“Eeyore was saying to himself, ‘This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff.’”
- A.A. Milne
One night last week I donned my concert blacks, and with viola strapped to my back, I went to work. I picked my way through the slush and arrived at the stage door to find a bearded gentleman with a cane on his way inside. He held the door open for me, and I thanked him.
“I always like to hold the door for a children’s author,” he said, gracing me with a slight bow.
I love writing for children more than most anything, so it pleased me to no end that this concert-goer may have remembered A Spider’s Tale. Warmed to the core, I thanked him once again. We stepped through the door and into the lobby.
“I’ve given both my grandchildren your book, and they loved it,” he said as we parted ways. If he’d been wearing a hat, I imagine he’d have tipped it. I blinked, thanked him a third time, and wished him an enjoyable evening.
His comment left me pleased, but bewildered. I scratched my head and thought for a moment. One of my fondest wishes is to have a children’s book published, but it hasn’t happened yet. If ever it does, I’ll be sure to track the nice gentleman down and put a copy in his hands.