Neil Gaiman Book Signing

   It was a dark and stormy night. That would have been the perfect beginning for a Neil-Gaiman-book-signing sort of day. But it wasn’t. February 6 dawned clear and beautiful with the promise of mid-60s for a high temperature, a good twenty degrees above the average for a February day on the Front Range.

   For those of you who have not read Neil Gaiman let me suggest Stardust, a fairy tale for adults. It has a hero, evil nobles, ghosts, pirates, witches, and a fallen star. And humor. (The 2007 movie of the same name has Robert De Niro as the pirate Captain Shakespeare. And his immortal line “I'm taking the girl to my cabin, and mark my words anyone who disturbs me for the next few hours will get the same treatment.)

   American Gods, another of my favorites, will give you things to think about long after you finish the book.

   But to quote Arlo Guthrie “That’s not what I come here to talk about.”

   Being a new émigré to Colorado and having acquired early on a strong aversion to traveling I-25 to or from the Denver area, I was not looking forward to the two-hour drive on said highway to Ft. Collins. My daughter, who inspired me to make the trip, is an avid Gaiman reader and fan. After all, he has written episodes for the Doctor Who television series. (Matt Smith is her Doctor.)

   Everything was in place. Four books waited for me at The Old Firehouse Book Store. Including Gaiman’s recently released Trigger Warning, a collection of short fiction and poetry which was a required purchase to get into the book signing. Since I am currently attempting to write saleable short fiction and I admire Gaiman’s work, the requirement was painless.

   And being me, one book was not enough. The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Stardust, and The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish also waited for me. To be more precise, for my grandchildren – Martha, John Riley, and Silas respectively.

   The bookstore doors were scheduled to open at 4 p.m. We arrived at 3:45 and found a line winding around the store, down the alley, and around the block. It was not an orderly, single file line. It bulged here and there to three or four or six or ten people wide. Young people, old people, tattooed and pierced people. All carrying books. (We had been told he would sign the books we bought from the bookstore plus three brought from home. Grace didn’t buy a new book but we counted the two she brought from home as mine. I think a lot of people did likewise.)

   From the end of the line I called the bookstore to confirm that my pre-purchased books were there and that he would sign them in spite of the number of people waiting in line. What I was hoping was that those people who had bought multiple books would get special privilege and go to the front of the line. She assured me that he would sign books until the very last one, no matter how long it took and they had my books waiting for me.

   My Dad’s cousin lives in Ft. Collins and we’d been saying since we moved to Colorado that we’d come up and see her. I couldn’t go to Ft. Collins and not visit, so I called her. She asked us to come over after we got our books signed. I explained the situation. The line behind us had lengthened considerably after our arrival. I wasn’t about to lose my place in line.

   So Helen and Charlie came and stood in line and visited with me for a while. The young man (He didn’t like American Gods that much.) behind us in line asked me how they would find me among all those people. I pointed to my white hair. There were people in line with more brightly colored hair than mine, but not that many of us white-haired people. Besides I’d told her which corner we were on.

   Colorado’s sun is fierce. As long as it shines you will always be comfortable. So I had left my warm cape in the car. Did I mention that we had difficulty finding a parking place and had to park several blocks away? Helen and Charlie left and the sun set. And the temperature began to drop.

   It got cold. I had very carefully chosen my clothes. Black slacks, black knee-high stockings, my Washington, D.C. open-toed shoes (that’s a whole ‘nother story) a sleeveless black blouse, a forest green over shirt with the sleeves fashionably rolled to just below the elbow, and a thin black scarf shot through with brightly colored metallic threads.

   I got cold. My back hurt. My knees hurt. But I would not leave my place in line.

The people around us were worth standing in line to visit. The young man behind me was a junior in high school. Some of his friends had skipped class to get in line early. Smart kids. His parents were also somewhere in the line well behind us. They dutifully brought him food and drink.

   Half of one couple – she was a molecular biologist and he a chemistry teacher – went to their car to recharge their cell phones while she stood in line. They were from a town up near the Wyoming border and had had trouble finding a parking place, too. He came back with a partially charged phone and a $75 parking ticket.

   At one point we found ourselves waiting in front of a local winery. Unfortunately, Ft. Collins is narrow-minded about drinking wine while standing on the sidewalk. The folks in Louisiana definitely have the right attitude about public drinking. And it doesn’t get nearly so cold there.

   Grace went in search of provisions and brought me hot coffee. It felt so good just to hold it. And, in keeping with Gaiman’s penchant for fantasy, I imagined climbing into that paper cup, immersing myself in warm, wonderful coffee.

   I didn’t know Ft. Collins had that many people. But I am glad to report that the people there read. They also have a wonderful sense of humor. Quite a few Friday-night-out-people asked what was going on. One of the guys in line (probably 40-years-old or older) cheerfully answered that Justin Bieber was inside.

   I could go on and on. Suffice it to say, by the time we got into the warm bookstore, I had consumed hot coffee, hot cocoa, and hot tea. Oh, yes and a slice of garlic bread from a pizza place we eventually stood in front of.

   At 11:35 p.m. I was standing in front of Neil Gaiman and he was signing my four books. By then, my sleeves were rolled down as far as they would go and I had that sparkly scarf wrapped around my head and neck.

   He signed Grace’s books AND her laptop.

   He was cheerful and friendly and asked how I was after standing in line so long. And him having been signing things since 4 p.m. (Including at least one pair of red roller skates that I’d seen two hours earlier.) He still had as many more of us with books to sign. They said there were around 2000 people who had purchased books, from as far away as South Dakota.

   His discomfort must surely have been greater than mine. I was through and he was not. This is a price of success that I never imagined. 

   I wonder if he’s like me and just wanted to tell a few good stories.