Okay, it was Saturday, March 29th, 2008.

It was a damp, breezy, cold and rainy Spring-wannabe day in Charlotte, North Carolina, and people of all ages, genders, shapes, colors, ethnic backgrounds, and cell phone companies crowded in from the streets to explore the sprawling and relatively new North Lake Mall to find an outlet for their Saturday wanderlust tendancies and in some cases, perhaps, to satisfy a rogue opportunity for family bonding through observation of the theatre, debate over the necessity of various items, or even mutual selection of their afternoon victuals at the Food Court.

I was there.

I was there near the "Last Chance!" sale rack at Borders, standing next to a tiny wooden table upon which I had crowded bookmarks, cards, brochures, a bowl of chocolate candies, a couple of real starfish laid out on a small section of fishnet, and--oh yes--a stack of my books.

Borders at North Lake is a large, beautiful, contemporary book store filled with anything one could hope to expect from such an establishment, including a wonderful coffee shop upstairs.

Standing there, (I've read enough to know I shouldn't sit) I had time to observe people, one of my favorite pastimes. And--people are committed to not committing.

I received lots of appreciative smiles (I smiled back, of course) but most did not step forward to allay any curiosity they might have had concerning why the heck I was standing there with a bowl of Hershey's Kisses (with almonds!) and smiling back at them, pen at the ready. I think it would have been helpful to have had a full sized poster on an easel at eye level, but it was forgotten in the rush, an oversight, a candidate for twenty-twenty hind sight.

At one point I seriously considered flicking a Bic onto the pages of one of my paperbacks in the middle of the tile floor. I figured the flames might get some attention. In retrospect, it was indeed fortunate, for us all, that I didn't have access to such a thing.

And then, the rush--family and friends piled in to give their support and buy for themselves and friends--without them I would have felt a little pathetic, although I did meet a fellow author who bought a book, and a couple of other people grabbed bookmarks, candy, and cards.

When it was all over, somehow I had sold and signed ten books, and signed the rest of the stack so the bookstore could sell them as autographed copies.

It seemed so short yet somehow so significant, this little book signing. The appearance of family members and past friends was so very flattering and their support meant so much to me.

And it is because of that...

...I will do other signings, at which time there may be more books sold, or maybe less. But no matter what the future brings, this is the book signing I will always remember as my very best.