It’s a strange thing to be a first-time author, about to make the world’s acquaintance. You spend years toiling in anonymity—particularly if, like me, your subject matter is hard to summarize in one sentence at a dinner party (let me try: “The Head Trip is a first-person adventure romp through all the wild variations of waking, sleeping and dreaming consciousness”—not bad, been practising). And then suddenly for a few brief moments the world turns its gaze to you, and your hair stands on end. It’s like being electroshocked. The world (OK, one local radio host and a friend of your Mom’s) says, “Show me your wares, kid.” You squeak back: “Ah! I’m having a bit of trouble thinking since I’m being electroshocked!” Luckily, I’ve studied the mind, so I know how to handle the situation: shift into automatic, what athletes call “the Zone,” where I can move and speak without frontal lobe encumbrance. I am then able to spiel. Because at this point I know my stuff. Believe me. During the writing and editing process I read my own crazy book about a dozen times—I never want to read the thing again.

So what anxieties do I have right now? Well so far the automatic spiel-impulse has helped me hold my own in the live radio interviews (that and imagining it’s the ’70s and everyone is naked, suffering the chilly draft in the studio). My biggest concern is with the book reviews. You really can’t control them. So far I’ve had one—a good one—but I worry about the ones coming up. I especially worry about the Globe and Mail. If they do one (they may not, which in a way would be a relief), a lot of discriminating Canadian book consumers will read it. And what if the reviewer for that august publication is one of those types who thinks in logical scientific ways, but who may not appreciate that this is a different kind of science book: plenty rational but also a bit creative and weird?

Because that is what happens when you look at the mind from the inside. It doesn’t stay demurely in its assigned seat. Instead it races out in front of the bleachers, buck-naked (apparently everything is naked in my metaphor world), singing sports anthems like a streaker at half-time. Neurology can’t catch up. All it can do is hold out a pathetic little towel and hope the children’s eyes are covered—hell-LO!

Alan Alda made his only Canadian appearance last week in Toronto to promote his new book Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself. I dutifully listened to his audiobook on the six hour trip back from Montreal. Note to self: don’t drive and listen to Alan’s book on audio. He had me in stitches so many times I thought I would drive off the road. More than that, his stories were poignant and thought provoking as he struggled to answer the questions: What is a good life? What do I value?. A story that he shared about his childhood pets had me sobbing at the wheel. When we finally met, Alan Alda was everything I thought he would be: charming and gracious. And that’s exactly what he was to the crowd of 300 people that came out to see him. I had such a great time meeting him and can’t wait for his next book. But that one I’ll be reading from the safety of my sofa!

Last night I rubbed shoulders with Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Ruffalo and I actually spoke with Jennifer Connelly and Mira Sorvino! Last night was the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) premiere screening of Reservation Road (Random House Films’ first production based on the book written by John Burnham Schwartz).

The movie is powerful and extremely well-acted (no surprises with this cast) and I particularly enjoyed watching the male leads in very emotional roles.

A bunch of us from Random House of Canada went to see the film. We sat 2 rows behind the stars of the movie and we went to the small exclusive after party in Yorkville (Empire) where the stars were again in attendance. I’ve never really been one for celebrity-watching or gossip but seeing movie stars up close is far more exciting than I ever imagined. I was also able to take a few pictures and for fun here they are for your viewing pleasure.

p.s. You’ll notice Paul Sorvino was there supporting his daughter.

Random House Staff with Mira Sorvino

Jennifer Connelly having a laugh.

Mark Ruffalo mixing it up.

Paul and Mira Sorvino, and Jennifer Connelly

My husband and I had our honeymoon this past August at the Writers at Woody Point festival in Newfoundland, where I launched my new novel Turtle Valley. It’s a wonderful event where musicians and authors share the stage. Music, music everywhere, but I couldn’t get my man to dance. One of the local ladies, who I’d watched dance night after night, finally tapped Mitch on the shoulder and said, “You’ve got to let your inner Newfoundland out!” Mitch did find himself out on the dance floor in the end, but it took a wee bit of magic to get him there.

Stan Pickett and his band The Pickett Line were playing at the Old Loft Restaurant where we had supper one night. We were chatting away, only half taking in the music. Then I poked Mitch to get him to listen. The band was playing “Music for a Found Harmonium,” by The Penguin Café Orchestra. It was our wedding march! Mitch got up to tell Stan what the song meant to us, but I still couldn’t get him to dance.

