This week I signed my first two poetry books upon request of two beautiful word appreciators. Never in my entire existence as a Writer have I ever imagined signing a book. I understand that book signing is a normal thing for authors to do… but then again, I certainly don’t classify myself as a “normal” anything. Just a girl who needs to spill my brain on pages in a feeble attempt to grip sanity.

The coolest part of the entire experience was where the books were sent. I shipped one off to India and one to the Netherlands. As a creature who puts daily energy toward surrounding our world in as much light as I can produce – I am madly in love with the fact that the first two signed works of my word-nerd walk went to these two places.

I still can’t really get my head around the entire thing.

A few weeks ago I went to a concert and bought a CD from a band who eagerly jumped in front of me with a fat black marker to scribble their names on the cover for me. And while I appreciated the gesture, I couldn’t help but giggle at the ego attached to the whole thing. I didn’t exactly ask them to sign it. Still, it made me happy to see them beam in delight as they confidently slashed their initials across their album.

Rockstars…

My experience was somewhat different. I sat in silence gripping my pen for dear life and staring down at a page pondering, “How could I ever express to these two people how I feel right now?” The notion of anyone being interested in having a copy of my book blows my mind. The request of adding a signature – the FIRST requests to add a signature – coming from various angles of the globe…

You catch my drift.

Anyways, the best part of this story is that shipping my books from Australia to Europe and India actually cost more than the book does itself. (smiles)

This will be one of my favorite tales to tell for the rest of my writer-ly years.