Who Are You?
February 5, 2000
7:23 a.m.
Let's see," the man said as he stood on the opposite side of the table. It was a small table, square, maybe half the size of a dinner table. A stack of Writers of the Future and another stack of Flights of Fantasy sat on top of the plain green tablecloth. Beside the table and to the front a bit a huge sign stood describing me and the book a bit, and that I was signing from 11:30-1:00. The man was youngish, maybe 25--maybe 30. He had air as short as mine, but black. He wore a thigh-length beige-white trenchcoat, and held a copy of the fantasy book out at arm's distance, scanning the table of contents. "I know you're not Jodie Lyn Nye. And you're not ..." He went on to name every female on the table of contents. "No, I'm not them," I replied with what I hope wasn't too much angst. "And I know you're not Mike Resnick." "No, but I take a lot of his advice," I grinned. "You're Ron Collins." He drew my name out. I just grinned, not feeling like I knew exactly what to say. But if I was uncomfortable about this moment, the next truly stymied me. He kind of leaned in with his jaw set and said "So, who are you?" I admired his audacity, you know? I figured here's a guy who's having a little fun at my expense, and at this point it's like shooting fish in a barrel--I mean, I wasn't going anywhere. So we talked a bit about where he might find my work. The bookstore owner stood patiently nearby. "So, what do you read?" I asked, going on the offensive. "Oh, Science Fiction, fantasy. Anything that's not nailed down." "Are you familiar with Writers of the Future?" "I have a copy of an old volume. Maybe volume nine. It's signed by one of the authors, but I haven't read it." We talked a bit more, and I explained the content of each of the two volumes to give him a feel for what he might be buying. "We'll," he finally said. "I'll go home and look to see if I have any of your stuff. That way I'll know if you're worth paying full price for." And then he left. I looked at the bookstore owner. This is an independant bookstore. His family has run it for 27 years, and for all those 27 they've right in the same area. They did move from across the street six years ago, I guess. We had talked at some length about his business, and the impact of big chains and the internet. He had been non-committal on his answers as to their impact. His view is that book sales are fairly level, and that net sales have taken money from someone, but he wasn't ready to complain any more than chains. I liked that. It's easy to fall into a stereotypical rut of complaining about things that seem right on the surface, but are yet to be proven (speaking generically there). All he would say was that it was a difficult business, but that it beat what he had done before--he was a child welfare social worker before taking on the bookstore. He smiled then. "You did good," he said. "But sometimes nothing works." I nodded and sat back in my chair. "It's his loss, though," the owner said. "He doesn't know what he's missing."  So, who the heck are you? Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"Children don't read to find their identity. They don't read to free themselves of guilt, to quench the thirst for rebellion, or to get rid of alienation. They have no use for psychology. They detest sociology. ... They still believe in good, the family, angels, devils, witches, goblins, logic, clarity, punctuation and other such obsolete stuff." Isaac Bashevis Singer (Address at Nobel Prize banquet, 1978) |
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