Yesterday I attended the final day of Book Expo America. It was my first time there - I was a total BEA virgin. To get in I'd registered as a "blogger". So my sense of truth in self-advertising leads me to put up a post about it. For those who don't know, BEA's the hugest American tradeshow for the publishing industry. Imagine packs of librarians milling about, sheepishly approaching often stylish booths filled with generally friendly publishing folks to ask for free books ("galleys" or "advance review copies" of new releases, in paperback form even those many of those books will be coming out soon in hardcover). But once these attendees get the hang of it, man, they load up those NPR and Whole Foods totebags like vegans at a farmer's market. It's actually much broader and more interesting than that. Lots of authors mix in through the schedule - signing free copies of their books with the understanding that an ounce of promotion here probably leads to many more sales eventually. The authors run the gamut. Embarrassments like Kirstie Alley get too much attention. Except when you try to take photos like I did - getting shuffled away by security seems especially out of place and downright lame there. I loved seeing Dan Rather. For 80-years-old, Dan the actual man's a tribute to tough west Texas breedin'. Jim Kelly (the former Buffalo Bills quarterback) turned out to provide an entirely fun interaction. I told him about the awesome biker bar I stayed at two nights ago outside Buffalo "with loads of Bills stuff in the apartment upstairs". To his absolute credit, Jim wanted to know who and where (Whiskey Hill Saloon in Cassadaga, NY). When he confessed that he didn't know that particular biker bar, I told him that he simply must pull off the NY Thruway at Dunkirk (exit 59) to check it out. I'd bet y'all a Romney he'll head that way at some point. And there were others. Steve Rinella was a relaxed and engaging guy in what can surely often be a monotonous situation. We had the benefit of having some rather serious things in common and he even offered up some source suggestions. Is that the norm at BEA? I have no idea, but I doubt it. Still if you walk through the doors ready to chat it up, some rather interesting results can shake out. Weirdness, too. Like the L. Ron Hubbard drone who approached me from their overpriced booth - featuring costumed pirates for posed pictures with willing skallywags. I suspect I will never forget the vaguely sweet but tortured "please save me" emptiness in her eyes. I can only imagine the weight of unseen, unknowable "education" bearing down on her from her overlords. And I'm not talking about the BEA staff. They seemed quite nice, actually.

Regardless, I was glad to take my galleys and head on down the road after that one day intro. I suspect the time will come when I head back. Willingly, once more. Anyone who works or wants to work as a writer should do so at least once, in my opinion. Jim Kelly signing or not.

I've spent the past 8 days traveling through Ontario, Quebec and New York State. I'm happy to say that the harvest of stories from sources proved way beyond worth the trip. So I'm heading toward the airport to continue on for another week away from my family back home in Seattle. First, I'll offer this. It's easy when playing my hand so close to the vest to lapse into generalities. But to protect the value of what capturing for the book I'm writing, generalities will have to do for right now. Here's a fattie - I dig Canada. I know I've been rarely but indeed guilty of that tired American cliche` where we make fun of what we know of them - acting like an oafish bully joking about the obvious when confronted with that soft-spoken, unassuming bloke. Now I plan to embark upon an unofficial pro-Canada campaign. Speaking as a nonetheless proud American, I think much of the problem is we just don't know what's gone on or is going on up here. When I got back into Toronto last night after a few days in New York State, I felt sincere pleasure in the returning to a place I barely know. Yet. I merrily got up this morning after only a few hours sleep at the prospect of one last run along the downtown Waterfront. Beyond Toronto, the history I saw thanks to intended stops in Kingston, Ottawa and Montreal offered just a taste of how much is and always was bubbling up here. Now that's not to say that I didn't get entirely jazzed by the many hundreds of miles of a side trip I took between the border crossing at Plattsburgh, NY through all the way to the Peace Bridge outside Buffalo. Along that route I drank deeply from the sights offered by the Adirondacks (not the best day for vistas, but Highways 28 and 30 rawk). I spent a night in Lake Placid - its just-shy-of-tacky pridefulness and the fact almost every worker appears to be in world-beating shape are just two footnotes to a larger awesomeness. However, if there was a quiz about what was my far-and-beyond favorite stop, I'd tag as this trip's tip top stop the area in and around the teeny town of Cassadaga in Chautauqua County (in far western New York bordering that little notchy part of Pennsylvania along Lake Erie). I spent just one night there, above the Whiskey Hill Saloon. Long story. Totally worth it, though. It's situated at the one stop light in town. There's rich history all over the area. And I went there with a reason. I'll hold back that card, because it's an especially good one which I can't wait to play someday. If you're a Spiritualist on the way to catch up with a dead pet or Houdini seeking out the mediums in the area (or maybe you're a documentary filmmaker working on a sequel for HBO), stop in at Whiskey Hill Saloon - get the "garbage wings", ask about the "lodging" and tell the owner, Kim, that I sent you.

And so onto New York City, with a briefcase full of notes and quotes and readiness to roll on, totes magotes. But not before telling Canada and Cassadaga the equivalent of "I love you, man."