Two days ago I was in a Borders, feeling all creeped out. I love bookstores, but l always get nervous and weird when I enter one. This is because they might, but likely won't, have my books on their shelf. However, I handled things fairly well. I even made a joke, just to myself, which I have been chuckling over ever since. For me, entering a book store is The Walk of Shame. It is odd, isn't it, that the one place that might feel welcoming to an author is in fact the one place guaranteed to make an author (OK, me) scurry away with reddened cheeks, shamed by the horror of her own insignificance. I find that funny!
Anyway, a copy of my most recent novel, GONE, was actually on the shelf. Still, I could not get past the piles of other YA novels, not to mention the multiple copies of truly successful titles, and ended up scuttling away like a frightened crab.
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