A Book Signing

image from tatteredcoverbookstore.blogspot.com

Diane Mott Davidson 

Diane Mott Davidson, writer of culinary mysteries, signed books at Mountain Books in Conifer, Colorado, October 2.

She is gracious, delightful, and entertaining whether you're listening to her speak or reading her stories. And she makes a mean batch of Scout's Brownies from her book, Dying for Chocolate. 

That's the first book of hers that I read. Her main character Goldy is a mother, a good friend, a domestic abuse survivor, an amateur sleuth, and a caterer -- in that order of importance. As the series continues she adds wife to that list -- I would say tying for slot number 1.

In Dying for Chocolate, we meet all the main characters. Goldy, of course. She is happily divorced from The Jerk whose only positive contribution to her life is their son Arch. She has turned her passion for food into a career as a caterer. 

Marla is the Jerk's second ex-wife and Goldy's best friend. Marla has an extraordinary talent for collecting the town gossip which proves invaluable to Goldy's avocation as amateur detective solving local murder mysteries.

You know that info on the back of books? I seldom read that. Or book reviews. I read books because a friend recommends it or I hear an interview with the author on National Public Radio. But Dying for Chocolate I saw in the library and being notoriously addicted to chocolate, I checked it out based solely on its title.

Like all of her mysteries, it's set in the imaginary town of Aspen Meadow, Colorado, which is very like her town of Evergreen.

I was innocently reading along when I turned a page and there, in the middle of the murder mystery, was a recipe. That was on page 75. Then on page 98 there was a recipe for Scout's Brownies. To the kitchen! Murder mystery on hold, I baked them. They were delicious. 

Lucky for me because I lived in Oklahoma at the time, Ms. Mott Davidson had amended her high altitude recipe for us low altitude readers. I didn't find that out until the book signing. 

I've read all her books since. She inspired me to write Murder on Ceres. I took her a copy of my book as a gift.

I found out on Monday about her Friday scheduled book signing at Mountain Books in Conifer (from Colorado Public Radio, our local NPR station) and, of course I had to go. I'd never been to Conifer. I knew it was in the mountains and it would likely be dark when it was over, so I set about trying to enlist people to go with me. Daughter had to work. Husband had to work. Friends had other commitments. Well, shoot.

Conifer, Colorado. Google said thirty minutes away from my house. Four-lane highway. How bad could it be?

I left home at 4:00 pm to be sure I'd have plenty of time to find the book store and a parking place. After all, I clearly remembered my experience in February at Neil Gaiman's book signing in Ft. Collins,

There was a bit of rush hour traffic. It always amazes me how many people live up in the mountains and commute into Metro Denver for work. Needless to say, it was all uphill and curvy. Exits marked roads named "Raven Gulch" and "Sourdough Drive" and "Alpine Meadow." Of course they did.

The drive up? No problem at all.

Mountain Books is a wonderful bookstore. It's small and stuffed to the gills with books, new and used. Jesse, the owner, has been in this location for 18 years. His space is divided into categories -- Science Fiction, Mysteries, Religion, etc. and the books are shelved within those categories alphabetically by author. That pleases my library-trained heart.

His dog Sasha welcomes customers and keeps an eye on everything. Of indeterminate ancestry, she's a mature dog, about 30 pounds, mostly white with a lovely black patch over her right eye. Her coat is medium length and her tail is elegantly feathered. Most of the customers are local and they obligingly toss her ball for her to fetch.

Jesse suggested I walk over to the shopping center where there are several eating establishments. Of course he did. Everybody in Colorado walks. I'm getting used to it.

Weather Underground  forecasted possible thunderstorms for Conifer. Clouds were building, but to the east. 

They might drop rain out over the prairie but it wasn't likely I'd see anything from those clouds. And the aspen are responding to our changing fall daylight, their leaves bright as sunshine shimmering in the wind.

I bought Mott Davidson's latest, Goldy's Kitchen Cookbook, a collection of the recipes from her culinary mysteries, and sat down to wait. 

More fans filtered into the bookshop and we visited. One lady told me I was brave to drive in the mountains after dark. I decided to see what other books of interest to me Jesse might have. I found a Stephen Jay Gould I didn't have and one by Neil deGrasse Tyson -- both used for only $5 each.

