Bill Konigsberg's Blog, page 15

Thank You

I got in my pool about a half hour ago. I’m heading off to New York later today, and it was going to be my last chance to take a swim for a while. I was struggling with a scene in my novel-in-progress, and, admittedly a little frustrated, I decided to change the scenery and see if it helped.

It did, but not in the way I was expecting.

I am dense. Truly. I have so little perspective on my own situation that I often forget who I am, what I have, all of the gifts in my life.

Diving into the crystal clear pool and doing a few laps on a beautiful, hot morning, not a cloud in the sky, I realized something that I realize every once in a while.

That my life is perfect.

I am often too busy being annoyed about the things I do not have. I may be lacking clarity in my writing that day, or annoyed about some small transgression against me, or what it’s going to take to get me the next level in fill in the blank. I am often so focused on these perceived wants that I forget something I know: which is that there is no happiness in wanting more. If and when I want to be happy, I must simply be grateful for what I have.

Which is, by the way, so, so much. Who in their right mind would not be grateful when they have love, a terrific partner, awesome friends, loving and supportive family, a great house, a sweet dog, a private swimming pool, a writing career that is quite obviously moving forward in a hurry? Who in their right mind would not be grateful, heading off on a tour with three massively talented authors, that happens to be named using a play on words on my own novel?

No one. No one in their right mind would lack gratitude with all of these obvious gifts.

But then again, no one ever said I wasn’t crazy. So I guess I just have to accept that I will occasionally forget all that I have to say thank you for. Thank you to my friends, family, husband, to the universe, my idea of a higher power. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And thank you for your patience with me. Hopefully one day I will not be so quick to forget all that I’ve been given.

Writerly Words of Encouragement

So once in a while, I get a request for some words of encouragement for a writer. I almost always do it, because I know what it feels like to need encouragement. A week or so ago, I got a message from a relative I had not met before. She sounded very nice, and she asked me to send her son, who is a writer, some words. I finally got around to it today, and I thought I’d post those thoughts in case anyone else out there needs to hear this. It’s nothing earth shattering, but I promise it’s all true.

—–
I am your mom’s cousin’s partner, which, now that I write it, sounds kinda distant. But anyway, I am writing because I heard you are an aspiring writer. Your mother asked me if I would send you a few words of encouragement, so here goes:
 
1) Write. When you feel yourself getting up to get a glass of water, stay seated and write. When you decide you should probably clean the dishes you left in the sink, write. Write all the time. It keeps you sharp, and it makes you better.
 
2) Read. Read things in your genre, and read well-written books. I’m not sure what your genre is, but whatever it is, read in it and out of it. Read people who write beautiful sentences (see Toni Morrison) and people who write hilarious sentences (see David Sedaris). I could name a lot of other good writers to read, and I’m sure you can, too. Find who you like, and devour their books.
 
3) Take what you want, and leave the rest. There will always be critics. If someone you really trust tells you something, it may be a good idea to listen. If more than one person has the same suggestion, you may want to take heed. But no matter how good you are, there will always be someone who doesn’t like what you do. Let that go. It’s part of the game. Write the book you want to read, and if someone thinks you should write a different book, let them write that book.
 
4) All it takes is one. Perhaps you have a dozen rejections from agents and publishers. Perhaps you have five dozen. Doesn’t matter. All it really takes is one agent to believe in you. And the best way to do that is to research! What agent(s) represent authors who are like you? How can you, in a query letter, make it clear that you mean to submit this manuscript to them and not to every agent in the world? And of course, make it good! Your manuscript should be complete, polished, correctly formatted, that sort of thing. Agents definitely pay attention to those things, because they want writers who are ready to be published.
 
5) Do NOT quit your day job. Not when you get an agent, not when you get an editor, not when you publish your first book, not when you publish your second book, either, unless it becomes a best seller and you have a contract for more. In fact, give up any fantasies about making money as a writer. If you’re good, you may make enough to pay the bills, but unless you are 1% of the 1% of the 1% of the 1%, you will not make a lot of money as a writer. Everyone thinks they are the exception, and everyone is wrong. Write because you have to, not because you think it’s your path to a mansion.
 
