creator of Burn Notice and all around great guy. We had a good time chatting and he made dreams come true for a few folks who wondered up as we were closing up our time, notably Peter Balaskas, the editor of Silent Voices who lost his shit, to put it mildly. Peter is a good guy and I knew he was a huge fan of the show, so I was happy to watch him lose said shit. 

Then I went to Mysterious Galaxy and signed with Brett Battles, where we encountered a woman wearing the shortest skirt I've ever seen. I literally kept waiting for her lady bits to come tumbling out, though I didn't wait with too much active staring as her boyfriend looked like Lemmy from Motorhead, but with a more outward taste for human flesh. Nevertheless, Brett and I were heartened to see that the woman was a reader -- she bought the chick-lit mystery being sold by the woman sitting beside us. (Note to self: Write more chick-lit crime novels.) Later, a woman walked up to me, grabbed my latest Burn Notice book and said:

Woman: What's this about?

Me: It's about a boy wizard stuck in Miami against his will.

Woman: (staring at the cover) Oh, really? That sounds interesting.

Me: No, not really. He's an ex-spy living in Miami against his will.

Woman: (a look of disappointment on her face): Oh. I see.

Oddly, she ended up buying the book because she said it sounded like, "it could be like James Bond or something." When I told her about my other books stacked in a handsome pyramid, she told me they didn't sound very interesting at all.

Other highlights: running into Kevin Roderick of LAObserved in the green room, because I swear to god I read LAObserved so religiously that it's hard to believe there's an actual person behind it. I've met Kevin several times, but it's always weird, because I think, Oh, right, he's the human there. I'm not making sense, I know, but it was cool, especially since I thought at any moment Sam Zell would have him shot.

I didn't run into Alyssa Milano or Cloris Leachman, so my marriage is safe and strong.

Seeing so many of my former UCLA students, current UCR-Palm Desert students, Bennington classmates and Bennington professors, all often in the same place at the same time.

Seeing indie stores like the Mystery Bookstore and Mysterious Galaxy selling lots of books. These people love books and love writers and without them, all book lovers lose.

It was, in short, another great Festival of Books. I'm already getting excited for next year!

Comments

[Jessica]

So great to see you yesterday. You had us in stitches... totally worth the 75 cents!!

[Elodie]

Sounds like fun, and I wish I could've been there. Cloris Leachman's scary, though. My ex-husband worked on a TV show with her a few years ago and she was bizzare in the extreme.

She was wearing a sleeveless outfit and every once in awhile she'd stop what she was doing and raise her arms in the air.

"PITS," she'd scream. "PITS!"

Some poor bastard then had to run onto the set with tissues and blot the sweat in her armpits.

God, what a great job that'd be, huh? Armpit sweat dauber. And they thought Martha Stewart was tough to work for.

[Daniel]

Thanks for signing my burn notice books yesterday. Haven't actually read them yet, but will get to them eventually. I didn't know you taught at UCLA! I doubt they are for my major, but I'd like to take one anyway.

[Peter A. Balaskas]

Hey Tod!

Thank you very very much for providing me the appropriate "emotional laxative" Sunday afternoon. It was a chaotic and stressful weekend at my booth and the constipation was killing me. :))

A very much relieved Peter A. Balaskas

[Jamie Goodman]

I was surfing the net and googled "dumbest questions".. and I came across your site, I havent laughed so hard in a long time, I just wanted to thank you for brightening my day!

[Antoine]

Bummed I didn't get to see you at the fob. Actually, I did see you, but I was sitting and talking with someone I'd just met and didn't want to be rude, so I just pointed at you and said, "That's Tod Goldberg. I like him. He's funny." At which point you disappeared, or I did.

You didn't by any chance see anyone wearing my nametag on Saturday, did you?

[Yvonne Navarro]

The Husband (who shall remain nameless here) did not run into Alyssa Milano as she was filming a CHARMED episode in San Pedro. Rather, he tripped on a curb just after he sent our daughter to introduce herself (Alex: "Hi." Alyssa: "Hi.") and nearly ran head-first into the side of Alyssa's van. She did not see this, but her friends, who were watching out the window as The Husband decided to play Medieval Head-Battering-Ram, did. It still qualifies as one of those Rare Moments in his life.

[C.A. Gilder]

Man, it's been a while since I've been "here." I've missed your humor, Tod...

And I definitely needed the laugh today! Thanks!