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That moment when, waiting in line and clutching your precious novel, you go over all of the things you want to tell the author at the table. How her work completely and utterly captured your experience, that the book got you through a very rough patch, that you laughed and laughed and couldn’t stop. How, not to be melodramatic, but her work may have changed your life in very small but significant ways, and how you now recommend this book constantly because it is so wonderful that you just want to give it hugs.
And instead of saying any of these things, you freeze, smile, say something totally awkward, then run the other direction.
Then you get to the parking lot and go:
In other news, I may have been to a book signing this week.