So these are my five words of encouragement. I hope they are helpful! Good luck with your writing!

 

(Pride) In the Name of Love!

It’s Gay Pride month, and three writer friends and I are about to take off on our Openly YA tour next week.

It has me thinking about something I was taught when I was in college. It’s about the different levels of “acceptance” of LGBT people. I wrote about it in Openly Straight:

“It’s hard to be different,” Mr. Scarborough said. “And perhaps the best answer is not to tolerate differences, not even to accept them. But to celebrate them. Maybe then those who are different would feel more loved, and less, well, tolerated.”

So there is rejection, tolerance, acceptance, celebration. Decades ago, back in the Paleozoic period when I was a teenager, we were taught to be “tolerant” of the “lifestyles” of others rather than rejecting. But if we need to tolerate something, doesn’t that mean it’s bad?

So we moved on to “accepting” others. But even acceptance has a negative connotation. I didn’t get this as a teenager, because I thought, “Hey, I’d be happy to simply be accepted. Overjoyed, really.” But if something needs to be accepted, what does that really mean about it? Who gets to do the accepting? And why do people who are different need that acceptance? Who is in charge here?

That brings us to the idea of “celebration.” We celebrate not what is less than, not what is acceptable, but what is worthy of pride. That’s what rankles so many people about gay pride parades. “Why not straight pride parades?” those people ask, not recognizing that really every day is a straight pride parade. In what world are two people of the opposite sex NOT allowed to hold hands or kiss on the street? Have you seen the Jumbotron “kiss cam” at baseball games? You know that thing where people kiss and everyone applauds? That there’s a straight pride parade! We just don’t call it that.

And by the way, I’m all for straight pride parades. I love seeing people who love each other express that love. I do, actually, tear up sometimes when I see two people on the Jumbotron kiss.

But these pride parades for LGBT folks. That’s different. Why are we celebrating that? These people seem to be saying.

Let me tell you why:

Even today, when things are so much better for LGBTQ folks than they were a decade ago, for a person who identifies as LGBTQ to find happiness and pride within themselves is a Goddamn miracle. It means shutting out all the voices of people who tell us we are FAR LESS than wonderful. When I see a happy young male or female couple holding hands, it makes me feel so proud of them because there remain so many obstacles to that happiness.

It’s still in the law. Our love is not worthy of marriage, they say. It’s in the media. Our love is still the butt of jokes on late-night television. It’s dangerous to walk down the streets in New York City these days if you’re perceived as gay, lesbian or transgender.

So when I see happy LGBT folks, I do believe a celebration is in order. We should be proud of those who have found happiness in being who they are, especially when being who they are makes one a second-class citizen. And it does. Every year at tax season, I remember just how much I am a second-class citizen in this country.

Sigh. See, you got me riled up. I get that way, not because I’m angry. Or maybe I should say not solely because I’m angry. Because I am still angry sometimes. When I think about how human beings treat other human beings, how people put others down to make themselves feel better, it infuriates me still. But I get riled up not just because of that. I also get riled up because I see incredible strength in my people. LGBT folks have overcome so very much, and I think that’s totally Goddamn worthy of celebration. More than once a year, even, but for now, I’ll take once a year.

I’ll close by painting for you my version of utopia. It comes from the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, Colo., and it is described here by Rafe, the protagonist of Openly Straight. This is the world I want to live in. Straight, gay, whatever you are. Whatever we all are. Whatever.

“We were dancers and drummers and standers and jugglers, and there was nothing anyone needed to accept or tolerate. We celebrated.”

(Just in case the title of this blog post made you feel like listening to U2… as it did for me).

“While everyone…

“While everyone was talking, I wandered back over to the tofu pig. It looked real, unless you got up really close to it. Then you could see: It was very much not. Up close, you could see how the artist molded the tofu, and the places where there were cracks in the pigskin. You could even see the finger indentations where he’d tried to massage the tofu flat. It was like when you approach a woman whom you think is beautiful and you see the caked-on blush and mascara, and you realize what you are seeing isn’t her; it’s her vanity. You’re seeing her attempt at beauty, and it’s the opposite of beauty you’re looking at.”

