Last night, three days from the new book’s publication date, I had a nightmare.
I was trying to speak about my new book to an audience but the room was so dimly lit, I couldn’t see my papers. Then I realized I was set up at the back of the room, all seats facing away from me. There was a loud and growing hubbub in the audience. I dragged a podium and a lamp to what I thought was the front of the room, and I plugged in the lamp, but all the bulbs were burnt out. I replaced a bulb and generated a wavery dim yellowish light, barely enough to read by. I felt certain that when I began my presentation, the audience would spring to life. But I couldn’t seem to reach them over the noise they were making. Then I looked up and saw that, once again, I was at the back of the room, nearly everyone facing away from me, and those few who faced towards me displayed supreme indifference.
Fortunately at this moment our very large long-haired sweet cat, Rosie, came and sat on my face, demanding breakfast. It was 6:15 a.m., but I didn’t mind getting to feed her. I was happy to escape that impossible audience.
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