On Mountain Time
Highs and Lows in the Mile High City
I landed in Denver with three suitcases and not nearly enough sleep.
When I’d booked the trip a few months earlier, I thought pre-gaming with some time in Seattle would help me adjust. Gaining three hours then losing one didn’t feel like too big of a deal. I used to transverse the Atlantic every few months while studying at Oxford, throwing my body clock into constant shifts of chaos. How much harm could a measly sixty minutes do?
As everybody who struggled through Daylight Savings this past weekend in the U.S. can tell you: a lot.
Losing an hour yet still being two off from “normal” made me feel dizzier than what I was warned to feel from any altitude sickness. Especially as I tried to navigate my way through the absurdly large airport (20+ square miles); the biggest, in fact, in the United States. It has numerous conspiracy theories surrounding it. I tried not to dwell on them as I slogged my bags to the Uber pick-up area and drove the forty-minutes to my hotel.
I was there for Winter Institute, the largest gathering of independent booksellers in the country. My goal over the course of four days was to meet as many folks as I could and learn about their stores, hopefully convincing them to stock my company’s titles. A lot of this would come sitting at a table stacked high with galleys and smiling at strangers for eight solid hours hoping they might stop to chat, followed by co-hosting parties with independent publishers. Success didn’t seem measured by the number of customers I gained so much as it did by my ability not to pass out. This is a challenge I frequently accept.
I hoped to have a little fun, too, stop by stores and maybe try the local cuisine. I try to fit this kind of stuff in on all my work trips, moments to experience instead of accomplish. Even though I’ll admit that February in Denver is only really enjoyable if you’re visiting en route to go skiing somewhere else. And the culinary delicacies of green chili (often served so spicy it’s mouth-numbing) and Rocky Mountain oysters (meatballs from bull testicles) weren’t exactly appealing…
My first full day, I did a tour by way of bookstores, starting with the cozy West Side Books located in the West Highland neighborhood. The store is a crowded delight of new and used reads, including rare editions of Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mysteries. Smaller but still endearing was The Bookies over in Virginia Village. Although the store is facing an uncertain future, its fireplace lounge and ample children’s section were very welcoming, making me hopeful the community can rally around the shop to offer support.
I also popped into Petals & Pages in Lincoln Park. The queer, feminist bookstore and soon-to-be coffee bar is a community gathering space. The afternoon I stopped in, they were hosting their social justice book club alongside an inclusive troop of girl scouts selling cookies and a typewriter poet. They offered everything from pieces by local artists to zines on how to be a supportive ally to marginalized communities. Plus, there was a particularly beautiful corner in the back dedicated to giving writers space to create. With its vintage page-covered walls and dreamy dried flowers, I felt so inspired I wanted to forget about the conference altogether and camp out to focus on my manuscript. Instead, I spent a decent chunk of my paycheck on merchandise.
Craziness kicked in soon after. There were meetings with presses to take. There was an opening reception on Night One at the Fillmore Auditorium where I sipped warm wine and ate cold noodles while trying to make small talk (a combination of my least favorite things). And there were countless minutes in a fluorescent-lit room, pitching titles so repetitively I felt at points as though my body went into autopilot. The days started at six in the morning, and didn’t end until much later.
The second night’s party was hosted for radical booksellers at The Shop at MATTER. The bookstore is woman- and Black-owned, and is located a stone’s throw from Coors Field. It houses a design studio and print workshop in addition to books. Owners Debra and Rick welcomed me to the event early with a glass of whiskey on the rocks and a smile, showing me around the sticker-covered, creative haven they’d made for artists and writers. It was another of those moments where I would’ve preferred to sit back and get out my notebook rather than continuing to wear my sales hat and heels. Again, I responded by making a purchase that I absolutely don’t regret. If you’re in the market for wall art, I would highly suggest taking a look through their prints.
My third day was when I really had to rally. After a long shift at the table, I hosted a first time attendees event at Brew Culture Coffee in Sloan Lake where newcomers could craft and eat indigenous tacos from local eatery Tocabe. The event was inspired by my feelings last year at the conference, thinking perhaps getting awkward people together would mean new friendships (and fans of indie presses). I thought correctly. Some shy folks came so far out of their shells, they travelled with me to the indie press afterparty and drag show at The Crypt, a punk bar in City Park West. I meant to only stay for an hour. But I stayed so long I barely had a chance to shut my eyes before my alarm went off the next morning. Was it really worth turning off my battery if I just had to reboot it a moment later?
I’ve been back in New York almost two weeks now, but that feeling of nonstop going has yet to leave my body. The constant rush of adrenaline is not my favorite.
Don’t get me wrong. After spending years of my career organizing things for managers around events at Winter Institute, it’s been nice to actually attend the past two years. I enjoy seeing booksellers whom I’ve met on my travels, hearing their personal updates in addition to store news. I like books and I mostly like parties. But talking about people’s books so concentratedly never fails to make me miss my own, bringing to light the fact I so frequently exhaust myself promoting the writing of others that there’s little energy left to put into my own. If you subscribe to the spoon theory—essentially, we have a limited capacity per day to dedicate to various things—the ones I try to set aside for my personal projects always end up covered in sauce from something else. Conferences remind me of this better than anything; of the need to clean up my metaphorical mental kitchen.
I managed to end the trip with a step in this direction. Cutting my tabling short, I rested for a bit then did a final trek to the Spicy Librarian, Denver’s romance bookstore. Its home in the River North Art District was hipper than most neighborhoods I’d visited. And what I found inside was fantastic. Walls and walls of bawdy paperbacks, each decorated to match its romance subgenre: magical vines in the romantasy section, a steamer trunk filled with vintage lingerie in historical, whips and chains in the subtly categorized “dark” shelves. I smiled at everything. Of course, I bought stuff, too. But most of all, I felt grounded in the stories I initially loved, the stories that made me want to be a writer, the stories I may not get to work on to pay the bills but that mean more to me than most.
As I lingered in the stacks before heading off to the final party, I traced my fingers over the contemporary shelf and stopped in the spot where my own book’s spine would alphabetically sit, trying to imagine it. For a second, I let myself believe my lightheadedness was unrelated to the altitude, that maybe now it was from an overwhelming sensation of hope.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
Ava Robinson’s Definitely Better Now is definitely better than many debuts I’ve read this year. It follows Emma in the months following her first year of sobriety as she tries to navigate romance, friendships, and family while rediscovering herself.
I’ve just started watching Love is Blind from the beginning and have a lot of thoughts. Many of which concern their ever-present metallic wine glasses. Apparently you can buy them from Netflix and sip along with your favorite cast members. I’m only on Season 2 so please, no spoilers.
In my ongoing efforts to sleep more, I’ve been trying herbal tea before bed. One of my favorites is Bird & Blend’s Dozy Girl. Featuring a mix of chamomile, lavender, and other floral ingredients, it truly is the perfect comfort blend. Plus, it smells fantastic.