Rafe, at the Mountain Luau Surprise Party his parents throw him in Boulder, Colo., staring at the tofu pig on a spit. From Openly Straight.

Yep. Those Are my Fans.

So the launch for Openly Straight happened at Changing Hands Bookstore in Tempe last night. When I looked out at the audience at the start, I knew I had to take the above photo. What a terrific crowd, at really the best of the best of independent bookstores.

It was magical. For me, anyway. Hopefully the people who came felt some of that, too!

I love my friends and fans so much. They came out to support me, the book, the store, and we just had a lot of fun and a lot of laughs.

Something happens to me when I present at a bookstore or a school. I just feel … in my element? Maybe it’s just because I love what I do so much, but it feels like a good connection is made.

When someone comes to me at a signing and tells me that my book touched them, or that they read it in one sitting and they totally fell in love with Ben, or that they could read the apple orchard scene over and over, our souls connect. Because in that moment, we understand each other. That feeling is powerful as a reader (don’t even get me started on Armistead Maupin), and it is just as powerful as a writer. It reminds me why I write. To connect to others at a deep level, to express my truth and share it with the world.

So if you’re wondering why I look so at peace in these photos, it’s because I feel connected to my fans and friends.

So thank you to those who showed up last night. And thank you to those who were there in spirit. You sustain me. You understand me. I love you.

Tour!

How in the world do I get to meet Bill Konigsberg, very few people have asked ever. But in case you are one of those people, or his parents are paying you to pretend to be one of those people, here’s your answer:

Bill will be touring by himself and also with a little help from his friends this summer and fall. More dates are to be announced, but here is where it stands right now:

Thursday, June 6: Changing Hands Bookstore, Tempe, AZ, 7pm: Launch party for Openly Straight

The next six dates are as part of the OPENLY YA Tour!

Wednesday, June 19 – McNally Jackson – NYC, 7pm (With David Levithan, Aaron Hartzler, Alex London)

Thursday, June 20 – Children’s Book World – Haverford, PA, 3pm (With David Levithan, Aaron Hartzler, Alex London)

Thursday, June 20 – Giovanni’s Room – Philadelphia, PA, 5:30pm (With David Levithan, Aaron Hartzler, Alex London)

Friday, June 21 – Clinton Book Shop – Clinton, NJ, 7pm (With David Levithan, Aaron Hartzler, Alex London and A.S. King)

Saturday, June 22 – Books of Wonder – NYC, TBD (With David Levithan, Aaron Hartzler, Alex London)

Aug. 2-4 – Willamette Writer’s Conference, Portland, OR

Sept. 20-22 – Colorado Gold Conference, Denver, CO

Sept. 28-29 – Texas Book Festival, Austin, TX

Nov. 2 – Vegas Valley Book Fest, Las Vegas, NV

Nov. 8-9 – YALLFest, Charleston, SC

Nov. 21-24 – NCTE, Boston, MA

More dates are currently being negotiated. If you want Bill to come to your high school/college/local library, check out the Contact page on Bill’s website for information on how to make that happen.

 

 

 

“That’s not for us…”

My dear friend and fellow author Lisa McMann took me to a Barnes and Noble in Gilbert, Arizona, on Friday night. I was surprised and happy to see that they had six copies of Openly Straight, so I did my cheesy, 70s pose in front of them.

The folks at this Barnes and Noble couldn’t have been more gracious and kind, and I signed some books. Go to this store! It’s the one in San Tan Village.

Lisa is awesome and a huge supporter, so I wasn’t that surprised when she started hand-selling my book. A mother and daughter (I think?) were checking out the teen book section, and Lisa said, “You need to read this book! This is the author, right here!” and handed them my book. Bless her heart. If you don’t have a friend like this, get a friend like this.

The two females were very sweet, and we exchanged some nice words. After a while, the older one took the book and said, regarding Lisa’s initial question, “Well, that depends what it’s about.” She took a look at the back, read a few words, and said, “Nope, that’s not for us.” And she put the book back on the shelf.

