Listening Up

"What is your favorite?"

I had only time for one question; the great author was only signing his name, only three times per person. Those were the rules we agreed to before we got in line for his autograph. Five people before the signing table, we were told to "nest" our books so that there would be no delays in the execution.

I understood that. There were a thousand people in attendance to hear him read, and most of them wanted autographs. I've been to dozens of readings in that hall and none that were so well attended had even allowed signings.

But I couldn't just stand there while he scribbled his "John Updike" and gawk. I came to the reading with knowledge only of what he'd written, not any personal experience, other than a short story here or there. I'd looked down the list of his publications, and listened carefully as he'd described stories and their history. His credits page is long. Where would I begin?

So I asked him. He smiled, ran his fingers through his hair and laughed an almost nervous little laugh. "That's a hard question," he began, "they are all… "

"Like your children, I know. But which one really? I promise not to tell the others."

"You knew I was going to say that."

Hey, we have the same number and combination of children. It made sense that it would be the same comparison. Only a writer understands that each story is jealous of the one before it and the one that followed. Stories are living creatures!

He stumbled a little more, wrote his name my allotted three times, and the person behind me had his books on the table. I was moving away, when he finally replied. "Coup" he said. And then turned away, redirecting his attention so as not to dwell on his disloyalty. That book, after all, was not available for signing tonight.

The interesting thing about his answer was that he'd already described that particular novel as the one least in his style, the one that made him get out of his comfort zone. Something to think about.