Last Thursday I finally picked up my copy of The Best American Travel Writing, 2011 edition. Which. I’m. In. Or rather, one of my essays is in. (Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!) I’ve known about this for a while, but seeing the book (edited by the wonderful Sloane Crosely) was a whole new deal. I found it in Barnes and Noble the week it came out, and stood in the “Travel” section staring and smiling like a crazy woman on drugs (who really loves travel writing).
After arriving home, I was sitting on the couch showing it to my boyfriend, and I read the back cover:
“Featuring Maureen Dowd and Ariel Levy and Annie Proulx…” I went on, reading these familiar names of writers I love, and then I paused. “‘And others.’ That’s me!” I pointed. “I’m ‘and others.’ Ha! Oh, man alive, is this cool.”
And then, much to my boyfriend’s surprise, I cried for about twenty minutes. “I’m just so excited,” I said, between heavy breaths. He handled it well, saying, “Ok!” enthusiastically, and moved the book to the side of the coffee table, where I wouldn’t get it wet.