She wasn’t trying to be mean. And I didn’t take offense, per se. I mostly thought it was funny that she had labeled a book about labeling, I guess. It was like, that book is GAY. And we are NOT GAY. I guess, anyway. Who knows? Maybe she didn’t like books that are FUNNY and THOUGHTFUL, as those are two of the highlighted words on the blurbs on the back of the book.

But it certainly highlighted an interesting issue: Openly Straight simply is a mainstream book. It has wide appeal. All sorts of people seem to like the main character, and they seem to laugh a lot, and they seem to relate in some way to his struggles. But it has a gay protagonist. Can a teen book with a gay protagonist break through the lavender glass ceiling? Will straight kids read a book with an LGBT lead?

I want to point out that while this sounds like I’m talking about homophobia, it’s more subtle than that. It’s about the fact that like seems to read about like. I’ve spoken to friends about this. People have limited reading time. Given this, they are most likely going to read the types of books they are comfortable reading.

The one teen novel with an LGBT protagonist that has made the New York Times Bestseller list is Will Grayson, Will Grayson, by John Green and my friend David Levithan. David is a rock star who sells a ton of books, and surely John Green’s name helped catapult this book; he currently has three of the Top 10 teen novels on that list.

What keeps other LGBT titles from such wide readership? Or is this a fallacy? Do these books sell just as well as books without LGBT protagonists? I guess without access to Bookscan, I won’t know.

This isn’t envy, I don’t think. It’s more … interest. I’ve been thrilled at the coverage Openly Straight has gotten; this weekend’s review in The New York Times has been a great opportunity for people to find the book, and from what I can tell, booksellers are certainly buying copies and in many cases handselling them to readers. I actually have no real idea about how the book will sell, and I’m trying my best not to make it my top focus. I just wonder.

One of the themes of Openly Straight is the feeling, for some of us LGBT folks, that we’re being looked at through lavender-colored glasses. As it turns out in the book, sometimes people are NOT looking at us because we’re gay; they’re looking at us because we have tomato sauce on our chin.

Do you think this is a case of life imitating art? Am I making this about gay issues when it isn’t? And if not, what will it take to get more non-LGBT readers to take a chance on these novels?

The New York Times on Openly Straight: “It’s beautiful. It’s a story of salvation.”

One thing a lot of people don’t know about me is that I used to plan my birthday parties. When I was like six and seven. Not just, “Let’s go to the zoo or a baseball game.” More like, who will come, what they will do, how everyone will feel, what will happen.

Call it a deep-seated need to control. Call it what you want. I so wanted to be able to engineer and predict the future.

This has been a hard lesson, taught to me repeatedly over the course of a lifetime. I can put stuff out there, but I have no control over what happens after that. This is particularly true as an author. It’s a tough market out there. There are so many books, and it’s hard to get folks to pay attention to yours in a world where there are so many other types of media clamoring for people’s time and money.

So I’ve gotten used to realizing that I cannot always get what I want as an author. And I’ve been fine with it.

And then, sometimes things happen that go beyond what you’d have hoped in your best fantasy. Take, for instance, this beautiful review of Openly Straight by Jeff Chu in this weekend’s New York Times Book Review section:

“Being openly gay may not be a curse, but it’s exhausting, Rafe writes in his journal. ‘Always wondering what people are seeing, and feeling separated from so much of the world, that’s hard.’ For many of us, that’s also life, whether you’re gay or straight. Konigsberg’s lovely novel invites us to walk with Rafe through his season of assumed identity and his costly emergence into honesty. It’s beautiful. It’s a story of salvation.”

I am beyond elated by this review. To have something I’ve written receive this sort of close scrutiny and coverage, and to have it praised in such a way, feels wonderful. To have it written by an author whom I admire (I’ve just finished Mr. Chu’s book, Does Jesus Really Love Me? A Gay Christian’s Pilgrimage in Search of God in America, and I thought it was spectacular), is just icing on the cake.

I hope you’ll take the time to read the review, and I hope you’ll take the opportunity to give Openly Straight a read, too!

Also, please read Aaron Hartzler’s Rapture Practice, the other book reviewed in this article. A big-time congratulations to Aaron for being reviewed in the Times! To me, his book was a revelation, pun vaguely intended. It made me laugh and it made me cry, and it demands to be read. Read it!

