The night before I went to another party, with my friend Sarah Jones (P.S. I am so buckling down and writing when I get to LA). It was a birthday party for her friend, the novelist Emma Forrest. I met some very cool people there, many of whom, it turns out, live in LA. I talked for a while to producer Sam Hansen of Mosaic Media, and when it was far too late for this, called him “Chris.” (He took it very well; when he gave me his e-mail address on a napkin he wrote the name “Chris.”) What can I say, I’m an Aquarius; we’re the genius of the zodiac. Details aren’t our thing. At the end of the night, Emma and I figured out that we’re on the same flight to LA! So the universe is sewing up the details.

I was in Rhinebeck because the night before, I read at the wonderful independent bookstore, Oblong Books. Afterward, Rob, his wife Emma, and Susan Orlean threw me a book party at Rob’s house. (That’s me in Rob’s kitchen, with Rob and two cool people I met that night.) The whole affair made me think, I could do this–I could live upstate in a cozy house and write books and hang out with NYC transplants and attend festivals at the Duchess County Fairgrounds on the weekends. I do love to knit. I do love to go to the movies, and build fires, and throw intimate cocktail parties, and take walks. I do love sheep. Is there any other prerequisite for living up there?

Last night, the lovely Laura Krum and her husband Jeff hosted a huge party for me at their home in southwest Portland. Laura is my Wordstock “minder,” meaning she is the person making sure I get to my events on time and helping me out with anything Wordstock-related. Normally, these people are assigned to you, but Carole Radziwill (who was at the party) was paired with her a few years ago and told me to request her. Well, Laura pulled out all the stops: Hiring a talented local caterer, inviting book groups, even selling my book through a book store! Laura asked me to give a speech which turned into a 45-minute-long Q & A about truth, families, writing and fathers. It was so warm and salon-like, with everyone lounging on the floor and couch. I had a wonderful time.

The only glitch: Right before the party I got the worst manicure of my life. The hotel I’m staying in made the appointment with a nail place around the corner, and even though they were charging a steep $30, I figured I’d treat myself. I was assigned to a young girl with pink hair and face piercings, who kept dropping the nail file and stabbing at my cuticles with such force I ended up giving her the names of several Portland friends I’m sure are working as spies. Anyone who knows me knows I am unafraid to speak my mind, but in this case, the girl mangling my nails was so sweet and diligent–like when you allow your three-year-old niece to give you a manicure–I just said, “Thanks, it was great!”