bethofalltrades

"You haven't written in your blog in a few days."

"Yeah, I've been writing mostly one person blogs."

"One person blog?"

"You know, when you write a blog but instead of posting it you just email it to one person?"

"Beth... those are called 'letters.'"

---

I've spent today on my back and not in a hot way.

I fell down the stairs right before Amanda's set yesterday. There was no light on the stairs from her trailer-- someone told me later that they thought there'd been lights but maybe the rain took them out. As I neared the bottom, I thought, "This is too dark, Amanda might fall--" and then I missed the last step and my ankle bent in a way that ankles should not bend.

I fall down enough to know when it's a bad falling down experience.

Amanda's manager Emily is always great to have in a crisis.

"You fell down?"

"Yeah, the stairs were--"

"Here's an icepack. Want a shot? Here's a triple shot of whiskey."

With the help of Emily's whiskey, I made it through the show. I tucked myself into a corner near the side of the stage. Soon I was joined by Michael Pope. We sat hip to hip and took in the beauty of the room, without words.

I forget how magical she is.

---

During signing, I stood with the man who runs the site. He was a little younger than my dad, Italian, with a suit like he'd stepped out of some mob movie.

A woman came up to Amanda and extended her hands. They were shaking. Amanda took them and a whispered conversation began.

"She's shaking like a leaf," the mob boss marveled, no hint of judgement in his voice.

"Amanda has that effect on people sometimes."

"I watched her tonight and I said to myself, I said, 'How did you not know this woman?' She's something rare."

Another fan approached, a boy. He dropped the CD he was holding.

"That one's shaking too!" the mob boss exclaimed. "This is incredible."

I looked out at the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge and I remembered waiting in line to speak to her the very first time. I kept fading to the back of the crowd so I could watch her speak to everyone else. I was so touched that she took her time with each and every person-- even sick with the flu, even at 2AM, even when her friends were waiting.

"I like the ones that stay late the best," I told him, gesturing to the small crowd. "They make us possible."

---

It was 2:30AM. Late May. My first tour. I'd just finished telling Amanda how frustrated I was about everything.

"And I hate the fans! At the end of the night, I just want to be done and crash and they always are hanging out by the bus and you always sign. I hate that."

Her lips grew tight. I could tell I'd said something wrong. But she just got up and walked toward her bunk.

"You will have to find a way to love the fans, Beth," she said, turning back to me. "Otherwise you won't last six months in this job."

---

Those first days of tour were excruciating for me. I'd just left a very normal 9-5 job where I wore stockings and heels and made bland conversation with my coworkers. Switching to the 24-7, hectic, high-stress and completely foreign world of tour was hard.

I stewed. I stressed. I had a short temper and a bad attitude. I can't imagine I was very pleasant to be around.

And then The Universe sent me what I needed to transform. It sent me a girl with a guitar in Denver. It sent a boy in a dress in Albuquerque. It sent the fans in Texas, every city, who stepped back during Gardener instead of crushing in on Amanda like they did in LA. It sent the brother and sister who came to Houston and Dallas and then let me convince them to come to Austin. The girl was delicate and serious and she gave me a note for Amanda.

She reads them. I know people wonder about that, but she reads them all.

---

Someone asked me the other day if I was uncomfortable that the fans know who I am.

I'm not.

I feel more connected to the world now that I have the fans in my life than I ever have before.

And I do love them. It didn't take learning. It took lessons.

Love,
Beth