Recycling Gone Amiss

Last night my family was enjoying a leisurely dinner when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer it and discovered my neighbor from across our cul de sac. Without any formalities, she shoved two papers toward me and demanded, "WHAT did he say?"

Umm . . . excuse me?

To figure out what in the world she was talking about, I took the papers and looked at them. On one side were drawings my daughters had scribbled. The other side revealed manuscript pages from Spires, pages 150 and 154, to be precise. At least, of that draft. Comments in red ink were in the margins, courtesy a member of my critique group.

See, after I use one side of paper (and I use a lot), it goes into a stack, where I'll print on the back of it (saving money, saving trees . . .). My kids know that they need to use this scratch paper stack first, so they freely doodle, draw, and otherwise use up that same pile.

And then those pages often end up in the recycling bin.

From there two pages must have floated across the street with the wind and landed in my neighbor's front yard.

Now here she was, demanding to know what happened between pages 150 and 154. What did Ben say, and why is Hannah wet? And what happens next?

"Ben didn't say anything," I told her. "He and Bethany were interrupted by Hannah."

I could have told her what he was about to say . . . but didn't.

"You got me hooked," she said with a sigh. "I guess I'll just have to go buy it and read it."

I told her it should be hitting stores any day now, but that she could download the first 28 pages from my website while she waits. That didn't quite satisfy her. After all, page 28 wouldn't answer her question about pages 150 and 154.

It was so much fun to see someone hooked on two pages of my book, pulled out of context, someone who now wants to buy it.

Hey . . . maybe I should toss manuscript pages in random areas all over town . . .