Well, just got conformation from the lovely Monica Isakstuen of Tiden, that my flights are booked: Aberdeen to Heathrow, Heathrow to Oslo and back again. Only actually going to be on the ground there for 24 hours and 45 minutes, and I’ll be asleep for 8 of them (well, as it’ll be a hotel I’ll probably only be asleep for about 3 of them, but hey – who’s counting).
Just got to hope the remaining time is sufficient to eat, drink, be merry and do that scary interview thing.
I’m really looking forward to going: apart from the whole “Hey, Baby, I’m an international author. Wanna come back to my place and look at my hardback?” thing, it kicks off the whole published year for me. The first hardback version of Cold Granite that I’ll ever hold in my hand will be Norwegian. And I won’t be able to read a word of it. Except for ‘Fisk’, I know what ‘Fisk’ means.
Even odder: I think the first interview of my career as a write-ist will be for the Norwegian press, so I won’t have a clue what’s being said about me there either! I’ll be like, “Wow, really nice to meet you, I’m so excited to be here (and other such gushy dribble).” And for all I know, the next days’ paper will be full of “Crime author is bearded git who keeps saying ‘Fisk’ the whole bloody time.”
Well, you never know, do you?