So hubby and I decide to pop into our local chain bookstore to see Chocolate Beach on an actual book shelf. Just a quick trip on a rainy Saturday afternoon, with no plans for any brouhaha. We could’ve taken a peek and left quietly, but no. Dan grabs the camera (okay, I admit that I brought one), and has me stand by the display. Instead of discreetly snapping a shot from between the bookracks, he backs way up and stands in one of the busiest walkways. Then focuses for a long, long time. (Notice my strained smile...)
So he’s standing there, focusing away when he’s approached by a staffer.
“No photographs are allowed in the store, Sir.”
“Why not?”
“Copyright violation, Sir.”
“But she wrote the book.”
“Oh. Well. Then it’s okay.”
Meanwhile my smile felt more pasted on than a preschooler’s Christmas project.
I speak up. “Um, I have a shelf talker.” That’s a fancy word for one of those narrow cardstock signs that say “Local Author”. They fit on the shelf just beneath the books and, hopefully, draw the attention of buyers.
The staffer looks at me. “Would you like to do some signing?”
“Um, sure.”
After looking up my book and grabbing some “autographed copy” stickers the staffer realizes that there are only three books on the shelf.
“Hm," she says. "There should be four copies."
I point toward the bestseller table. “There’s one over there,” I say.
She doesn’t ask.
While I block the aisle and sign away, my husband sees an acquaintance from church. “Hey,” he says, “my wife wrote a book. Your wife would love this book!”
My cheeks heat up, and I sense my olive complexion turning the color of Mexican pavers. Next thing you know, the man has found his wife, she's holding my book in her hands, and promising to buy it.
At least we didn't follow them to the counter...
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