(Sung to the tune of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”)
I saw Gaiman autographing books,
Way up from the balcony so high.
He didn’t see me creep,
Up to the rail to peek.
I took this picture even though my butt was fast asleep!
‘Cause I saw Gaiman autographing books,
And knew I wouldn’t make it till the end.
What a treat it would have been
If Neil had only seen
Me and autographed my book last night!
(P.S. I bought an already-autographed book.)
(P.P.S. If you ever get the chance to see and actually hear Mr. Gaiman, you should go. He is quite the entertaining chap. But get there early. ‘Cause those young twenty-somethings are happy to stand in line for hours and wait for hours for his autograph. I mean, I really like Neil Gaiman. But I was in the midnight-signing crowd, and a world-famous author may not have been in a “What have we here? Cathy-on-a-Stick?” jolly mood at 12:08 in the morning.)
(P.P.S.S. Thanks to Little Shop of Stories in Decatur, Georgia, for winning the competition so I could see the entertaining Neil Gaiman. Support your local indie bookstore!)
(P.P.P.S.S. Yes, I know it’s dark and kinda blurry and that could be anybody. But it’s neilhimself. I was in the balcony, fer cryin’ out loud.)
Apparently I have the willpower of a gnat.
Come to think of it, gnats are pretty willful critters. I’ve had gnats annoy me for hours. So maybe gnat is not the best comparison for use in this instance. But in the sense that a gnat is a teeny-tiny little bit of a thing, that’s exactly how much willpower I have.
‘Cause when I saw that Neil Gaiman was going to start a story on Twitter (he’s a fan of tweeting, don’t you know), and that his fan/followers can continue the story with their own little 140 character tweets, well.
Eventually, after 1,000 tweets or so, somebody will bundle it all up and make it an audiobook, to be read by some dashing narrator. Then, I guess folks can buy it. But I’m not buying a book just because I’d be a co-author with Neil Gaiman himself.
Well. I’m not spending any more than 25 bucks on it. Thirty, tops.
The last time I went to the library, I was absolutely determined to get a Neil Gaiman book.
Every time I see a new book by him, I think, gee, I’d like to read that. That started about five years ago, give or take a year. It’s taken me this long to remember Mr. Gaiman after arriving at the library. And now, he’s this incredibly huge author (not fat-huge, popular-huge) and his books are on an incredibly long wait list. I despise waiting for a book. So, I checked out one of his older books called Anansi Boys.
I was immediately sucked in by the story and loved the way Mr. Gaiman weaved fantasy with reality. The fantasy part dealt with Anansi, the tricky spider character from old African stories. And the day I finished reading the book, I woke up with the most incredibly strange itching on my back. I nearly wrenched my neck out of its socket to see the small of my back from whence the itching came. And then I saw it: four pink spots on my previosly unblemished back.
“What is that on my back?” I asked the benficent Mr. Hall as he sprayed anti-itching stuff on the now huge, red welts. And then, suddenly I knew. They were spider bites. Big, old, incredibly itchy spider bites.
Coincidence? I think not.
(P.S. Condolences to Mr. Gaiman on the recent loss of his father. You can read about his other books, which you won’t be able to check out from the library, at his website here.)
Oh, and thanks to aussiegall at flickr.com for the incredibly cool dancing spider.