I had a moment of fame. It may have been brief, and it may have only been brought about because of the naivety of a 10 year old, but it felt good all the same.
I was shopping in the town centre with my son, and we passed Waterstones.
‘Is your book in there, Mum?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Shall we go and have a look?’
Unbeknown to my son, that was my intention anyway. I usually breeze in, spot my book alphabetically arranged on the shelf under “w” and breeze back out again. I’m sure other writers are the same.
Incidentally, ever wonder if authors with names beginning with letters at the end of the alphabet don’t get a fair crack of the whip as those beginning with L or M (dead centre, thus centre on the shelf)? Hmm, maybe I should change my name.
Anyway, we went in and had a look at Eden on the shelf. As we left a shop I could see a man making a beeline for me with a clip board. I tried to step side him, but couldn’t.
‘Madam, please sign. It’s a good cause.’
I scribbled my name, and we walked on leaving the man trying to decipher my scrawl.
‘Oh wow, Mum,’ said son. ‘He wanted your autograph! That is well cool!’
So, for a brief, brief moment I was a famous author – all in the eyes of my ten year-old son. It felt good nevertheless!