Garine at the Book Fest: Part One

I have a thousand stories to tell about the that happened this past weekend.

I could start with the author's tent, chock full of good-looking intellectuals, palling around as they scarfed down the free gourmet cookies. I could go the committee route and talk about the fabulous organization and do some politically correct patting-of-the-back. But, I think I'll take the angle of the man on the street – my husband, who said of the Festival: “It's just like the State Fair, but without the stink.”

The comparison is not that far off. These people devote their lives to writing just like farmers devote their lives to raising cattle and corn. The main difference is that books take years, sometimes decades, to nurture instead of the few months that it takes to raise a goat. Now, the festival committee has made this event, organized it well and not only did locals come, but people are touting it in the author circles as the place to be.

Let me review how . First off, I loved last year's version. So this time, I had signed up as one of the many fresh-faced volunteers. I didn't know anyone on the town committee and thought it would be a good idea, as a writer and all, to get involved with a Book Festival that was basically being built in my own back yard.

Then there came a bizarre Facebook fluke. A few months ago, I was stalking all my favorite authors on social media websites, as I usually do. I saw Amy Dickinson, of the “Ask Amy” column, a nationally syndicated columnist and best selling author, post that she was going to be in Pennsylvania in May. I put a comment on her post saying that while she was in the Mid-Atlantic, she should be a speaker at the G'burg Book Festival.

I was astounded when she, herself, replied with questions about the festival and if I knew anyone on the committee. Well, none of them were my aquaintances that morning, but hell if I wasn't going to know someone by the end of that day.

Faking my way through a series of email exchanges between me and her, then me and committee members, I tried to sound as if I had any idea of what I was talking about or what I was getting myself into. They were so thrilled with Amy's addition to the line up that I received the honor of doing her introduction when she spoke.

So, now, I was not only another glistening-with-sweat volunteer, I was a “speaker.” I'm going to put that on my resume, by the way.

My day as volunteer extraordinaire and would-be introductions queen started at 9 a.m. I was assigned to man the author's VIP tent. I was thrilled with that. Not only was I in it as a schmoozing fan and I had , but there were also snacks involved – always a welcome perk!

As I waited for Amy Dickinson to show up (Thursday's column will have a detailed recreation of us as the new Paris & Nicole), which would be later in the afternoon, I spent the morning greeting each author who came to the tent as if they were my long lost cousin who had come in from an epic desert jouney. I offered drinks, fruit, pastries, even drugs if they needed it (well, y'know, acetaminofen and ibuprofen – this isn't Woodstock). I was so happy to meet some local writers, including Sarah Pekkanen, who I got to sign a book, and Dylan Landis, who . I also met, for the first time, face-to-face with many of the event organizers. I only knew them before via email.

I thought I was doing pretty well there among the VIPs. I was acting natural, being cool, which is not that easy for me. My older sisters used to call me a “spaz” when I got excited about things.

Then Tom Shroder walked in. You may not know who he is off the top of your head, but he is a journalist who has written some interesting non-fiction, the latest being “Fire on the Horizon: The Untold Story of the Gulf Oil Disaster.” He is also the Washington Post Magazine editor who works with two of the most prized humor columnists in the country – Dave Barry and Gene Weingarten.

In case you have not noticed, I am trying to be humor columnist.

I froze. My stomach knotted. I fumbled through a conversation with him about his book, his former books, shoving my copy of “Old Souls” in front of him. He had been trying to prepare for his own presentation and I knew I was keeping him from getting his groove on. Oh, it was bad. I was floundering.

He threw a puzzled glance at my name tag, ostensibly looking to see how my name was spelled for the signing, but my name tag also said, “Mom in the Middle.” Ugh, again, I suddenly felt the “mommy-blogger” insecurity. What can I say in one sentence to make it over the top of this hill? I don't write exclusively about diapers and laundry, honest!

He graciously took the book as I spelled my name out for him.

Should I have not asked him to sign the book? Did this put me on the not-to-be-taken-seriously, scary I'm-your-biggest-fan category of person? Now, he's seen the title of the column, let's just go with it. “Yes, that says Mom in the Middle. I write a .”

He smiled knowingly, “That's something I know a little bit about.”

“I know . . . maybe I can send you a link to it sometime.”

His polite smile stiffened slightly. I blew it. I was a total screw up. How many people have said that to this poor guy? How many “links” has he had to endure?

Then, suddenly, I was called by one of the volunteer runners looking for another author to take to the main speaking tent. Mr. Shroder was rescued! Saved by the tattooed college student who would lead Gerald Blaine to the Mencken Pavilion.

When I turned back, I practically bumped into one of the author recruitment committee members, Becky Meloan, who I had not yet met. She looked at my name tag and immediately exclaimed, “Oh! You're the Mom in the Middle writer? Your column is wonderful. That last one was so great, I sent it to all my friends.”

I stood there dumbfounded, glancing back at Tom who was seated less than three feet away. He curiously looked up from his book at us. It was as if I had paid her to come up at that exact moment and say that exact thing.

The rock in my stomach melted away. I suddenly felt a foot taller. We chatted a little bit about my greatness, the Festival's greatness, her greatness, all of the authors' collective greatness. It was all really, really great!

And when I looked back at the table, Mr. Shroder was gone. I hope I get to bug him again someday. He seemed like a pretty decent guy.

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Look for "Garine at the Book Fest: Part 2" in Gaithersburg Patch on Thursday. It might be called “Trailing Amy” or would that be “Stalking Amy?”