Yesterday for half an hour I was a Writer, talking about my books and what’s in them, answering questions about being a writer and being treated as if I were important.
The people in the group were elderly but reasonably well off, and I did a good discount on the copies I’d taken along, so lots of them bought books.
Partly they were encouraged to read them because my friend Pearl had come along, and at the end of the question time she surprised me by launching into an impassioned recommendation of my books – telling the people to read the pages of endorsements at the beginning to see how wonderful they are! That was nice (and it seemed to work)!
Anyway, I’m glad I had the money from selling books because on Facebook I saw a photo of this little dog waiting in a cage.
He had been taken from the streets by the authorities in whatever US city he lived in, and was being kept for a week or so in a cage. Unless they raised $250 dollars to take him to a rescue place, he’d just be killed. There were lots of other dogs too, but this one looked so patient and so sad. Not a young dog. I get so fed up with the human race sometimes. But Pearl saying how wonderful she thinks my books are meant those people snapped up discounted copies meant I had something in the bank to send this little dog in America meant he didn’t have to die after all.
He had been taken from the streets by the authorities in whatever US city he lived in, and was being kept for a week or so in a cage. Unless they raised $250 dollars to take him to a rescue place, he’d just be killed. There were lots of other dogs too, but this one looked so patient and so sad. Not a young dog. I get so fed up with the human race sometimes. But Pearl saying how wonderful she thinks my books are meant those people snapped up discounted copies meant I had something in the bank to send this little dog in America meant he didn’t have to die after all.
Then today I was not an important person any more but back to life as normal, using crumpled kitchen foil and left-over carpet cleaner to try to restore our grill pan to the condition I think of as “clean enough”.
-----------------------------------------------------
Sometimes I do question my sanity. I got this fake ivy at Christmas, thinking it was just the thing for parts of the house where insufficient light makes it impractical to ask plants to grow. Why? Why did I ever think I wanted artificial ivy? For heaven’s sake!!