Technically, It's Still a Book Signing

Hey! Guess what!

Don't you hate that game? I know I do. I try to come up with something totally obscure or inappropriate. That's because I'm a smart-mouthed BLEEP, at least according to Hick. But enough of me sharing our little terms of endearment.

I was perusing the online Backroads newspaper today, because I am too cheap to pony-up subscription cash for the paper version, which has shrunk over the years to the size of a not-very-expensive-restaurant menu, or a program for the school band concert, even though it still leaves most of its ink on your hands instead of retaining that dark dust on its pages...and I saw, on about page five of internet Community Happenings, a most startling sight.

MY OLD CLASSMATE IS HAVING A BOOK SIGNING!

Who knew? He definitely did not publicize his Happening. How are people supposed to find that, unless they are layabouts who have nothing better to do than scan five internet pages of Community Happenings, weeding through all the Farmers' Markets, Church Bazaars, and quaint Punkin Patch Storytellers? His Happening is on Monday from 5:00 to 7:00. In one of the local libraries, which just happens to have relocated to a building where I used to work when it was the unemployment office.

I think I will drop by to support him. I haven't run into him in Walmart for about a year. Duh! He must have been home writing his book. I picked up a copy on Amazon, and can you believe it, UPS delivered it to my garage with no problems. I guess I need to actually read the thing by Monday. It might be bad form to try to wing it, in case he mentions something about the plot when I chat with him.

What if I'm the only one who shows up, what with people not knowing about it? Then he'll have too much time to talk. He had an article in the paper about his local authorness, but it did not mention this signing. I guess all those folks dropping by the library at 5:00 p.m. on a Monday might stop and talk. Everybody is practically related to everybody else's relatives around here, you know.

I'm dragging The Pony with me. He wants to be a writer. He's the one who advised me not to contact the Backroads paper I've been soaking up for free, with news of my own local authorness, because it doesn't really count unless I write the whole book myself. So sayeth The Pony. Even though he makes no distinction between regular publishing vs. self-publishing.

Oh, well. At least I am providing news of a book signing. And you don't even have to subscribe to me, or borrow me from you mom and get your hands dirty while you strain your eyes.