Last Tuesday, we drove north to AWP. This required us to drive briefly through New York City, but the passage was painless.

We spent Tuesday night with my mom in Andover, north of Boston. Wednesday morning, we drove downtown to the Hynes Convention center. Our destination: the loading dock. When you are hauling an entire van load of books, the front door does not suffice.

We schlepped our various boxes, tubes, and miscellany upstairs. Our booth looked so lonely when we got there.

And so I immediately set up our brand new Bobbledy signage, if only to set a cheerful tone that might buoy our spirits through the hours of booth setup.

It worked.

Little by little…

…and bit by bit…

…a cozy and colorful space emerged.

We did our best to be welcoming.

And we tried harder than we have in the past to be clear about what it is we do.

Though the matter was complicated by the arrival of Bobbledy.

Still, we were pleased with how the booth looked.

And so we headed back to Mom’s. The weather had already started to turn.

The next morning, we decided to be economical travelers and take public transportation into the city. The first leg was the commuter train.

As we headed south, the snow began to fall.

The second leg was the subway, or the T, as it is known in Boston.

The convention center was a nice space with a vaulted atrium above the escalators.

There were lots of people there. Most of them writers, though at least one illustrator was in the house.

And an excited one at that.

Commerce was fairly rotten our first day. Our booth was tucked into the loneliest corner of the convention hall, and it took a while for anyone to find us. Thankfully, the people who did find us are among our favorite.

The wonderful, inimitable Amy Letter of Drake University.

The pensive, dashing Joshua Wolf Shenk, nonfiction writer extraordinaire, and the person who wrote the four-part Slate series about our collaboration a few years back.

And these guys, who distinguished our booth with snappy threads and literary verve.

And a kid. And his dad. They stopped to read each and every one of the Bobbledy Books.

And Emma Sovich, longtime friend and Editor of the Black Warrior Review.

Though I love her taste in shirts, I find it astonishing that she agreed to be seen with me, considering the state of my hair.

And Edward McPherson, writer, gentleman, and, as has been previously discussed, the hottest thing at AWP

Of course, there was some commerce as well. We bid a teary farewell to our homebrewed version of Ten Thousand Stories, a title that has graced the table of each and every book fair and convention we’ve ever attended, but which will soon have to be retired on account of the Chronicle version coming out next fall.

At the end of the day, we were tired, but not defeated.

Outside, snow was beginning to fall.

We headed north again to sleep.

The next day, the blizzard was on.

We decided to drive in (having discovered that the public transportation option actually cost more than the exorbitant parking fees at the convention center). For a while, we had the roads to ourselves.

But then we had to share it.

On day two at AWP, the crowds got thicker.

In part because people who had seen the booth the day before were telling their friends to come by and revel in the idiocy.

The highlight of day two was when Bobbledy club member Quentin came by to share his poetry with us.

He had written two poems for us and did an impromptu reading in the booth.

And they were amazing. AMAZING! I wish we could take a shred of credit for his creative genius, but we get the sense that his poet of a mother might have something to do with it.

We were honored with a visit from Andrea Martucci, friend and managing editor of Ploughshares.

We got a second visit from Joshua Wolf Shenk, whose rugged good looks warrant a second heaping of praise.

We got a visit from the poet (and all-around amazing person)  Nicelle Davis, who was dressed as a poetry hustler, her coat covered with fur-lined “poetry pockets,” each filled with a poem by a poet who had not been able to afford to come to AWP this year.

It was a lovely, creative gesture. And I can honestly say that I have never had so much fun reading a poem.

Day three was even busier than the day before. The Book Fair was open to the public, and lots of people came by to see our stuff.

We tried to be as flexible as possible when it came to accepted modes of payment.

But I am relieved to report that there are still only three children in this family.

The highlight of day three was not the blistering sales, but an all-too-brief visit by none other than James Franco.

I’d like to tell you that he bought one of everything and kissed Robbi on the mouth, but that would not be true.

So long, AWP. For another year, at least.