I'd Have Preferred the Airport

Yesterday I had the interesting experience for a writer of seeing a book that I've written on sale in a store for the first time. It's kind of a kick. Of course, it was on sale in a historical society gift shop, not in a bookstore or a rack of mass market bestsellers at the airport shop where they also sell Dramamine and cell phone rechargers and so forth. But hey, it's something. It's not a real book, after all, it's a—hmm, got to be discreet—anity-vay ess-pray kind of book. When it came out, someone said I was now a published author and I said, "Well, I'm a printed author, at least." Still, seeing it on a rack is fun.

Kind of took me back to the time, a few weeks into my first days as a newspaper guy, when I was first doing township meeting articles. I'd gone to a meeting the night before and written it up, and it was in the hometown newspaper the next day. I was in town and saw a guy walking along with a paper under his arm, and suddenly realized that every single paper bought that day had my little story in it. Every single one! It was on porches, under arms, it was just everywhere. You get jaded about that after 20 years in publishing, but then you have some new wrinkle and it all comes back. No biggie in the scheme of things, I know that for sure. But still fun.