Blogging about a busy weekend

Photo by Thurman Couch, Pasadena, CA

 

Last weekend was an aberration, an anomaly. Thank goodness, it’s now history, and I can begin living the rest of my life normally. Until next year at this same time.

The city of Conway began celebrating a week called “Arts Fest” last Saturday, and as part of that, the Faulkner County Library, with Nancy Allen as coordinator, planned another Authors’ Fair for the afternoon—from one till four p.m. Set-up time was thirty minutes beforehand.

Writer-friend Dot-from-Beebe and I drove over and pulled up to a spot close to the door. I had more to schlep, uh, haul in than she did, since I was hawking two books. Which meant a floor easel, a large poster (from the first time I participated), plus table decorations, candy and books (of course). Dot was selling FOUR books, but this was her first Fair. She brought her stuff in a handled box.

Once our space was assigned, we set about designing our displays, plus the out-sized name tags for the table, large, framed photos of the books to be featured, as well as portable easels to hold them.

Twenty-four long tables—four to a side--were squeezed together or turned at an angle, so that the only way for the vendors (of whom I was one, though I never, ever called myself such before) to “escape” was to walk through the “stacks” until we could find a way out of the maze. Once, I got down on all fours and “walked” under the table to see my display from the front and to tape the nametag to the cloth.

At 1 p.m., the traffic began. And, unlike three years ago when the Fair was in its first year, it never let up. A high-school girl, who reminded me of my great-niece Marley, was reporting for “Arts Fest” itself. She wore a Hendrix College shirt, so I engaged her about that. Other college-age couples—one from Missouri—came by, mostly interested in how we got started writing, etc. One woman in a group of three read the back cover material of our books, but went on without buying.

Several reporters and one Little Rock TV station were represented. The latter interviewed one writer for quite a spell. UCA was represented by several folks, but my writing mentor at Hemingway-Pfeiffer’s June writing retreat was not there after all.

Finally, a childhood friend who lives in Conway came in as promised. Her car had died, so a cheerleader-granddaughter drove her over and waited in the car. Mae and I “caught up,” as they say. She bought two sets of books—four in all—to send to her siblings AFTER she read them. 

Anna came in once. This child who had cheered at the football game the previous night, and then attended the dance afterwards, was sleep-deprived, but seeing that Mae was not ready to leave, again left the area.

About quitting time, Anna returned. This time, she gathered Mae’s things, took the books in hand and gently guided her grandmother out. Mae was headed out, but her face was turned to me and waved. “Come see me,” she called.

A fun experience and fifty dollars to show for it. Dot and I treated ourselves at Arby’s before heading back to Beebe. The pumpkin milkshake and brisket sandwich hit the spot.