I’d finished my writing and was doing my post-writing walk. Going up Main Street, I passed the Starbucks. A woman was reading at a table. I glanced up, stopped, and stared.
Yes, she was reading my book.
I was pleased.
She looked at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was trying to see what you’re reading.”
She glanced at the cover. “I just started it last night. I’m not familiar with the author.”
It took a lot for me to reply, “Well, I feel I should warn you that I’m the author so that you don’t accidentally insult me. Now that you know, you can deliberately insult me.”
She said, “No way. Are you really?”
“Yes. You probably got the book from one of the little libraries around town.”
“No, my friend gave it to me. Maybe she got it from a little library. She finished reading it and thought I would enjoy it.”
We chatted a little longer about the book and the little libraries, and my other novels. I didn’t know her or her friend. I walked away thinking, “How cool is that?” I was so pleased and engrossed, I almost walked in front of a car.
That would have definitely not have been cool.