That’s me.

Remember pet rocks? That’s what this picture (below, entitled OKC) reminds me of. Susan and her pet book. <g> Boone loaned the hat to me for my drawing. (I gave away a great basket filled with goodies. You should have been there!)

So this was at OWFI. That weekend in OKC that so traumatized me. As if.

Okay, I didn’t sell that many books. No one stood in line to buy a copy of my pet, like they did Debbie Macomber’s. And a man kept snapping pictures of everyone in the place. He took that pet rock one of me. Neil Mavis. He’s a great photographer.

Here’s the trauma part: I went over to say hi to Debbie and my mouth got away from me. (Don’t you hate it when that happens?)  I talked to her until her face went blank, then I talked some more.

I doubt if she’ll forget me.

When she tries to recall who I was, she’ll say to her publicist, “Remember the woman who took me hostage and talked until my ears fell off? Where was she from?”

With any luck, the publicist won’t remember my name or the name of my chapter, because we’d really love to have Debbie come speak to us sometime.

If anyone communicates with Debbie and you find out her publicist wrote my name down, assure her I only take a verbal hostage once. After that I move on to a new (unsuspecting) victim. 

Poor Debbie. It’s really strange that it happened to her. Usually when I see a celebrity, I try to ignore them. I’d hate to be one of Those People who run along, drooling and trying to touch the famous.

Remember in The Coalminer’s Daughter when a woman pulled out a hank of Loretta’s hair. *Shudder.* 

Garth Brooks lives in this part of Oklahoma, and I heard once that he was at our soccer game here in Cleveland to watch his kids play.  I didn’t even drive by the stadium to see his entourage.

When I see local TV personalities at restaurants, I ignore them, because I hate for them to know that I care they’re around. They’re only people. Right? They’re all only people. 

So why did I burble all over Debbie? Because we’re both writers? Because she’s sweet and seems genuinely–uh–genuine? Because I’ve read her books for years, so I feel as if I know her?

The thing is, I don’t know her. And after going blah, blah, blah at her that day, I doubt I ever will.  

BTW: She didn’t buy one of my pet books, but I bought one of hers. One that she suggested.

She gave me a personal recommendation. I’m so proud. 


2 Responses to “That’s me.”

  1. I wanted to share the same feelings with you but I couldn’t. The pictures you’re referring to are missing. They don’t show up in your blog.

    Anyway, can you give us a link to your pet books? Where can we get a sneak preview of it? I’m someone interested in homemade pet food. Did you have that covered in your book?

  2. Do you remember pet rocks? I was calling my book the equivalent.
    Hm. Let’s see if I can clear this up. I don’t have a book about pets. I do have a book that’s my pet.
    And I have a real live pet–our rescued Yorkie, Molly. Or maybe we’re her pets. It’s hard to be sure.
    Much of Molly’s food is homemade, but before she gets it, it’s people food. Yes, I’m an evil pet owner who feeds her doggie from her table. Mostly meat scraps, but yesterday I dropped a pecan and she gobbled it up. (My kids wouldn’t touch a pecan if they were starving.)
    Who knew dogs like nuts? Maybe I should have guessed. After all, she likes me.

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