Bringing “The New Paris” out into the world was entirely foreign to me, both in process and sensation. Much of researching and writing the book was so solitary that I was taken aback by the unadulterated joy I felt upon receiving early feedback. All those galling moments of self-doubt, the waiting, the planning, the many nights of fitful sleep, the list-making, become nary a consideration when you’re finally presented with a stack of your own work and avid readers waiting to discover it. Though some might find the comparison to pregnancy and birth a bit hyperbolic (and I can’t speak from experience), the visceral response is one of amazement and bewilderment. Did I produce that? Were those my…
On April 20, I boarded an Air France flight to Los Angeles, the first stop on a 16-day book tour that would connect me with bookstores, book lovers, and, most importantly, passionate Francophiles in California, Chicago, Pennsylvania, and New York. As I flew back to Paris, eager to vote, on the final flight out of JFK last Friday evening, I thought only of how I would manage to assimilate the experience. How could I condense and accurately capture the overwhelming emotions of the last two weeks?
