Laurel Snyder

I’m back from Nashville, where I was honored to do 2 fun panels at the Southern Festival of Books!

Highlights of the festival included hanging with my 2k8 friends Kristin Tubb and Jenny Meyerhoff, reconnecting with old chum Bret Johnston, and meeting my new favorite people Alan and Wendi Gratz!

I did NOT shmooze with  nervewrackingly famous writer types, harmonize with Dolly Parton, of make it to Hatch.

I DID delight in Irish whiskey and dirty limericks in the hotel bar, sleep 9 consecutive hours, and get a blister.

All in all, a really  good time!

My only real complaint about the festival had to do with book sales. For some reason, my picture book did not get stocked besides the picture books of the other authors on the panel. And while it *did* seem odd that the people lined up at the “signing collonade” all had all the OTHER books, and not mine…. I’m a newbie, so I just figured they didn’t want my book because they’d never heard of me.

But THEN the second to last person (who had a copy of my book!) explained to me that my book had been in another part of the book sale area, and that it had been COVERED UP by some other shmuck’s book!!!  So then the very last person was all, “Oh!  I was sad I couldn’t find it!” and  ran off to get one too.

And I signed it and realized that in all likelihood, all the OTHER people just hadn’t seen Slidy Diner. And might have bought it if they had.

Grr. Live and learn.  Next time I will be sure my book is in the right place.

If you want something done right…

This weekend we “hit the road” (Mose likes to sing the song as we drive.  “No more, no more, no more, no more…”)

We first went to Nashville, where I read to the nice folks at the enormously amazing Davis-Kidd, and saw old friends and new ones.  Not to mention corned beef at Noshville. Mmmmmm…

Then we continued on, despite insane gas shortages that required us to line up for forever at an Exxon, to Chattanooga, which is always wonderful. I just love it there so much!

Though I have too say that our breakfast at (the painfully hip) Aretha Frankestein’s was perhaps the most awful food experience I’ve ever had in Chatt, Mose’s complete wonder at the skate-and-dog-park, a walk along the river, and my cushy room at the Read House almost made up for surly bored waiters. Almost.  Though an apology would have been nice after they waited an hour to realize they’d lost our order.

Of course, I remember when I was the surly bored order-losing Chatta-waiter, so I  can’t be too mad.