As I woke up to Walker typing away on his laptop, the nervousness hit me. I felt kinda dumb for having butterflies in my stomach, but they were there regardless. It was going to be the first time meeting Neil, which considering the personal nature of what I was going to get signed, I wasn't sure I was prepared for.
I know. I probably sound really fangurl-ish writing that kind of stuff. As I took my shower, looking at all of Michelle's Hello Kitty stickers, I thought about bailing out at the last minute, staying in Michelle's apartment and holing myself up because I didn't want to meet him. Really. And then I thought, Oh, I'll just watch the reading and hang out with the Thingies, and I'll bring stuff just in case. And then I just thought Fuck it, I'm going, I have to say thank you, and I'm going to have to introduce myself in some way because I'm going to be at five of these things.
Michelle had gone off to work, and was going to meet us all there; Walker and I were supposed to be picking up James in San Fransisco before we were going to head out to Menlo Park. The original plan was to pick up James and find something to do all day, but after getting up, checking mail, taking showers, and general primping, we picked James up around five-ish or so, because we needed to take a different freeway than the one we were originally going to take because of rush hour backups.
On the twenty-minute ride to Menlo Park, there was, of course, a music discussion, one of the main topics being James' master plan to erase all blues-based music from history-- mainly to get rid of classic rock, to which he's dimetrically opposed-- which Walker and I said eliminated just about everything, even music we individually think sucks.
When you're driving, and people know where to go, you just drive. My theory is that if someone doesn't tell me where to turn right or left, I'll go straight until being told otherwise. I can't read minds.
But James and Walker knew where they were going; the only thing they argued about was which was the best way to get there without wasting too much time and being annoyed, which was fine, and then neither one was sure exactly what side Kepler's was going to be on; but we'd get there, eventually. I just always feel strange with people who navigate for some reason. I'm so used to being in my own car, knowing where I'm going exactly, that when someone else is in charge it's a vague feeling of on-the-edge-chaos. (See, my fear of being lost again.)
Kepler's is easy to find, so we park in the underground garage and take the elevator up, standing outside the entrance and looking around for familiar faces, deciding on what to eat-- there's a Japanese place two doors down, a Mexican place across the street that we decide on.
I haven't mentioned at this point that I've never had sushi. I've eaten Japanese food before, but just never had the urge to eat sushi. I don't know why. And when I mentioned it to Thingies they just look at me funny, shocked that I've never eaten it. It's not that I totally abhor it; I've just never felt hungry for it. I think maybe I need to be properly introduced to it, rather than just trying it.
We'd decided on Mexican, since it was probably going to be cheaper and it was just across the way. Walker called Michelle while we were eating to find that she'd just finished eating at the Japanese place across the street from us. Not five minutes later she was crossing the street, coming to visit us before she was going to do some rounds before the signing.
Eating doesn't help my anxiety. I think about calling people to calm myself down, but realizing probably no-one would be home I don't. I'm staring at my almost-finsihed burrito, having one of those O.B.E. moments, when you're aware of your surroundings but detatched from it all.
Michelle takes off to do her rounds and we walk across the street and into Kepler's. I'm such a rookie at this, I almost feel compelled to buy a book just because they're giving out tickets. Walker walks over to talk to someone and James starts talking to Tom (whom I hadn't been formally introduced to yet), and I'm just standing there. It wasn't the first time I'd ever felt dumb, standing there, not sure what to do and not knowing anybody so I really had nothing to say, and it wouldn't be the last time on this trip, either.
You know how sometimes you'll hang out with people and you feel like you're being left out of a really inside joke? That was me. There wasn't a joke, but the left out part was really strong. I felt a little embarassed being there. I didn't know what to do, really, except find a seat and wait for it to start.
