Confession

When I went for my interview outside of Chicago (cold, middle of a cornfield, bleak but charming, went well by all stretches of my imagination, still haven't heard anything), I was able to spend a day in Chicago visiting my old haunts, including one of my favorite bookstores in the city, where I found the anthology I'm in healthily stocked on the shelves! I had no idea it was out! It was a pretty great moment that - job or no job - made the trip worthwhile.

And then, check out how narcissistic I am: first, I told the employees ringing me up how happy I was that they had it in stock, and that I was buying two because I am in the book. I wanted the world to stop. I wanted everyone in that store, on the street, all through Chicago to stop what they were doing because they'd heard me. When that didn't happen I asked them if they had ever had authors sign anthologies, or if they'd ever even heard of such a thing, because I sure haven't, but damn did it seem like a good idea, to try on the life of a writer again (in a big city! my favorite bookstore!). One of them said, "No. Never." We all agreed. I handed him my credit card, not even sure if I had enough credit to buy a book I'm in (even journals give you two copies!). I said, "Yeah, me either." I signed my slip, more self-conscious than I've ever been of my signature (too vertical, too nervous, too horizontal, too squished, so White-Outable. Why didn't I try harder in high school, filling margins during Chemistry, Saturday school, abandoned notes? Seriously, when does one get signature practice?) The other employee said, "Suppose it wouldn't really hurt sales." We all awkwardly shrugged, agreed. I thought that after I left maybe one of the workers would push the cash register's "No Sale" button and find my receipt, check out the book during a break, maybe remember my name. That's what I was hoping for. And then there I am signing an anthology that I'm 1/18 or 1/20 of, because one of the employees had gotten the stack off of the shelves when I was leaving; I was happy to be carrying a bag of anything, because it proved that I'd actually been shopping, out onto the streets of a cold Chicago. They watched me sign, and I did so quickly, like a pro. I whipped through those cover pages (front matter?) like it was a hassle, like this was the last stop on tour. Now there's an "Autographed Copy" sticker on 10 covers somewhere, maybe still on those shelves, maybe in a lap, and I'm in love with them.

p.s. Right next to a half-naked S & M cover!