ANWA, Encouragement, and Pure Joy
About four o’clock this morning, I awakened to a strong feeling of pressure on my bottom that I’d never felt before when lying down. To my surprise, my bare toes wiggled on the carpet. My hands hung over the armrest of my upright LaZboy. My magnifying glasses atop my new, autographed copy of Betsy Love’s Identity lay on the lamp table, mute evidence that I’d at least intended to go to bed. I’d flipped the tassel-end of my bookmark in at the beginning of chapter four.
Betsy had arrived at our ANWA chapter meeting right behind Pamela, Julia and me. Her face glowed with more than exercise. “I only had three copies of my book to bring, tonight. My publisher didn’t send me all I’d ordered. But here they are—my first copies of my first published book.”
We cheered with her, gave her hugs, and I dug my billfold from my purse. “I’m first.”
Better still, we ended up trading. I autographed a copy to her of my Lolly’s Yarn in exchange for her Identity. I could hardly wait to get home and read it.
I usually don’t carry copies of my book , but Cindy called just before I left home and asked me to bring one. “My mother has my copy and loves it. She wants to buy it for herself. She says it’s like reliving her own life, though she’s a few years younger and moved a lot less. She’s eager to meet you. Can we get together for lunch some day soon?”
With such sweet words ringing in my ears, I tucked a book in my purse. While I was at it, I added a second. It made my purse very heavy, but when I get an impulse, I try to follow.
Our meeting held my interest, and I marveled at the depth of talent evidenced, and the love that flowed freely. I was the last to read, and I chose a short excerpt from the draft of my upcoming (who knows when?) second volume, which will deal with my childhood. Everybody laughed, not only when I’d finished, but along the way.
“Anna, you’re so funny.”
“My dad loves your book. I hear him chuckle, or laugh aloud, as he’s reading.”
“You bring your reader into the picture with you. It’s like having you right there, telling and explaining everything.” (Of course. Here I am.)
So, I came home happy.
If at least one of you encourages me, I’ll post a copy of this excerpt, about my sister’s fear of a chivaree, the whopper of a lie I told (at age seven) and the hilarious, unplanned outcome.
Anna Arnett