An Island Book Signing

I had a book signing on Washington Island, Door County, at my favorite bookshop, Fair Isle Books.

It’s lovely, tucked next to Red Cup Coffee on the corner of Main and Detroit Harbor Roads, with walls, shelves, nooks, and crannies full with books and fair trade items, arranged by genres, categories, and colors. Pure bliss.

I’ve been coming to the island—my peace place—for 15 years, and always find more than enough hours to browse and talk with Fair Isle’s owner Deb, about what she’s read and enjoyed; that woman is well read.

It’s been a dream of mine to publish a book, and as I gently picked up titles off the shelves of the shop, noticed the cover art and back copy blurb, my head marveled, Wouldn’t it be nice to see my book here? A longing bubbled. Yes, my heart agreed. It would.

This longing grew as years stretched and I dreamed, wrote, waited, and wondered. I attended book signings for others, looked authors in their eyes and asked questions about their process, their joys of writing, and thanking them for their gift of words. I rejoiced with them, still always hoping and praying one time it could also be mine.

A few weekends ago, I sat in that same green chair I’ve seen others in, smiled at people coming and going, making small talk with them as they browsed. Signed some of my very own books, watched my aunts in their element chatting about reading and delighting in the colorful bowls, glass window hangings, and jewelry for sale. Not one person could have come in that shop for the few hours I was there, and it would have been exactly enough. I had my book signing, with my book, words I wrote, in my favorite place.

This was my dream come true.

It was beautiful. It was easy. It was natural and my heart had joy.

I wish I could replay the afternoon, pull a Groundhog’s Day and wake up to do it again, and again, and again. A dream turned reality, something hoped for, but few experience. I recognize that, and I do not take it for granted.

What a gift.

What a life.