A crazy, cool thing happened to me during my recent book signing at Barnes & Noble in Lubbock, Texas. I was autographing a copy of Pennies from Burger Heaven for a woman — a complete stranger who thought my story sounded compelling enough to slap down cash for it. (which was wonderful).
Her young son stood by her side, while they waited. His black hair stuck out every which way, and he had mischievous eyes. He looked about four or five — like the kind of kid that if everyone is walking left, he’d be running right. I liked him immediately. He was playing with some of the pennies I’d scattered across my table for decoration (clever, I know).
While I wrote, he asked me, “Why do you write books?”
I didn’t look up. “Because I have to. Stories form in my head and they don’t go away until I write them down.”
“I don’t know how to write yet, but I love stories like that.”
“Oh yeah. Why do you think we love stories so much?” His answer pierced my heart …