Well, not really. More like a brief boo-hoo about the closing of my local Borders.
As in, my Favorite Bookstore Since I've Moved Here.
I know, I know. I should be spending my book money at the local indie. I should be thankful there IS a local indie, as well as a Barnes and Noble just a mile or two from the soon-to-be-closed-forever Borders.
Well, I'm not. Thankful, that is.
Not at present, anyway. I'm too darn sad about losing my Borders. And I need a few days to wallow.
They have (had) an amazing children's section, you see. Which is, of course, where I spend (spent) most of my time. They've recently expanded their YA shelves, rearranging them in such a way that you could SEE the books as you approached the children's section (as opposed to seeing the end of of a bookcase).
They are (were) a really short drive from home. Easily the closest bookstore.
And just last month I bought Beth Revis's Across the Universe there. Of course, it figures I had to get a socially challenged (or perhaps simply unfriendly) check-out guy. (Maybe he already knew the store was going to close.) My attempts at starting a chat about the book so I could, yanno, brag that the author was a buddy of mine, were summarily ignored.
But I digress.
This morning I went to my beloved Borders and saw 1 final copy of Across the Universe on the endcap. And I sighed.
Mr. A and I had gone on Saturday to check out the hubbub (when there were still three copies of Beth's book left). It was honestly ridiculous; people were standing in a long-long-long line for a piddling twenty percent off of retail.
Twenty percent is not worth a long wait. Even when it's your favorite bookstore's swan song.
So we left. And this morning I went back and bought the book I'd chosen (not Beth's, since I already have it). Got my twenty percent and didn't have to wait in any line at all.
I said, "Good-bye, bookstore," on my way out the door. I hopped into my car, pulled out--and cried.
Yeah. I did.
It's just a building. Just a bookstore. The book sellers and baristas and cashiers (the good ones, anyway), will find new jobs. This is far from a depressed area. And yes, there are other places to buy books.
I guess it was the dream-of-seeing-my-own-books-on-the-shelves that is most painful to let go of. When you have a favorite bookstore and you're an author, it's kind of hard not to go there.
Especially now, when I'm on submission. Especially now, when, regardless of how long it may take to sell my debut novel, I have an agent in whom I have full confidence, and whom I adore.
And to whom I want to bring success as much as I want it for myself.
So forgive my weepy eyes. This isn't a tragedy or even a Horrible Thing. It's just sad.