Monday, February 26, 2007
The recreation center where I take my exercise classes always has a table of used books for sale in the foyer. I think the money goes to the seniors who use the center. Sometimes I take a quick glance at what's available.
This weekend, picture me doing the classic double take, because there, on the top of the table, was a hardover edition of THE WOLF AND THE DOVE by Kathleen Woodiwiss, the first historical romance I ever read, and the reason I eventually became a historical romance writer myself. It wasn't a case of thinking I could do better; it was a case of realizing that was the kind of story I wanted to tell once I got the notion I might like to try my hand at writing. When I first read Ms. Woodiwiss's story, though, that was not even a dim bulb of an idea in my mind. I just really, really enjoyed it.
Needless to say, I grabbed that book and clutched it breathlessly to my bosum. (Did I mention I'd been to exercise class?) Then I realized I had no money. Not a coin. So I went into the office to ask them to hold the book for me while I went home and got the pittance required.
Oh, no problem. I can pay them next week.
I tell ya, it was like somebody just walking up to me on the street and offering me $100. Actually, because the way my mind works, I'd be thinking the $100 was the profit of crime, or some such thing, so this was even better.