Well, that went well. My first ever European book signing. I spent all day running around the city, trying to get copies of my book because the store hadn’t got its shipment. I was a nervous wreck while Lenore drove us over. Five books. Five new books and a few older ones. How would I decide who gets them? First come first serve? Have a contest? Give it to the most pathetic people there? Oh, God.
Do you know how many people attended my first European book signing?
One.
A little old fellow in an orange stocking cap and a blue button-up with threads sticking off it all over. I didn’t know what to do. If it would have been completely empty, I could at least cancel, but when you’ve got one person who’s made the effort to come all the way out here, I felt too embarrassed to let him down, so I started reading from my book. I kept thinking somebody else will walk in, but they didn’t. I even had a question and answer session. The man asked how much the books would cost. I told him six pounds twenty. He bought one of each title. When I gave him an autograph, I asked him his name. He said “Philip Wheeler.”
Burbank nearly had a conniption. To his list of Things Burbank Notices, he added “There is no such thing as coincidence. Everything is connected to Mother Nature who is out to get me.”
He’ll be staying in tomorrow.
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