Yesterday I was doing my thing on the StairMaster when a lovely lady called out to me. I removed the iPod buds in time to hear her say that she just returned from Mexico where she purchased a copy of my book and would I mind signing it. Sweaty, sans pen and just knowing that she had mistaken me for someone else, I thanked her and suggested we maybe do another time. I cranked-up the jazz and, as she left I noticed that she did, in fact, have a copy of my novel 'The King of Diamonds.'
A week ago, at The Coffee Bean on Maryland Parkway, just across from UNLV, an elderly (and LOUD) man approached, telling me that he had "all my books" and would I sign one. As my (screen) writing partner, Richard reached for a pen, I noticed that the senior autograph seeker held several books on poker. He noticed me noticing. "Oh, I buy EVERY book I can find on poker,'' he whispered, (like a cheerleader), "and I have ALL OF YOURS."
Oh boy!
You see, 'The King of Diamonds: The Magical Life of Darin Diamond,' is a novel, about a young magician. Very little poker in it. (NOTE: The next in the series, 'Condo,' is a Las Vegas -themed story with plenty of casino-especially poker- action).
Last Friday I received two emails sent to THE KING OF DIAMONDS- one asking about my "prices on jewlery." and the other looking for a Neil Diamond impersonator- I swear. I replied by giving each Wayne Newton's telephone number- I swear.
When people ask me to sign, it makes me feel weird. Mostly because I think that they think I'm somebody else.
