Hi Internet! I have been away and off and about and becoming far too intimately acquainted with airports.

I have had good intentions of blogging along the way but then my connectivity gets cranky and sleep seems so much more practical than blogging and then a week goes by, not sure how that happens.

A housekeeping note: am in the process of trying to overhaul the site a bit, giving news & reviews their own blogfeed rather than putting them all on this one. Still working on the best way to accomplish that.

I have been all over the place and I am not sure I can do a proper recounting of my adventures, so I will rely on the bits I managed to capture on my phone camera, which as you may know, takes better photos retro-cam style than it does normally.

One of my favorite bits from Odyssey Books in South Hadley, MA, their very own Wishing Tree:

And this has nothing to do with anything (well, directly) but I couldn’t not capture this bit of found Shakespeare in Salem:

Llamas in Baltimore, from the very quick trip I took to the Baltimore Book Festival. (The Peabody Library is astoundingly beautiful, by the way.) I am not sure if they are drama llamas, but they probably are. I suspect most llamas have drama.

This week I spent several days in Toronto on the first of my international stops, got to break in my brand new passport. Everyone at Random House Canada was wonderful and I ate so much good food that I forgive them for putting me on tv. A lot. They had a lovely cocktail reception with cotton candy and tarot reading and magic, I signed books in bookstores and tried to wrap my head around being the kind of person who gets talked to on tv shows and failed, it was all very strange. I get to go back next month for the International Festival of Authors so I am very much looking forward to the return visit, I’ve been promised I will have more time for city exploring.

Geese in Toronto:

View from my hotel room in Toronto:

Home now for just over a day before the busiest leg of the tour begins. Next time I’ll be back in Boston it’ll be for a matter of hours before leaving for London. So far have spent my day off doing laundry and shopping for new dresses to add to the tour wardrobe rotation.

Also, in between Baltimore and Toronto I briefly stopped in NYC to hug all my Doubleday lovelies, and they gave me the stunning original paper art from the cover! It has been shipped to me, proper photos once I actually have it but it is truly lovely and it was such a sweet & thoughtful present. I am a very lucky girl to have found myself such a wonderful publishing family. They’re all cute, too, I’m just sayin’.

There were also beautiful cookies and cupcakes and I got edible roses that I can’t bear to eat:

Also, I cannot quite believe that tomorrow is October already.

witness to the crime

They took countless precautions, accounted for every possible variation. Everything was meticulously plotted down to the last detail and after that they even waited until the weather was absolutely perfect. Clear and bright, with no wind to carry screams and convenient rain forecasted for the evening to wash any remaining evidence away.

Everything went according to plan, so smoothly that there were jokes made about the ease of the thing, that perhaps they over-planned. There were no mistakes, no missteps. The crime was carried out so quickly that there was not a single scream left hanging in the air by the lack of wind.

Of course, they also thought there were no witnesses, but the pigeon saw everything. No one saw the pigeon, as the pigeon was not an accounted-for variation in the weeks and months of planning.

Pigeons have no loyalties, and they keep no secrets. Before the rain came every bird in the city knew what had happened, their own plans already formulating.


About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

Massachusetts has welcomed me back with hair-frizzing humidity & pouring rain. I think it might be mad at me.

But other than the weather it is a lovely (if short) respite from living out of my suitcase. I had a fabulous event at Odyssey Books near my old Western MA collegiate stomping grounds on Thursday night, and last night was the kickoff of the Salem Literary Festival which was splendid, and I left with a new friend:

He is delightful and huggable and his informative tag says he enjoys long walks on the beach, cozy nights by the fire, and lengthy discussion about Chaucer. I love him. He needs a name, but I’m still pondering something properly dashing. He was made by the lovely & talented Hilary Emerson Lay, who also has fantastic hair.

Back in Salem tonight and then off for a very brief stop in Baltimore tomorrow. I’m actually doing laundry right now and I am far too excited about that.

glitter never fades

She was warned, so many times. Cautioned in soft-spoken admonishments and harsh annoyed cries.

It is dangerous to play with such permanent things. Temporary matters make better playthings, providing no long-term damage.

But she was always an impulsive child.

The easily popped soap bubbles held no appeal, nor did water-soluble paints or erasable markers.

Only glitter served her purposes. Shiny, shimmering glitter that sticks and holds and never, ever lets go.

Now she is older and wiser and more conservative in her glitter usage, when she dares use it at all.

It makes one cautious, having a past permanently dusted with sparkling regrets.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.


Seattle is another city that I had never been to before and now that I’m gone again I very much want to return with proper time to revel in it properly. Wonderful bookstores, wonderful people, low humidity and cake. Many thanks to everyone who came to readings at The Elliott Bay Book Company & Third Place Books, both fabulous stores with fabulous people and oh so many books.




And the wonderful Queen Anne Books had a cake for me! With black frosting! Not enough cakes have black frosting. It was a delight.

In DC now, very briefly, to be on NPR tomorrow and then back to familiar Massachusetts territory.


san francisco

I type this from San Francisco. I have never been here before and I’m glad I’ve had a little bit of time to wander the city. I have a crush on the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market. I’m so used to flat cities that the inclined streets keep reminding me of Inception. I’ve been signing books and meeting lovely bookish people and practicing my public speaking skills. Not sure I quite have the hang of this whole author tour thing yet, but I’m enjoying soaking in the scenery.





Also, my hotel room has a goldfish. He is difficult to photograph because he doesn’t like to stay still. I shall miss him.

Headed to Seattle later today.

borne back ceaselessly into the past

I chose this hotel because it has author themed rooms, though which author you end up with is a matter of luck. To my delight we end up in the Fitzgerald room. There’s even a worn paperback of The Great Gatsby on the table by the bed, sitting next to a green-glass lamp.

I say something about the green light and he just stares at me.

“What are you talking about?” he asks after the pause has gone on too long.

“Gatsby,” I say, holding up the book.

“Isn’t that one of those boring books they try to force you to read in high school?” he asks. It’s more dismissal than question, he’s already turned his attention to the rest of the room.

“Boats against the current,” I murmur to myself as he tries to figure out the buttons on the television.

It is in this moment that I realize we’re not going to last.


About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

I wish I knew how to say thank you a million ways, to everyone who has already visited the circus and to everyone about to enter its gates. To those who made this possible and those who held my hand along the way.

But I don’t, so instead I offer a plain and simple Thank You wrapped up in endless gratitude with a single red rose.


Thank you, truly.


journey without a destination

I just needed to get away for a while.

The train wasn’t the cheapest option, or the most expensive for that matter, but it felt like the right choice.

Maybe it sounded romantic.

And it was the only mode of transportation that didn’t require a set destination. I paid the highest listed price at the station and no one asked any questions.

There aren’t that many stops anymore, now that we’re so far from the city. Long stretches of trees line the tracks, the scenery hasn’t changed much.

I keep telling myself I’ll disembark at the stop that feels right.

So far none of them have.

And I can’t help wondering, in the back of my mind, how far the train might take me.


About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.