Last Saturday I had a book signing about forty-five minutes away in Fredericksburg, Virginia, at the coziest little coffee shop ever, Agora Downtown Coffee. The shop is co-owned by sisters, one of whom bakes amazing things and the other who is the biggest champion for local artists ever (as well as a talented artist and craftsperson, herself). In the short time I was there, the sisters’ father and brother stopped by and introduced themselves, a local business owner bought me a cup of coffee because he “knew how hard I worked”, a designer complemented my book covers, and countless folks smiled and wished me well. Continue reading
I’ve written before about identifying myself as a writer, how it didn’t come naturally at first, and how I used to always feel compelled to qualify it in some way. I’ve come a long way in that regard and, while it still isn’t totally habitual, I usually remember to answer “writer” when asked what I do.
This always leads to interesting conversations; two of the most common of which occurred this past weekend at a fancy Paris-themed event at the art museum. (Hence my picture in front of the Eiffel Tower, above.) Here’s how they go: Continue reading