The books I ordered for my motorcycle buddies arrived Friday. I eagerly ripped into the box and tossed aside the packaging, and there it was. My book, all shiny and pretty and new. I picked up the top copy and gazed lovingly at it, opened the cover and saw the exerpt, flipped through the pages and saw the story I'd taken so many hours, days, weeks and months to write (and rewrite and rewrite...).
Wow.
It's real.
A beautiful, hard-bound book with a shiny paper cover. And in the box were two stacks of them!
I swooned. Then I giggled. Then I sat down to sign them as requested and realized -- I hadn't practiced signing my pseudonym. Gads. I needed to be careful not to sign my regular name. hee hee!
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