It seems strange that my first contact with the world of authors’ sites would be after reading only two chapters of a writer’s book (and nothing of her stories), but that is a sincere tribute to the person, the book, and the site. I’m looking forward very much to cozy nights in the pub exploring the worlds of Kelley Eskridge and Nicola.
John Young
I hope the virtual pub is comfortable and properly provisioned. I’m finding it pretty cozy myself, really enjoying it. And, of course, I hope you enjoy the book as well, and would look forward to any comments you might wish to share.
I’m curious about what brought you here after only two chapters. Please note, this isn’t a veiled request for lots of ego strokes about marvelous writing or whatever, but rather a question about the psychology around the access made possible by the web and an individual website. Did something in the book make you curious about me specifically? Do you generally go out and look for more information about artists whose work interests you? What are your criteria for sticking with a site like this? This is an open question for anyone, really. Those of you who have read through the material on this site know that I’m interested in notions of access and connection. I know what kind I’m willing to grant — less than some, more than others — and I know what kind I hope for from people whose work I admire. But that’s just me. I’m guessing that mileage varies wildly in this regard. If anyone wants to talk about this, I would find it interesting and instructive.
Your comment also got me imagining my dream pub. A neighborhood place, a little shabby from the outside with an entrance off the main road, so that the regulars can feel safe and just that bit smug about our good fortune. There would always a table free for me and mine, of course (grin). A main room with just enough bustle that never got too far on the wrong side of noise and crowd. A snug with soft leather armchairs and a lovely fireplace. Oranjeboom, Redhook, Fullers ESB and proper Dublin Guinness on draft. Decent champagne and brandy. A couple of startling and dramatic wines. A bartender who is a renaissance person with an extensive lending library and a genuine talent for making people feel welcome. Giant hamburgers with homemade buns and sautéed onions, and special handed-down-for-generations mayonnaise-based secret sauces. Fried zucchini and fried okra. Haddock and the best chips in the universe. Hummus with enough lemon, served with hot Greek pita. Vegetarian chili and cole slaw layered in pita bread (trust me). Sandwiches from Boat Street here in Seattle (artichoke-heart-salad, or pate and cornichons, or poached chicken with roasted red peppers, all on crusty baguettes) and The Other Coast Café (amazing deli concoctions, also in Seattle, lucky us). Good music. Indirect lighting. A room at the back with pool tables for Nicola.
My local isn’t Kelley’s Dream Pub, but it’s a great place. Good Philly cheese steak sandwiches and imperial pints of Bass. A fireplace. My kind of music. They like us and take great care of us, although there’s that tricky matter of not having my favorite table always waiting whenever I want it…. However, I’ve learned that one advantage of being a writer is the ability to visit the pub in off-hours and have the run of the place. We met a good friend there recently and parked ourselves in front of the fireplace for an entire weekday afternoon; Nicola took Official Virtual Pint Photos; and we all found that lovely drinking pace that maintains rousing good spirits without veering into conversational stupidity. A grand day. I’ll take as many of those as I can get.