A few months back, when my manuscript was in the hands of a professional editor and I was again waiting, I indulged my writer’s soul by participating in an invitation to read an excerpt as a member of the writer’s guild. A small group of us met at the local Starbuck’s to discuss this opportunity and how best to organize our participants. We sipped coffee and tea and mulled over the reading selections, the order, and the length of each. About mid-way through I looked up to see a man walking past our table, he looked up at the same time. I recognized him and he me.
I sat awkwardly on a chair against the wall so I rose and stepped forward. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries and laughed. The young man was Howard Roughan, bestselling author, New York Times top ten, both solo and as a co-author. The latter pairing with one of the most well known crime writer’s on the A-list. Howard and I had met briefly some five years before after I had boldly sent him a request to read and review my novel, Belly of the Whale. I needed a New York Times bestselling author to blurb on my cover and he and I lived in the same town. He graciously agreed and a short time later sent a wonderful review to my publisher.
So there we were in Starbucks, half a decade later, and he remembered my name, and the name of my book. This from a man, who would in the next week, once again be on the New York Times best seller list. I was flattered, to say the least, and if that were not enough to keep this writer’s heart beating, as we parted he added that he still remembered the story, and that he found the book to be one of the best he had read (or something to that effect), because by then I was dizzy.
Thanks so much Mr. Roughan, you made my day.
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