I was sitting at the public desk this afternoon, when one of our regular patrons—and my secret favorite—came up, said, “I hear you’re looking for a copy of this,” and tossed a trade-sized paperback at me. “I want it back when you’re done.”
I caught it gingerly—this patron has a sense of humor that recommends caution—and examined it:
“Hey, thanks!” I said. “How did you know?”
“You said you couldn’t find it in that review you wrote about her stories last week.”
“You read my blog?” I asked, thinking nervously of the F-Bomb thing last Sunday.
“Only when you write interesting stuff.”
Fair enough. “How’d you find it?”
“That Top Suspense review you did a while back. You’ve been slacking on the reviews, lately.”
“I haven’t had time.”
“Make time. But only for books I’ll like.”
“Maybe I’ll do this one,” I said, lifting Killer Instinct.
“Why? I’ve already read it.”
“There could be one or two other people who haven’t.”
“Other people read your blog?”
“At least six,” I said, fudging a little*. “Not including you.”
“Why don’t you ever comment?”
“You really want me to?”
“Never mind. Can I blog about this conversation?”
“Sure. I probably won’t read it, since I know what happens.”
“That’s okay. Please don’t comment if you do.”
“No promises. There a computer free?”
“Number five,” I said, pointing.
I was left with the book and the sudden urge to read over every one of my library-based posts to make sure they won’t bite me in the rump and set the commenting around here to moderate all.
But I read the first few chapters of Killer Instinct instead.
Thanks, Mrs. P.
*Never mind which way.