Openly Straight is born!

Our books are like our children. We conceive them, which is a whole lot of fun, we gestate, which is a whole lot less fun typically, and then they are born, by metaphorical C-section, thank God. And then we must let them be who they are.

Today my second novel, Openly Straight, is born. I don’t have a scale right here, but I believe he is about five ounces, give or take, and he has the sweetest baby blue cover. He is my world, and I am so, so proud of him.

Today, his life begins for real.

What becomes of a young adult novel that has universal appeal and a gay protagonist? How does a flawed protagonist prevail in a world that is so judgmental? How do you save a blog post from an extended metaphor that wasn’t too great to begin with?

I suppose I will do so by saying one thing about this novel, and then allowing the protagonist of the book, Seamus Rafael Goldberg, aka Rafe (he was a victim of Naming While Intoxicated), to say a final word.

What one thing do I want to say about this book, other than I could not be more happy with how it turned out? OK, that’s one thing right there. The second thing I’d say is that my favorite thing about this book is that it hasn’t been written yet. How could it be that no one had really written about a kid like Rafe yet? A kid who was “comfortably out” with good, kind parents and a supportive school system, but who is tired of being thought of solely as “the gay kid?” A book about how labels define us, but also don’t come close to defining us?

I was lucky. As I began to write this, I found out that i was a 39-year-old kid who often felt this very same way. And I never really got that before writing this book.

I think Rafe said it best. On Page 211. Through all of the great pre-publication reviews and feedback, no one has yet mentioned my favorite paragraphs of the book, which I was sure we’d use to market the book. Shows what I know.

“What was I doing here? Who was Rafe, really? Can you just put a part of yourself on hold? And if you do, does it cease to be true? Straight people have it so much easier. They don’t understand. They can’t. There’s no such thing as openly straight.”

Until today, that is. Now there’s a novel with that very name! I hope you’ll read it! If you do, I truly believe you will enjoy it!

If you do buy it, I hope you’ll consider supporting your local independent bookstore by ordering it through Indiebound: http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780545509893

Of course, Amazon and Barnes and Noble are just fine, too!
 
http://www.amazon.com/Openly-Straight-Bill-Konigsberg/dp/0545509890/

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/openly-straight-bill-konigsberg/1113367900?ean=9780545509893

I (guess I) believe.?!?

I want to be so careful in writing this post because it is tender, and it is so open to misinterpretation. I guess I feel the need to say, at the top, that like any number of aliens in movies, “I come in peace.”

The crux of this is that I do not write this to change you. I only write it because I feel downright – effusive? Inspired? – this morning. Inspired enough that I know I need to write this, even though it is 4:01 and I have gotten only 4 and a half hours of sleep and I have a big day of exploring ahead of me.

So to my friends and to all, whether you are atheist, agnostic, devoutly Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, Muslim, Spiritual, or perhaps someone who simply doesn’t care much about these issues, let me start by saying “It’s all good.” My belief is you are exactly where you are supposed to be, and who you are supposed to be. Unless you’re not. And in that case, only you know that, and perhaps this post will help you get you back on a path to where you’re supposed to be. I can only assume that this is among the purposes of me writing this.

I do not wish to change you. I only wish to share my experience of what happened yesterday, because I feel more and more sure that there are no coincidences in the world, and more than any other two days in my life, the last two magical days have proved that to me. I believe that what has happened to me the last couple days is NOT a coincidence, and I believe that I am supposed to write this book in which I explore themes of religion and spirituality. My higher power wants me to write this book.

So here’s what has happened in the last two days:

As background, I am on a journey. I am researching my next novel, The Porcupine of Truth. As a side note, the birth of this novel includes a coincidence that would just about knock you over, but since it is not my story that drives that coincidence, I will never tell it.

Anyway, I had a strong feeling that I was supposed to drive the same route that my characters drive in the book, and that if I did so, more would be revealed to me about their journey. And my own journey of writing this book, I suppose. As those of you who have read my first novel(s), Out of the Pocket and the soon-to-be-released Openly Straight, know, this is a fairly dramatic departure for me, subject matter wise.

