This week my life took a new direction, which can be good, but I’m puzzling a bit about this twist and turn. It seems my life is not my own, which makes me cranky. I’m used to sitting in front of my window watching my neighbors stroll by, some with dogs, some with friends, others with headphones. I like that part of my life because I enjoy all my neighbors and it’s good to know they are still alive and well. Most of them wave at me and I return a little Marine-corps salute, which makes me happy and probably confuses them.
This week was over-the-top, busy, busy, busy. I had never in my wildest dreams (not that I have out-of-control dreams) attended a “book signing” because I didn’t really comprehend the idea of authors signing their books or that people actually wanted the signature of the person who wrote the book. My mean editor suggested that I try it, so I thought, “Why not?” I spend far too much time in front of a computer, and this would be something different. So, I called a couple people I know and all of a sudden, I was busier than a bumblebee in a can of tuna, and I spent the week attending a few “book signings,” focusing on me, nine to be exact. I felt kind of odd because the only times anyone had asked for my signature was when I had to sign on the dotted line or when one of my kids was naughty at school or earned bad grades and I had to sign something that would prove I knew about their wayward behavior, and I promised to correct it promptly, but that was a long time ago.
My “book signings” are mostly at libraries, senior centers, and retirement facilities, since Wrinkly Bits is about those of us who are wrinkly, beyond the age of retirement. The people who dropped by were delightful and asked me to talk. Wow and thank you! It is my pleasure and I’m honored that you asked! In the past I have always been asked to be quiet, especially when I was teaching school. And another thing, not one person I know would ever say I am funny, but yet, as I talked, I had to pause my conversation because people were laughing, which meant that I forgot where I was in my talk and had to start over again. I have never had people laugh at what I say, so when I got home, I called my son, “Am I funny?” I asked him.
A long gap of silence on the phone met me, but that’s not odd because he lives in Alaska meaning sometimes there is a pause if the phone wires are iced over, or cell service bounces off a glacier. Finally, he came back on the line, “Funny? No, Mom, you are not funny.” I didn’t think so.
This week I have another book signing, my book launch, and there I’ll be, with my books and my handy-dandy pen. I hope you can attend. Check wrinklybits.com for details. I’ll be glad to see you. And I will try my best to be funny.
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