This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Rachel Pfennig Hales will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
We are there, too, in the dark under the show, behind it, and above it. > Each prop or cool trick, every costume or scene change requires the hidden help of someone behind the scenes. In a few hours, you will have gone home, but we will still be here, tearing it all down. We will pack up the gear, load up more than a dozen tractor trailers, and head out to the next city. Tomorrow, we will build the production again in a new building. We’ll greet another audience. We’ll put on another show.
From load in to load out, watch a production build toward show time. Hear true stories from the rock and roll roadies who’ve helped create the world’s biggest concert tours with interviews from dozens of touring technicians.
Read an Excerpt
I feel the buzz of my alarm before I hear it. The vibration starts slow and soft, gradually growing both stronger and louder. It doesn’t matter. I will silence it altogether before anyone else can hear it. It is dark as I snooze the alarm. I try to avoid looking at the screen so my eyes will stay adjusted to the limited light in our sleep area. I know it reads 5:36 a.m. My body is tired, but my mind is already churning. I doubt it ever really stopped in the four hours since I curled up to sleep, but that’s the pace on tour. There are eight other people sleeping either below, next to, or behind me. I always try to claim the top, front, driver’s-side bunk in the bus. There are usually six beds on each the left and right hand sides, stacked three tall in the middle of the bus, separated by a narrow hallway. Twelve people makes for a crowded ride, so the ideal range is seven 15 Hours Until Show Time 8to ten, leaving a couple of bunks open for overnight bags. At least in the United States. I used to sleep on the top right, in the back row of bunks. Only a thin wall separated my head from the TV mounted in the corner of the lounge, and all night long, I could hear whatever was happening back there. Steady, thumping bass, violent video games, porn. It didn’t take long to decide the front bunks were more my style. Some people prefer the bottom, but I don’t mind climbing the other beds like a ladder to reach my nook up high. Once I’m up there, I am alone.
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