At the wrap-up event at the Legion on the last night of the festival, Stan Pickett and his band were playing once again. After the party had been rollicking for a bit, Stan told the crowd that Mitch and I were on our honeymoon, and that he had a surprise for us: the band would play us “The Wedding Gift,” a slow dancin’ tune written by a friend of his, Dave Panting. What could Mitch do? Everyone at the Legion was turned to us. So he led me to the floor and I got my honeymoon dance with my husband, just a shuffle really, but when he whispered in my ear that he loved me, that was good enough for me.

For more of Gail’s adventures at Woody Point, check out her blog.

Hello Canada! (Now I sound like I’m doing a stadium tour.)

Here’s my first novel: Gods Behaving Badly. Well, I say “first novel.” That’s not strictly the truth.

I wrote my actual first novel when I was 13. It was a gothic tragi-comedy entitled The Lone Bagpipe, inspired by a book found in the school library entitled The Joy of Bagpipes and is now sadly out of print. (The Joy of Bagpipes, I mean. It will come as no surprise that The Lone Bagpipe was never actually in print.) The Lone Bagpipe was followed by Lady of Spain, an erotic novel composed at age 15 in collaboration with two friends. It was the result of extensive book-based research as my erotic experiences at that point numbered nil. I didn’t embark on my first grown-up novel until I was 27. This one—The Talentless Miss Pidgeon—was ill-starred, though why publishers wouldn’t leap on a story of a homicidal screenwriter who becomes possessed by her imaginary twin, based on Macbeth, I cannot fathom.

By the time I started writing Gods Behaving Badly I was working at a London independent bookshop and wondering if I would ever see my own name on one of the covers that surrounded me every day. I thought I might be in with a chance this time, as Gods… had a relatively innocuous plot-line following the antics of Greek gods living in contemporary London. A sort of romantic comedy adventure fantasy with gods in it. Which didn’t stop people from asking me whether it was autobiographical.

Working in a bookshop is the perfect job for the aspiring author. You are surrounded by books all day, you talk about books all day, you read and read, books and reviews, you see books you hate become bestsellers and books you love sink without a trace. You get very opinionated about covers, stickers and blurb. You learn how the industry works (and doesn’t work). You are armed and ready for when your book enters the fray.

And as it turns out, Gods Behaving Badly would probably never have been published if I hadn’t been working in a bookshop. It was my boss who chatted up the UK Random House rep and made the discovery that Jonathan Cape was accepting unagented submissions. I needed no further encouragement and off the e-mail went with chapters one to four.

Shock number one: Dan Franklin, Cape’s publishing director, replied straight away to acknowledge receipt. That never happens.

Shock number two: the very next day he asked to see the rest of it. That never happens.

That was a Friday. He’d said he was going to read it over the weekend, and when Monday morning came I opened up the shop feeling queasy, knowing that this was the day I was due to receive my rejection. The phone rang. It was Dan, calling to offer me a deal. That so never happens it’s actually a black hole of not-happening, sucking things that do happen into its maw. Except that it happened to me.

Within a week I had found an agent and the book was making waves at the Frankfurt Book Fair. We sold it in fifteen countries, including Canada - hurrah! My father spent the war years in Banff, and I did my own winter trip when I was 18, walking the streets of Toronto, Montreal and Quebec City, wearing six coats, with a Margaret Atwood novel in my gloved hand. From what I understand, we have a December release date for Gods Behaving Badly in Canada, which is great as reading is my second favourite indoor activity. (My favourite is playing the piano. Why, what were you thinking?)

I very much hope you enjoy the book. If not, feel free not to mention it to anyone, but if you were accidentally to leave it lying face up on a table…

Thanks for reading.

Marie Phillips

I had the privilege of taking in a pre-Toronto Film Festival screening of Ian McEwan’s Atonement recently and I have to say I left the theatre absolutely gutted. What an amazing film. McEwan has such a way of setting a stage and drawing you in before setting his characters loose. I cannot wait until more people get the chance to take in the movie version later this fall. Booklovers will not be disappointed at all. In fact, I’m sure it will leave lots of people longing to pick up a copy of the book. (Did someone just say, Oscar?)