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Your book,Nobody Will Tell You This But Me, is an as-told-to memoir.
How on earth did you write it?My grandmother started talking to me when I was a newborn.
She was someone I spoke to on the phone almost every day.
When she died I was tasked with delivering a eulogy at her funeral.
I couldnt do it.
And he said, Potentially!
He went back to sleep and I ended up writing the eulogy from her perspective.
It was a kind of family roast with my grandmothers running commentary of what was happening at the funeral.
Howd it go over?My relatives were laughing.
And thats exactly what she would say.
Its my first book and only book.
It would have been a week of wait, what day is it today?
Monday.Based on what Im wearing, you could say, The Sunday after Christmas.
So today would have been the day of a book party in New York.
Tuesday was going to be another event in New York.
Thursday, Washington, D.C. And later Miami, Philly, Chicago.
Lots of big cities!It would have been a whirlwind with a 7-month-old literally on my hip.
Was there ever an option of postponing the book?
Dont worry, you wont find any metaphors like that in the book.
I was still jockeying for airplane seats.
The train had left.
She and I were texting a few weeks ago.
She was such a good sport.
She said, Im happy to do this, I just want to know what your concerns are.
We both were deferential to the other person until the last moment.
Likewise,Aminatou Sowand I were going to do an event at Symphony Space.
We were having a similar text conversation.
As an author, its important to promote your book.
As a human, its important to protect each other and keep each other safe.
For all of us, the human side prevailed.
We knew it would be irresponsible and dangerous to have any kind of book tour.
That was on Friday, March 13.
Was there a conference call with the publisher?
But ultimately, I was like,This is just not going to be a big launch.
I was nervous because I had a slight cough.Is this allergies?
Or do I have to make a weepy video for my son?
Doing it in a pandemic feels especially nightmarish.
Im like:Buy my book!
Have a nice day!
On Twitter, Im on the knifes edge of tastefulness.
Im promoting it with an apology.
For a certain kind of person there is something intensely humiliating about self-promotion.
Do you want it?But Im doing it as the world burns.
I feel like an asshole all the time.
It makes me think about the books published in September 2001.
Its a quick read.
And a comforting listen on audiobook.
Ive been getting messages from people on Twitter and Instagram saying, Thank you!
This is what I needed for my quarantine.
Or This is such a nice isolation read!
That is meaningful to me.