I just had to get used to being there, that was all; it wasn't as if I was going through major surgery. The chairs are filling up fast, so I find a seat towards the back with a decent view of the podium, back near the alcohol section, which I found almost too appropriate, and start reading a book on cider co-written by Anne Proulx. I half-heartedly listen to people talking around me, and when one girl behind me asks her father why so many people are there, and why so many people are so adamant about his work, I try to explain it to her. She's about fifteen or so, maybe older; she holds a paperback of Neverwhere in her hand along with the copy of American Gods that she'd bought in the store, and as she tells me she still doesn't understand I realize how many people who have read Neil's fiction probably don't even know about Sandman, which is a shame because they're really missing out on a big part of why his fanbase is so (politely) mad.
Walker and James are pretty much gone by this point, and more people are showing up, so I give up my seat since I'm going to be at a bunch of these things; I stand behind a table of biographies, still with a good view of the podium. I call my friend Staci down in L.A. and ask her if I can crash while I'm there for the Pasadena and West Hollywood signings, catch up with her on how she's doing and how my trip is going thus far. People are starting to crowd around me, and it's starting to get a little warm.
People are settling in, getting restless. I look around me; the room is packed, the chairs filled, people lining the walls and filling up almost every inch of space behind me.
Just then I feel a little heartbroken. Neil's getting popular. Really popular. It wouldn't be the first time I'd feel like this, that feeling that a great and wonderful secret has been revealed, and now that innocence about it is gone, too.
A little late, Kali, who I didn't know until afterwards was a Thingie, steps to the podium, giving a very nice introduction. Neil appears to loud applause, from far away looking just a little road-ragged. And I realize it's been about 3 years since I've seen him in person, reading. I have to take pictures. I take out my camera, flip the lens thing, push the button... nothing. Push the button again-- nothing. I open the battery hold to find that I have one battery in there, even though I had just used it a week before. Fabulous.
My only picture in Menlo Park. Post-signing, the only gas station open, testing my batteries. Yay.
But then, maybe that was good. I was just going to enjoy the reading for what it was, take it in since there were going to be other opportunities. He read from Chapter Three, about Shadow's first bath, the wrapping up of Laura's affairs, and the dream about the Buffalo Man.
I was just paying attention, paying attention to the cadence of the words, the inflections, and the very awful American accent that Neil half-tries to pull off. It's almost Irish it's so bad. It adds a strange humor to the story, even when the narration is being totally serious.
It had been three years-- February of 1998 was the last time. And it came back to me-- when Neil reads, he just puts you in this kind of trance. His characters, which are always the strongpoint of his stories, have a definite voice when he reads-- even that borderline Irish accent that Shadow seemed to have. Neil reads so calmly, you know exactly where you are.
When he finished, and everyone clapped, I knew I was somewhere special. That sounds sappy and stupid. But I honestly think that when Neil reads you're given this little gift, this little scene of wonder, and every person has this smile on his or her face, probably the same smile that would greet Bards at the end of their stories.
First and foremost, Neil is a storyteller. Regardless of whether you read everything he's written or-- and I've actually read people's reviews where they say this-- you've grown out of his work, the reason that people keep coming back to see him is that Neil, literally, tells good stories. When he reads, they become hyper-real. And when he's finished, whether you heard him read or read it in your own private reading voice, you don't want to go back to reality.
Reality was a little sweaty, and I knew after the question and answer was over it was going to involve a lot of waiting around.
Walker summed up the whole night, very quick and dirty to the newsgroup:
The crowd was very large. Neil estimated that there were somewhere around 500 to 700 people listening to the reading/Q'n'A, with around 300 or so at the signing. Some people heard estimate of 750 people at the reading.
I acted as PhotoBoy (as I normally do)... taking pictures for neilgaiman.com, myself, and anyone else who had a camera (last count was 15 Olympus [2 digital], 6 Nikons, 2 EOS Rebels, 1 Sony, and 1 Invaca [WalMart... $9 according to the guy] )...
DevilBunny was in attendance.
Was called 'cute' and kissed on the cheek by a very perky blonde with pretty blue eyes.
