The Masquerade.
I had an interesting weekend - went to my first-ever book signing on Saturday at the local bookstore. It wasn’t just me though, there were a bunch of local authors there, real ones, that is, and one of them, Don Coldsmith, is rather well known in Western circles. Sat next to a young and loquacious mystery writer named Evan McNamara who barely drew a breath from 9.30 a.m. until the soirée ended at noon. He kept apologizing for his stream of consciousness narration throughout the entire morning and repeatedly referred to himself as a “hustler,” who came from a long line of salesmen. Not wanting to be rude, I merely nodded and smiled a lot. Out of curiosity, I searched him online: http://www.evanmcnamara.com/.
I browsed it;
So, one morning, at work, before anyone showed up, I wrote the first two pages of my novel...I showed it to my wife, and asked her what she thought. She liked it. Really liked it. Not because it was by her husband, but because it was good writing… I didn't just want to write-I wanted to write novels...
Big novels, fun novels, novels that keep you up all night long because you have to know how they end. Novels that make you gasp, close your eyes, and whisper, "Jesus."
It was like that all morning. Inwardly, I was whispering "Jesus" a lot.
But, he was a pleasant fellow, almost as good as a double espresso with an extra shot of Jolt! cola, and doubtless he will sell a great many books with or without the snappy patter. He looked rather crestfallen, however, when I told him that I didn't read much fiction at all, preferring histories.
Still it was great fun just sitting there and talking with the customers. Since I sold the rights to my story, I don't get a cut of any sales at all, not that I'm complaining. Nevertheless, I was honored to see many friends stop in to buy the book and I enjoyed myself capitally. Hopefully, this won't be the last time.
I browsed it;
So, one morning, at work, before anyone showed up, I wrote the first two pages of my novel...I showed it to my wife, and asked her what she thought. She liked it. Really liked it. Not because it was by her husband, but because it was good writing… I didn't just want to write-I wanted to write novels...
Big novels, fun novels, novels that keep you up all night long because you have to know how they end. Novels that make you gasp, close your eyes, and whisper, "Jesus."
It was like that all morning. Inwardly, I was whispering "Jesus" a lot.
But, he was a pleasant fellow, almost as good as a double espresso with an extra shot of Jolt! cola, and doubtless he will sell a great many books with or without the snappy patter. He looked rather crestfallen, however, when I told him that I didn't read much fiction at all, preferring histories.
Still it was great fun just sitting there and talking with the customers. Since I sold the rights to my story, I don't get a cut of any sales at all, not that I'm complaining. Nevertheless, I was honored to see many friends stop in to buy the book and I enjoyed myself capitally. Hopefully, this won't be the last time.