Last week, I wrote the following line in the novel, verbatim: “I don’t know what to believe. I truly don’t believe in God, but how can all of these things that happen be coincidences? I simply don’t understand. Maybe I don’t have to?”

That’s from my character’s point of view, not mine. But anyway.

So I’ve driven up to Billings, Montana, from Chandler, Arizona. I’ve met a friend who is accompanying me on this trip. We are driving from Billings to San Francisco in three days, as my characters, Carson and Aisha, do in the novel.

The first thing that happened was at dinner Tuesday night in Billings. My travel companion and friend Debbie set up a dinner. I sat next to a woman named Liz. We had never met before. She knew nothing of my book, and in fact no one at the table knew anything about this aspect of the book. I started talking about driving around Billings that day, looking for a house upon which to base the home where Carson’s sick father lives. I found one, a half a mile down the road from where I lived in Billings four years ago. I’m using the home I lived in as the home Carson and his mother are renting for the summer.

When Liz heard me say something about Carson living — as I did — on Rimrock Avenue, she said, “Oh, I grew up there. What cross street?”

I told her, and she said, “I grew up in XXX.” (Address deleted to maintain her and my privacy).

Which is to say, she grew up in the house next to the one in my book. Another important character lives in that house. It is a house into which I’ve never stepped foot, yet it happens to be the setting for a pivotal scene in the novel.

So yeah, that happened.

What are the odds of this?

It gets weirder. I start describing to this person I’ve never met before what I conjured of the attic of this house I’ve never been in before, where a particularly amazing coincidence in this book of coincidences takes place. I say that I conjured an alcove with a small window, and a leather chair where the pastor who lives there likes to sit.

She said, “My mother used to sit in that alcove. She had her sewing machine up there, and she used to sew leather.”

Then, she proceeds to tell me information about that house that can greatly improve my book, because it’s perfect. Apparently, it’s not an attic; this house is unique in that it has hidden rooms. So her mother did this sewing in a hidden room. Which will be perfect for my novel, because what better place to find a secret than in a hidden room?

Then, (yes, there’s more), she points to a man who is sitting at the bar at the restaurant, and she says, “That man actually lived in the house longer than I did. He dated my mother, and he lived there well after I moved out.”

She calls out his name, and he turns around.

He is the spitting image of the pastor who I have described in my novel. I am not kidding. He is the same person. Exactly as I’ve seen and described him.

I took his picture:

If this was the only coincidence of the first two days of this journey, that would be one thing. But then this happened:

So we decided, Debbie and I, to couchsurf. This was Debbie’s idea, and as I am particularly open to ideas these days, I went with it and decided my characters will travel the same way. Couchsurfing, for those of you who don’t know, refers to staying at houses of strangers and getting to connect with people you’d never otherwise meet. It seemed like a perfect way to get my characters, who are in dire need of connection, to do so. It also seemed like a perfect way to have an adventure, given my hope that this trip would illuminate things for me about my book.

I contacted one person in Salt Lake City. There was something about his profile that struck me. I wrote him a nice note, and he accepted our query. We knew very little about him other than his name and address, which were verified by the site, and all the positive reviews fellow travelers had of him and his home.

We arrive and meet, and it’s good. We all like each other. We decide to go to dinner. I say to Richard, “Would you take us to a place you normally enjoy?”

He says, “Well, there’s a Mexican place. And there’s this pub I go to all the time. The Porcupine.”

Right. Like the Porcupine of Truth. The name of this novel I am researching/living.

Obviously we had to go there.

Say what you want. Maybe he read my website and somehow saw something about the name of my next book (though I’m not sure if I mentioned it or not. Probably I did). But even if that’s the case, how do we account for the fact that of more than 100 people in the Salt Lake City area, I happened to write to the one who frequently goes to a neighborhood haunt with that name?

Weird.

To me, these are “God Shots.” They are simply affirmations that something special and – necessary? – is happening here. Maybe you don’t believe in God. I sure didn’t growing up.

