Rumbled
It was our monthly practise at Old Eden tonight and I’d phoned round a little too effectively yesterday and it was something of a crush. This meant a lot of sitting out, which sort of occasion is why I carry a book in my knapsack at all times. ** The current book happens to revel in the inclusion of a Robin McKinley bookmark. I don’t use ’em very often but it does occur occasionally. The bookmark was lying quietly and, I would have said, mostly self-effacingly, at an angle through a corner of the book, but Colin noticed, pulled it out, and started to give me a hard time about shameless self-promotion. You picked it up, I said. This conversation was happening in the seethe and tumult of the crowd however, as one lot of ringers hung up their ropes and the next grabbed hold, and I wouldn’t have expected anyone to overhear.
At the end of practise as we were sorting ourselves out to leave, and I was putting my book back in my knapsack again, a fellow ringer I know well enough to chat with but whom I don’t see that much of, came up to me and said, I think I saw that you have a Robin McKinley bookmark.
Yes, I said, flourishing it.
I read those books to my daughter when she was a little too young to read them herself, she said. She loved them. So did I. And then she couldn’t wait to read them for herself.
She pointed at the bookmark. This is the pre-CHALICE, DRAGONHAVEN one, and the reverse side has six of my backlist on it.
THE BLUE SWORD, THE HERO AND THE CROWN—she loved those—have you read all those Robin McKinley books? she said.
Pause.
Not exactly, I said. I am Robin McKinley.
Another pause.
You aren’t, she said.
I am, I said.
And she burst out laughing and gave me a hug.*** I think she may have gibbered a little. We walked out together and she said, doesn’t anyone know that you’re a Famous Author? †
Er, I said. Well, I’m not, you know. I’m barely in print over here. And certainly some people know †† but it’s not like it’s any kind of deal. †††
I did have to order most of your books from America, she said. But they’re so wonderful! They have strong female characters!
Words to warm the cockles of a strong-female-character-writing author’s heart.
There are still too few of those around! she continued.
This was too much for my self-control and I burst out into my little rant about how thirty years ago I assumed the shortage of strong female characters would be a thing of the past by now which is in fact far from the case, rant rant rantrantrantrant. ‡
Are you still writing? she said.
I have a book due the end of the summer, I said, which I had better get finished because I’m flat broke from expensive house alterations.
Oooh, she said. I look forward to it.
And we parted in great mutual amity.‡‡
I realise this is an almost unprecedentedly short entry, but I don’t get to tell stories like this very often, and it’s too good to dilute with much ordinary business. ‡‡‡ So I’m going to save the entry I’d already written for tonight. Tomorrow is likely to be a monster § and it’ll be rather nice to come home to not having to write a blog entry. Unless, of course, someone rushes up to me on the street and says, You’re Robin McKinley! You write wonderful books with strong female characters! I’m a Famous Hollywood Producer! And I’m going to throw money at you till you shout stop, stop, I only need one castle in Scotland! § And I’m giving you complete artistic control of everything!
But barring that, you’ll get The Benefits of Bad Language tomorrow.
* * *
* Nobody but Vicky remembers a once-a-month practise without being reminded
** My latest coup is that the RaspBerry now contains The Great Classic Murder Mysteries so if I’m ever caught anywhere without my knapsack, I can reread Sherlock Holmes or the Scarlet Pimpernel. And yes, the screen is vividly clear, although you do have to scroll down kind of a lot.
*** Little does she realise she was risking Death by Hellgoddess.
† Actually she said authoress, but I’m in a good mood so we’ll let it pass.
†† Colin, for example
††† I realise that if you’ve just found out that someone you know writes books that you and your daughter love, it seems like a big deal. But out there in the ordinary world, barring book clubs, solitary bibliophibians^ like me and quite a few of you, or unless you’re JK Rowling, Stephenie Meyer, or Dan Brown, who cares? Tragic but true.
^ Everyone remembers bibliophibians, yes? http://wondermark.com/442/
‡ She’d never heard of TWILIGHT or Stephenie Meyer. I like this woman better and better.
‡‡ Which was the one good thing about the evening. As I say, it was a crush, so no one got to ring very much, and it’s a smallish ringing chamber and none of the windows open, and by about half an hour in there was no oxygen left. Even good ringers were a trifle erratic, and people like me . . . well . . .
‡‡‡ Like the fact that I’m still off line.
§ Starting with the arrival of Computer Men.
§§ I always used to want a castle in Scotland. With a few thousand acres full of deer and scenery. But there aren’t enough bell towers in Scotland. A tactful little five acres in Hampshire will do. Hell, enough money to recarpet all of Third House and replace the kitchen cabinets would do.
comments
Please join the discussion at Robin McKinley's Web Forum.