Book-Signing-At-Some-Point-In-The-Year-2010

Scree ...eech! The Limo abruptly pulls into the allotted space outside the bookstore. It's an 07 Cadillac Escalade... long and old in this day. The guy that I rented it from said it was the only one he had available... the pompous ass he was. Like I hadn't seen the fleet of brand new S-Class Mercs at the back... and he had the nerve to point out that I did not have enough clout....

Ati..... "its not that we don't think you'll be good for it.... blah blah blah!"

The nerve. Did he not know who I was... Acha tu! He'll see.

"Stay for a minute please" I yell at the driver.

I ignore the look of disdain he throws my way and survey the throng..... waiting outside. Its not what I'd pictured, in my dreams... As a matter of fact the reality of stardom is really not living up to what I'd envisioned. But then again, some might argue I was not a star...

One has to be famous, they'd say.

There is a few people milling about... mostly middle-aged mothers. No teenage groupies clamoring for a piece of the K........ and even worse, no photo-journalists. There can be no fame without the press...... Oh man! Perhaps I should have listened to the vultures and gotten me a publicist.

I guess I have not arrived yet. There is a short line through the door. The line is quiet... settled...... patient even. A patience borne of a lifetime of raising children and waiting for working husbands. It hardly stirs when the over-sized limo pulls up... I seriously doubt it will budge when I get out... I close my eyes and replay that dream...

"A large crowd followed and pressed around him. Grabbing at him and chanting his name , if only to get but a touch of his fame..."

"Ahem!" The driver's impatience snaps me out of my reverie... He really needs to be put in his place.

I adjust my shirt and put on my scratched Ray-Bans..... before stepping out. I smile my way through the curious ogling and am halfway to the door before a fast talking Ms. Chandler grabs me by my elbow .

Her name is just about the only thing I get out of her quick introduction as she walks me through the door and leads me to a table where the line begins. And there on the plain table-clothe..... standing out like the proverbial sore thumb, is the reason am here.

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I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself, did I? How lacking in manners. Well... If you've been reading my blog all this years, you don't need an introduction.... you probably know me better than I know myself.

If you haven't been? Well, you soon will... just tune in to Oprah these next couple of months... It's yet to be confirmed, but I have it from the grapevine... my book is being considered. Yap.... Rumor has it that she finally got a hold of one of the fifty copies I mailed her personally... That's right, my mother always said persistence was my key, that and the ability to tell tales...

So yes... I am a writer. Wannabe writer I should say. A famous wannabe writer: Or is it a wannabe-famous writer? Well, it don't matter really. Writing, I've found, doesn't make you a writer. Oprah and the New York Times do.