Thank you for the compliment

Ask any writer who has sat behind a table of neatly arranged books, swag, and themed decor, and they will have a story or two about the odd things people say when they don’t know what to say. Here’s one of my stories. 

The display that drew the compliment.

There was nothing unusual as the salt and pepper-haired gentleman approached my booth at a recent author festival. He took his time studying my display books and reading the blurbs. I smiled as I patiently waited for him to finish perusing, poised to go into my sales pitch. That’s when he looked up at me and said something I will never forget.

“These look like the books we were forced to read in school.“

I didn’t know if this guy was testing ways to render me speechless, or if the stars were aligned in such a way as to throw the Earth slightly off kilter. What I did know was my sales pitch got caught in the back of my throat at his declaration, which stifled my tongue and pushed my eyeballs nearly out of their sockets.

.

To fill the void of silence that exploded around us like a fireworks display on Independence Day, the guy followed up his statement with, “But all the reading—it keeps your mind sharp.”

Rendered mute, I forced out a smile. The now-red-faced gentleman placed the display book that was in his hand back on its stand and skulked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, my husband and I burst out laughing. It wasn’t a that-was-hilarious kind of laughter. Rather, it was a nervous, how-shocking-was-that, creepy kind of laughter. We repeated the ghastly statement with tears dotting our cheeks.

As we processed the situation through guffaws, I instinctively began listing reasons why this observational comment about my books was, in fact, an incredible compliment. Here’s my list:

1. The stranger compared my Zahra of the Uwharries series to classic literature like To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee and Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. 

2. This person took in barely a dribble of information about my middle-grade books and understood them as literature that should be woven into curricula that prepare children for the future. 

3. He visualized my books on the shelves of school media centers, libraries, and bookstores worldwide for decades—maybe centuries—to come.

Upon reflection, one of the oddest encounters I’ve had with the public to date turned out to be one of the highest compliments that could be bestowed upon a children’s author. Was it brash and unconventional? Sure. Was it authentic and heartfelt? Absolutely. 

Since I was unable to utter it at the time, I’d like to say it now. Thank you, salt and pepper-haired stranger. Thank you for the incredible compliment. Thank you for seeing quality, substance, and worthiness in my writing. I will sincerely never forget you. Neither will my contemporaries who will suffer hearing me repeat this anecdote for years—maybe decades—to come.