One surprise of my mixed weekend is the one I’m having right now. Across from me, in the coffeehouse where I write, is a beautiful young woman jerking and barking like a dog. At her table sits a calm friend discussing schoolwork. In between barks and jerks, the young woman talks fluently, now and then pushing her pretty blonde hair behind one ear in the charming, standard way young women have.
Is it Tourette syndrome? A psychological condition? A tic? Something else? No one at the nearby tables seems to notice. I suspect we all notice and want this lovely young woman to experience a pleasant moment in a coffeehouse without being stared at.
Another surprise this weekend was a humiliating appearance in a book store where I sat with books to sell, or at least to talk about, and was unable to capture the interest of even one customer or staff member. My publisher paid for the privilege of having a table near the store entrance and I spent money for a long drive as well as a motel room for one night. Still, I could not interest even one person in my books. A retailer I am not. A humbled author I am.
The third surprise was a beautiful evening spent with a book discussion group whose members had read my novel and wanted to discuss it. In the front parlor of a Victorian bed-and-breakfast, my writing came alive. In piercing their minds, the book has become real to me all over again. The excellent wine and snacks they brought did no harm, either.
So much can happen in a weekend.