One of the ladies said she got to hear Tyson speak at Colorado School of Mines a couple of nights before. How cool is that!

Another woman said I should be careful driving after dark because of deer on the highway. And elk are bigger than deer. Another said she'd seen a bear dead on the road the night before. Several agreed they'd heard someone hit a bear. "Do you know who?" they asked each other. "A bear?" I asked. "But they're not as dangerous as hitting a deer," they reassured me. Or an elk "because deer and elk are so tall, they'll come right over the hood into your windshield." 

Which brought on one woman's husband's experience with a deer leaping through his pickup truck's side window and going halfway through the windshield. "It was dead, of course." Of course, I thought. Then someone offered the wisdom that it would have been more dangerous if the deer had not died -- "flailing around in the moving truck."

Deer and elk and bears, Oh my.

To my relief, Diane Mott Davidson arrived bearing freshly baked Scout's Brownies. And signed our books. She talked about who inspired her villains -- which brought to mind Twain's warning that you ought not start a fight with someone who buys ink by the barrel. She explained that her husband Jim is nothing like the Jerk. And Arch is so believable because she has her three sons to draw on. 

Her husband is an aerospace engineer and has worked for NASA. She thinks he'll enjoy Murder on Ceres. Not only a wonderful writer, but she's kind, too.

And then it was time to drive home. In the dark.

When you see those yellow diamond highway signs showing a downward tipping truck above the percent grade you're coming to, you know you're in the Rocky Mountains and it's going to be steep. And yes, I do know to take those long, steep hills in Low gear, so my brakes don't overheat and fail.

After a half mile of 5% grade, (Doesn't sound like much, does it? But it is very steep.) I encountered an official Department of Transportation sign that read "ALL DRIVERS DON'T BE FOOLED 5% GRADE AND SHARP CURVES NEXT 5 MILES." Scared me, I'll tell you.

But then, it's like my husband says, it's not quite so scary when you can't see how far down it is. And in the darkness I couldn't see anything past the edge of the road. That's because the ground fell away to my immediate right and there was nothing there to be caught in my headlights.

At least I didn't have to worry about a deer or an elk or a bear leaping in front of the car from that side of the road. I just had to keep reminding myself that if one of those critters did come out of the darkness to my left, I should probably not swerve right to miss it.

I was relieved when I saw the 65 MPH speed limit signs. I knew I was out of the mountains and almost home.

Gaiman, Neil Gaiman -- A Review

The problem with a new book by an author I particularly like, is that I expect it to be like the other books by that author. Even when I know it’s going to be different. Neil Gaiman’s Trigger Warning is very different from the other Gaiman books I’ve read.

It’s a collection of short fiction, and I’ve only read his novels. Already I’m in unfamiliar territory. But with Neil Gaiman it’s always unfamiliar territory. He writes fairy tales and myths for grownups. If you haven’t read him before, let me recommend Stardust, then Good Omens (which he did with Terry Pratchett,) and American Gods. Each is very different from the other, but they all do the same good things. They take you on exciting journeys, provide you with interesting companions, and never, ever do the expected.

He’s also written numerous children’s books including Coraline, which I love, and The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish, which I gave to my youngest grandchild Silas. The Ocean at the End of the Lane was for oldest Martha. And a copy of Stardust for the middle grandchild John Riley. All three were signed by Mr. Gaiman last February. That book-signing was certainly memorable – all properly documented in a blog post. See Neil Gaiman Book Signing.

Trigger Warning starts out with a lengthy introduction which I skipped after only the tiniest taste. I’m a cut-to-the-chase kind of woman. What he thinks, what inspires him, where each story was first published or aired (in the case of the Doctor Who episodes) these are of interest to many, but I’m here for the stories.

The first two stories just didn’t do it for me. I was on the verge of disappointment. But the third? The third was the Neil Gaiman I love. “The Thing about Cassandra” is a story about a very commonplace happening in a man’s past. Or was it commonplace? Did it happen? It’s that little zone in your mind, the thinnest of lines between reality and memory that we all have. And I was hooked.

The next Gaiman book on my to-read list is Ocean at the End of the Lane. Maybe I can borrow it from my granddaughter.

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.