ahream

“Because they’re coming for us! You really must be more aware!”

“Aware, right.” I smiled and nodded. I was anchored to the signing table at the L.A. Festival of Books, shamelessly hawking my book. I would’ve followed you back to your car to chat about it and run beside you as you drove away if you’d given even the faintest notion you were interested.

But even I have my limits.

This guys was certified nuts-o. But smiling and nodding will get you out of a lot.

“Most people, they don’t realize!”

“Right, don’t realize.” Smile, nod.

Okay, I wasn’t really listening. I admit it. Mostly, I was thinking he looked vaguely like the professor guy in “Back to the Future,” and hey, wasn’t “Family Ties” a great show? And...

“Can I kiss you?”

Okay, listening now.

“Excuse...Wha...NO! What? No.”

For several years, I’d attended the festival – an absolute two-day orgy of author and book worship – clutching my fair map and schedule, rubbing on my magic genie lamp and dreaming someday I might be one of the esteemed authors, too.

So when I had the opportunity to come and sign...let’s just say I did my own little happy dance.

Although it occurred to me Saturday, as I was down on my hands and knees in the mud under a table trying to fetch a fallen booth display, that I should’ve been a wee bit more specific with that lamp. First of all, I should’ve been more clear about the no-kissing rule. That’s for sure. Also, the no-crazy rule.

Not that it isn’t worth it. The best part of the festival, of course, is that you get to see all your writing buddies who only blow through town on the occasional book tour. In my case, I also get to work the Sisters in Crime booth, a truly wonderful association for crime writers of both sexes. And I’ll be darned if we didn’t sell a whole bushel full of books – many of them to people who seemed quite in control of all their faculties.

Likely more than they would say for me, who would’ve been more than happy to not only sign their copy but follow along behind them reading aloud in a dramatic fashion for their listening enjoyment.

Just as long as they don’t ask for a kiss.

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (3) Most Recent Twitters: A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A. In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics. L.A. Finds: The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks by Christopher Brookmyre What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2007-05-02 5:52 PM This is Not a Kissing Booth “Because they’re coming for us! You really must be more aware!” “Aware, right.” I smiled and nodded. I was anchored to the signing table at the L.A. Festival of Books, shamelessly hawking my book. I would’ve followed you back to your car to chat about it and run beside you as you drove away if you’d given even the faintest notion you were interested. But even I have my limits. This guys was certified nuts-o. But smiling and nodding will get you out of a lot. “Most people, they don’t realize!” “Right, don’t realize.” Smile, nod. Okay, I wasn’t really listening. I admit it. Mostly, I was thinking he looked vaguely like the professor guy in “Back to the Future,” and hey, wasn’t “Family Ties” a great show? And... “Can I kiss you?” Okay, listening now. “Excuse...Wha...NO! What? No.” For several years, I’d attended the festival – an absolute two-day orgy of author and book worship – clutching my fair map and schedule, rubbing on my magic genie lamp and dreaming someday I might be one of the esteemed authors, too. So when I had the opportunity to come and sign...let’s just say I did my own little happy dance. Although it occurred to me Saturday, as I was down on my hands and knees in the mud under a table trying to fetch a fallen booth display, that I should’ve been a wee bit more specific with that lamp. First of all, I should’ve been more clear about the no-kissing rule. That’s for sure. Also, the no-crazy rule. Not that it isn’t worth it. The best part of the festival, of course, is that you get to see all your writing buddies who only blow through town on the occasional book tour. In my case, I also get to work the Sisters in Crime booth, a truly wonderful association for crime writers of both sexes. And I’ll be darned if we didn’t sell a whole bushel full of books – many of them to people who seemed quite in control of all their faculties. Likely more than they would say for me, who would’ve been more than happy to not only sign their copy but follow along behind them reading aloud in a dramatic fashion for their listening enjoyment. Just as long as they don’t ask for a kiss. Read/Post Comments (3) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top