A couple of weeks ago, some of us were privileged enough to take part in the book signing for The Other Way Is Essex at Chelmsford library. As a veteran of many lonely information stalls in various shops, libraries and fairs I was a little apprehensive, before-hand, that I would be sat watching the tumbleweed fly by, wishing I’d brought my knitting to do. How wrong I was. I had such a brilliant time I even felt inspired to write a poem about my experiences. Please forgive the artistic licence and I hope you enjoy it.
The Book Signing
Sitting here, staring out
Watching people mill about.
I see them as they scurry by
Trying not to catch my eye.
I fiddle with my pad and pen
Trying not to look, and then,
“Excuse me, will you sign my book?”
The tension broken, battle commences
With pen-swords and table fences.
To Gill, Marie, Steve and Fred,
Each one a marvel in my head.
Their money spent, curiosity smitten,
They want to read what I have written.
They want to see inside my head,
To visit places filled with dread.
So I smile and sign my name
A hundred times, each one the same.
Next time I look up from this flock
And steal a glance at the clock
Three hours have passed, it’s time to flee
To go right back to being me,
To pass those people on the street
Who queue in hopes that they might meet
This author with her brand new book
Who now deserves no second look.
I smile, I have enjoyed this game
Of fleeting, ephemeral, temporary, fame.
Oh look, I said three things that mean the same.