Here lies the body of our Anna, Done to death by a banana. It wasn't the fruit that laid her low, 'Twas the skin of the thing that made her go. Like poor Anna, it often isn't writing that kills writers; it's what comes along with it. Yesterday I was trying to plan a book tour, composing letters (personalized, of course) to booksellers, librarians, festival vendors, and various places where we mig…