She said cavalierly, “Oh, I’ve read that book. It’s great.”
And I just about wet my pants. Because “that book” was my book, and she wasn’t someone that I knew.
With that simple interchange, I realized that all the hard work, and late nights, and yes, the experience of having cancer as a 33-year-old young mother had translated into something transformative.
In that moment, surrounded by hats and wigs in the fitting room at A Lady’s Touch in San Rafael, where I had come to donate a book and a stack of business cards, I became an author.
I didn’t think it was possible to trump Monday, when I visited the Larkspur library, and asked if they would be interested in purchasing a copy of my book. The librarian looked on her computer, noticed that the book was already in the system, and told me something that made me clutch my chest.
“Oh, there it is. And it’s checked out.”