I go to Barnes & Noble at least twice a week to write. Invariably the same guy is there. Another writer, I've decided.
How do I know? He sits in the same place every time, spreading out his work in front of him. Once every hour or two, he'll get up and wander the store--looking at books, I guess--returning to his table, where he left his computer and papers.
This is pretty much how I act. I try to sit in the same spot each time--I always buy something--a coffee at least, and I take occasional breaks to go peruse the new hardcover fiction releases, either to pick my next book, or to daydream about mine being there.
Lately, we've even begun to acknowledge each other. Shit, for all I know it's Charles Frazier [Asheville resident and author of Cold Mountain] with a beard. More likely I'm guessing, is that he's struggling like the rest of us; hoping to finish his book soon and dreaming of getting published one day.
I've never talked to him, but I wish him luck, and I think he does me. He nodded to me the other day when I showed up; pretty demonstrative for a writer.
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