Thingies seen: Kali, Kari, Tyg, Squeaks, Bastard
Lots of Tori-philes were there... as well as a few members of The Dent's Forums... imagine that: People from the 'Net meeting up at a signing. Pshaw. (giggles) Tyg: That was funny.
Nothing strange was signed that I saw. Stardust softcovers, Smoke and Mirror's softcovers, AG Hardcovers, and copies of Warning: Contains Language were for sale, as well as some of the back catalouge (Sandman, DreamHunters, etc)...
Q'n'A: Death Movie: Good Sandman Movie: Bad ("May it continue to rot in hell for all of eternity." -- Neil) Good Omens: Second draft of script was turned in Neverwhere: Richard Loncrane out, new director sought Coraline: Book next year/movie by Henry Sellick (Nightmare Before Xmas/James & The Giant Peach/Monkeybone) Stardust: New softcover out/Movie being looked at by multiple production companies Murder Mysteries: Limited edition book from Biting Dog/Movie by some guy who's name escapes me for the moment Chivalry: Maybe someday as a movie Best question: "In Shoggoth's Old Peculiar... you mention the 'I'm the British Coastline' song. How does it go?" Neil did not respond... but a certain group of extremely mental individuals came up with how it should obviously sound. I'll let them explain later.
When the line starts, that's when I start to get really fidgety and nervous. Nervous, despite the fact that there were approximately 300+ people left at this particular signing. So I sat on a wooden bench, talked with Michelle and James, got formally introduced to Tom, and witnessed Amaker's antics, which included getting in on James' plans to actually write The English Coastline Song and sing it to Neil-- can-can line included.
So... The English Coastline Song. Um. Yeah. I just stood there, hands clenched in front of me, just recording. Amaker tried to get me to can-can with them but I just felt dumb.
You can tell by Neil's reaction that what James, Amaker, and some guy I don't remember hearing the name of had come up with, wasn't quite what Neil had in mind. And when I took the recorder away, I realized how road-ragged Neil really looked, bloodshot eyes and all. It was the first time I'd ever seen him truly agitated. I felt really dumb.
The line winds down. Walker points me to the end, and I sneak in, get my books out of my backpack. I shyly meander to the table, books in hand, and he says, "So you're the last one."
"I'm it," I say, putting the books down. "Um, one of these has a sappy story behind it, so I put that last."
"Which one has the sappy story?"
"Smoke and Mirrors."
I think I mentioned something about getting the sappy stuff out of the way since I'm going to be at a few signings, and I think Walker or Michelle mentioned something about Walker and I being wiped, and Neil asks us where we drove from.
"Las Vegas," I said. "Walker and I had, what, a nine to ten hour drive yesterday?" I ask Walker. Walker nods.
"Wow," Neil said. "Just to come up here?"
"Well, here, and San Fransisco, Berkeley, and down to Pasadena and L.A. I actually want to ask you about Las Vegas, but I'll wait until tomorrow, and I don't want to take up any more time."
I think he said something about that was a lot of driving, and he opened up Smoke and Mirrors, which I had bookmarked with the cover flap to page 15, right at the end of "The Wedding Present."
"Okay," I said. "Here's the sappy story. Um. About three years ago I saw you read on the Queen Mary down in Long Beach, and um, it was a month after my mom passed away, and um, you read the end of this and... I can't describe it, it just got me through a lot of stuff-- of god stuff stuff stuff... and it helped me to write, and it was very cathartic and... yeah, if you could sign this page..." I almost started to lose it, but I kept myself. And I know I totally blonked on the story.
The entire time he just looked at me, simply, a little sorrowfully, pen in hand, and listened as I babbled. It was more than a lot of people who didn't know me did when I retured to Redlands that winter 3 years ago, and here I was saying thank you in my own strange way.
And then, smiling a little, he bent over the book, and as he signed the page very delicately, he said quietly as he wrote in small letters:
"~For Kari~ -- Because it helped."