A Book Speaks

 

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We high-fived each other on our way to the Post Office. We’re excited to meet the person who ordered us, which basically means the person who asked us to come. The person who wanted us.

Last week was a different story (no pun there, we are non-fiction).

Emily took us to a school, where she was giving writing sessions at the Careers Event. It was us and a few of her other books, too. That’s ok. After all, we are family.

When we arrived at the school, we heard Emily talking to a teacher. We were still in her bag, but we could hear the teacher telling Emily that a fire engine was coming, as part of the day’s event. No fire.

Since we ourselves are comprised of Emily’s thoughts, we knew exactly what she was thinking: a writing session will not seem very exciting alongside a tour of a fire engine.

Being honest, we were offended. But we kept that to ourselves, and obliged as Emily stood us in a pile on her desk in the classroom.

Children filed in.

Emily asked them to guess what she did, advising them to look near her for a clue.

That was us! We were the clue! We stood tall, trying to help the children out.

One child guessed that Emily is a librarian. Good guess, we thought. Close.

A child in another group guessed that she is an artist. We fell about laughing. Then we pulled ourselves together. Maybe the child thought Emily had designed our covers (people have thought that before), so we stood as still as possible, ready to be admired when everyone looked our way. 

Except they didn’t.

They hadn’t even noticed us. The child thought ‘artist Emily’ had decorated the whole classroom we were in, which – to be fair – was beautifully done.

Another group came in. In the ensuing discussion about fiction and non-fiction, we were thankful that our sibling-books had come along, so that Emily could show an example of fiction and of non-fiction.

We could feel Emily’s surprised delight when one child said, seeing the fiction book held up, “I’ve read that book!”

I imagine she felt similarly to how we felt on the way to the Post Office.

I know Emily is a member of ACW, and it occurred to me that maybe other writers experience things I have lived with her over the past few days; which is why I hijacked this blog...

Post Office: Books/Blogs/Articles/Poems going out into the world.

Fire Engine: immediately thinking their work won’t grab people.

Librarian: People coming so close to reading their books, but not taking them in the end.

Artist: No one registering their books at all.

Fiction (in Emily’s case): Someone saying, 'I read your book'.

I have no ready answers or quick solutions to these situations. No doubt I/my siblings will live them again, so if anything comes to us in future, we’ll let you know (don’t hold your breath). 

But sometimes it’s just nice to be reminded that you’re not alone.

Don’t you think?