It was bound to happen one day.
My book. On offer at a garage sale.
And the worst insult -- they were only asking 10¢ for it.
Chapter & Hearse.
Not only that, but there were cozies sitting there from two of my author pals. (One of them I had blurbed.)
I asked the woman running the sale if she'd enjoyed the book, which looked a little worse for wear with dogged ears and a savagely split spine. She said, "I never read it. It either belongs to my mother or daughter."
Not any more. It's MINE now. And the next time I meet up with an old pal who asks me what I'm doing these days, I'm going to give it away.
What would you think if something that took you six months to make was on sale for 10¢?