Author Tom Julian
“How do you spell “Noble?” I replied to the clerk who had asked if I needed anything.
She smiled and said, “N-O-B-L-E.”
Five tall, slick, beautiful rectangles commanded the center of the bottom shelf of the sci-fi/fantasy section.
I was making a post for Facebook. I had slipped away from the book signing for a moment to snap a photo of my first novel—real copies, in a real bookcase, in a real store.
TIMBERWOLF was on the spine in a blocky stylized font with cool, strategically placed nicks in each letter. My name in the same treatment was at the bottom. In between was the tagline, BOOK ONE IN THE SPY-FI TIMBERWOLF SERIES.
Damn—it’s pretty! I posted the image to Facebook and took my place back at the small table near the front of the Barnes and Noble in Princeton Market Fair. In front of me was a stack of books—TIMBERWOLF and its sequel, RUBICON. Across the aisle, another author held court with several retirees, and several more writers made up a gauntlet of literary huskers. Patrons strolled by, and some stopped for a quick chat. Others looked down, made anxious by our attempts to make eye contact.
Tom Julian Signing Books
A tall, thin young man came by. TIMBERWOLF was just his thing. I signed two books for him and took a picture. A few others came over and chatted, and I signed a few more. There was the giant who was asking all the authors if their stories had sinners in them. I was relieved he didn’t grill me on the subject. A man in a blue jacket talked with me for fifteen minutes about AI, college essays, clinical trials, and the abrasive quality of moon dust. Instead of buying a book though, he thanked me for the conversation and walked away.
A few of my cousins came by. Some knew about the event, but I’m related to half of central New Jersey, so I think some just happened to be at the mall. At the halfway point, Lex, the event manager, brought me a bottle of water. She noticed I was chewing on the end of the Sharpie she’d given me. “You can keep that!” she said with a smile.
At 3 PM, the event wound down. My first ever book signing. I had been coming to this store for more than half my life, and now I have a book on the shelves. I said goodbye to Lex and the other authors. “I promise I’ll stretch before I get on my bike,” I said to the fitness expert who had been stationed to my left for the duration. I collected my flyers and bought my kid an Anne Rice book.
Now a civilian, I had a beer in the bar next door. The bartender saw one of my flyers. “What’s Timberwolf like?” she asked.
“Well, he’s sort of like if Ellen Ripley and Dirty Harry had a son.”
“Wait, that’s you!” she matched up the name on my credit card to the flyer.
“That’s me. I was doing a book signing next door.”
“Coooooool,” she said. She pulled out her phone and took a snap of the QR code on the flyer. “Am I going to like it?” she asked.
“It’s full of sinners,” I replied. Her smile told me it was right up her alley.
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