My beliefs aren’t important. Well, not beyond these few things that I think are important to say:

I believe (and this book believes) that whatever it is we individually believe is absolutely true – for us. That last part is so important. It’s the key. If we believe there is no God, that’s true for us. If we believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God, that is true for us. And no one can or should tell us otherwise, because it is our truth. I believe that the most important thing is to stop bumping in to each other, and after yesterday, I believe that my higher power wants me to write about this.

One other thing, for my LGBT friends. Because I know so many of us have negative feelings about religion, and for some of us, spirituality as well. I want you to know that I believe from the bottom of my heart that it’s all good. That we will not burn in hell, that all God wants from us is to be who we are, to be true to ourselves.

Well, two other things, too. To be kind to others. Not even because of the pain we cause others, but because the secret to our own joy is in that kindness. If we are hurting or victimizing others, I believe we must make that right. Not because we’ll burn in the flames of hell, but because we already are! There can be no true joy in that, because it is not Who We Are. We are loving beings, all of us, deep inside. The final thing is, if you’re engaged in an addictive behavior of any kind, get help. Stop. There can be no joy when we are enslaved to a compulsion.

So that’s what I believe.

One final coincidence. As I said, this journey is about being open to what happens along the way, because it may belong in the book. At lunch time, I called Richard from Lander, Wyoming, to tell him I thought we’d arrive around 7pm. Now, I am a very punctual person. Debbie and I spoke about that yesterday morning, about how I really care about being prompt, and how I like it when others don’t decide their time is more valuable than mine.

We went on our way, and by my calculations as we left the foundry we needed to go to, we were on schedule to arrive, with minimal stops along the way, at 7pm in Salt Lake.

We left Lander with four bars on my gas gauge out of 12. Moments after leaving Lander, it went down to three. We looked at the map ahead of us, and we calculated we’d be in the next sizeable (more than 100 people, probably a gas station) town in 70 miles. Should we go back? No, let’s push on.

Within 15 or 20 miles, the gauge went down to 2 bars. This is inexplicable, as I get about 400 miles per tank generally. In fact, I inexplicably tweeted this fact just four days ago (I almost never tweet random facts, but somehow I did):

Phoenix to Albuquerque on less than a tank of gas! 410 miles, 11 gallons. Way to to go, https://twitter.com/search/%23Mazda3″>#Mazda3;! https://twitter.com/search/%23roadtrip”>#roadtrip

— Bill Konigsberg (@billkonigsberg) https://twitter.com/billkonigsberg/status/335828728926056448″>May 18, 2013

Why I lost a bar so quickly did not make sense. And we found ourselves in the most remote area I’d ever seen in my life. No other cars. No people. Not even any houses along the road. Barely any cattle, even.

I got on the internet as Debbie drove, to make sure the next town had a gas station. It pulled up a site that listed gas stations near that town (the name escapes me).

There was nothing there. The closest was Rock Springs, about 40 miles beyond that. We’d never make it. If we continued on, we’d surely get stuck in a remote area.

We turned around. When we saw a sign for a place called “Atlantic City,” we detoured four miles off the main road to go there, in case someone could tell us if that town ahead did have a gas station, or maybe someone might sell us some gas. Just hoping not to have to re-trace our footsteps if at all possible.

I got a gut-level feeling. The feeling was that it was all going to be okay, that this was supposed to happen. That we should go with it, and not be afraid, even though we were running out of gas and driving away from a gas station into the unknown is not necessarily a wise choice.

The town was super funky. Had a population of 57 people. We met a man, who told us about a house where a guy might have gasoline he’d sell us. We went there, but no one was home. We found another man there who told us the town ahead in question actually did have a gas station, so we went back to the original plan.

Long story short, we just barely made it and we filled up. But along the way, I wrote an important scene in which the two characters almost run out of gas in a remote area and wind up in Atlantic City, Wyoming.

And here’s the final coincidence: Despite this nearly one-hour detour, inexplicably we resumed our journey and we appeared to be basically on time. No, I have no idea how time bent and that happened. And we arrived at our destination and rung the doorbell.

I looked at my watch. The time? 7:00. Exactly.

Take this as you wish. I am believing in signs these days. I kinda have to. Too much coincidence for me to explain otherwise.