I am not a football fan.
Not to say that I hate it. It just does nothing for me. And yet, during this year’s Super Bowl, I went to my father’s bar to watch the Big Game. I was told there would be hot wings.
There were no hot wings.
While I lamented the lack of hot wings, a very tall blond woman dashed up to me. Her face was full of an intense emotion that I couldn’t identify in the gloom of the bar.
I thought she wanted to kick my ass or at least make me step aside because I was in the way somehow.
“Are you the author?” she asked.
I told her, yes, I was the author. She must have heard of me because my dad, a lover of gritty crime novels, won’t shut up about me.
Instead of challenging me to a duel, she hugged me. She told me she had read my book and it was just what she needed during a really hard time in her life recently. She teared up. I teared up. There were more hugs.
After the game, all I could think of was that I need to finish the sequel. If there were any doubts in my mind about the series, or writing in general, they’re gone now.
That encounter meant a lot to me and got me fired up about writing again. I just want to take time out and ask you, if you enjoyed a book, to take time out to contact the author. Tell them how it made you feel. Maybe they’ll read it. Maybe they won’t. But there’s a chance you’ll make their day and light a fire in their heart.