I had a little meeting with a local book club yesterday. They are all old friends, and did more talking than I did, and mostly on topics unrelated, but I’m not in a position to criticize digressions.

I almost always enjoy meetings with my readers, because by definition we have something in common, and people who don’t like my books generally don’t come to hear me speak. There was one notable exception: a book club on Washington Island shortly after my first novel came out.

It was a luncheon meeting, just before Easter, and after a pleasant lunch we all sat down for the meeting. One woman spent the entire discussion rapidly paging through the book to find things she didn’t like. She found many. Another pointed out that the map in the front was inaccurate. Another remarked how unrealistic the book was, since in her thirty years of living on the Island, she had never been invited to sit in the ferry’s pilot house. I wish I had had the nerve to say I could see why. Nor did I point out that my book was a work of fiction, only loosely based on reality. Until then, I hadn’t imagined it would be necessary.

It was an excruciating hour, and I was longing for a stiff drink. As the ladies filed out, I sat, somewhat shell-shocked. One leaned over to whisper as she went out.

“I liked it.”

Afterward, in need of some fresh air, I headed down to the ferry office to pick up a package. As I was leaving, there were some guys down at the dock calling and waving at me. “He’s mad at you for not telling him you were here,” the crewman joked, pointing at the captain. I went over to chat with them, relieved to see some friendly faces. “We’re heading out. Want to come for the ride?”

So we did a little round trip on the ferry, while I sat in the pilot house with the crew, entertaining them with the story of the book club meeting. They were able to identify everyone who was there by my descriptions, laughed about the surliness of the book-paging woman, and told stories of her rudeness. The conversation progressed to some fascinating stories about life on the Island. By the time we returned, I was in a much better mood.

So, I did say I don’t mind digressions. But my actual point is: if you live within a reasonable drive of Milwaukee, and would like to host a book talk, you can contact me here.

But only if you like my books.