Sarah E. Moffett

Barnes & Nobles of . . .
Independence, Missouri
Omaha, Nebraska
Council Bluffs, Iowa
Week Seven

And God said, let there be humidity, and there was Missouri. And God said let there be heat, and there was Kansas City. And God said, let there be book tours, and there was my publisher frowning at me.

[After the whirlwind of the past 48 hours, I am taking certain creative liberties. Consider yourself warned.]

This week the book tour circled the wagons westward from the East coast to the Barnes and Nobles of America’s lower Midwestern states. It started in Missouri, which according to Wikipedia, has both Midwestern and Southern cultural influences. I tend to think it is more influenced by the Royals continual losing streak and the status of Gates BBQ sauce, but I digress.

The added bonus of this particular leg of the book tour was that it involved excellent home made rolls, fastidious laundry service, and several individuals whom have a remarkable resemblance to yours truly.

Hello immediate family. The child who published your lives has come home.

Allow me to use this opportunity to clear up something I’m constantly asked. Yes, my family is still speaking to me. No, there have been no death threats. In fact, the ‘rents and sibs should be dubbed the new publicity team after Saturday’s showing, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Saturday afternoon, the Midwest book tour was kicked off by me returning to one of the earliest consumers of my teenage check—the Barnes & Noble of Independence Commons. It’s an odd thing to walk into the B&N one frequented in high school and see said one’s name and face up as a display for an imminent book signing. A decade can make a world of difference. After overcoming a series of Vonnegut-esq time travel moments, I took my place behind a table, firmly grasped my pen in hand, and quickly downed 28 ounces of iced tea bliss, which was helpful as we all but sold out of books within 75 minutes as excited friends and confused strangers whisked them out of stock.

Maybe the heat and humidity isn’t so bad after all.

Alas, there was no time for celebrating. No, no, that would require my militant Fascist of a coordinator to give me some time off. I’m really going to have to speak with her…Sunday morning, my faithful chauffeur (hi Mom) and I loaded up for a 11 hour, 450 mile loop up I-435/29 to Omaha for two hours of B&N book fun, an hour break, and two more hours of Council Bluffs B&N book fun, and then back down I-435/29 to Kansas City.

Tangent. Kerouac made road trips seem like so much fun. Clearly Kerouac was not signing his own books at the mid-point of each road trip. He probably didn’t make his mother drive him places either.

My poor mother, a Southern belle and true Faulkner story teller, had to spend 7 hours in a vehicle with me, who lacks the capacity to speak while road tripping. When I say “lack,” I mean I give the 1910’s silent movies a run for their money. God bless her for going anyway.

She survived, as did the two B&Ns I signed books at that day, although I can’t say the same for the 1,141 bugs our windshield ate during our tour de force.

After 48 hours encompassing 1100 miles by plane, 3 book events, 5 states, 450 miles by car, Saul Bellows, Frederick Buechner, and iced tea replacing the blood in my veins, I was done. Upon arrival at the Moffett family suburbia homestead, I promptly poured something warm to drink over ice cubes that clinked in my glass, sauntered thru Mom’s Great Gatsby worthy grass, crawled out onto the trampoline, and stared up at the stars. Only when I felt like I was no longer moving did I go inside.

It was around 2 a.m. On Tuesday.

Acknowledgments. My mother. You’re an all-star. Bekah and Katie, I promise to be nicer in book two. The Brammers, Haynes, Mrs. Stoelzing, Chris, Crystal, Ava, Becca—still laughing about the midnight dissection of the frog, Zeuben, Mr. Smith, Carissa, Mrs. Whitehead, Holly, Amy Durham, Mrs. Williamson, and everyone else, blessings on you. And the bridesmaids of the Midwest book tour—Kandyce, the saint, and Erins Sr. & Jr., you are dangerous. And wonderful.

[Listening to Joshua Radin.]

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