Piped-In Music

Yesterday I attended a book signing. It was absolutely marvelous. My friend and fellow water aerobics enthusiast, Paula Walborsky, signed copies of her first book, Unpacking Paula, Volume One, at a local indie bookstore. Again, MARVELOUS. I can’t stress this enough.

Friends from every facet of Paula’s life showed up at My Favorite Books. Members of her family came all the way from Tennessee to Tallahassee to support her. Our water aerobics group, The Clownfish Asylum, was there in full force, including a surprise visit from a member who “escaped” from a hospital to be there. Tears were shed and shared. Dare I say it again? Marvelous.

I’m not sure how many books Paula sold, but I do know her husband made more than one trip to their car to fetch more copies. And then Paula read selected essays from her book and we laughed and cried and nodded along. As a former NPR commentator, Paula has that voice—calm and clear and measured. Everything mine is not.

But as she read, I found myself becoming annoyed at the piped-in music. Often, from my little corner, I couldn’t make out what Paula was saying because the music was a little too loud and it seemed to be emanating from the stack of books on the bookshelf where I’d placed my purse.

“Interesting place for a speaker,” I thought. “And it’s hidden cleverly. Not even any telltale wires.”

I contemplated finding a bookstore employee to have them turn the volume down or perhaps completely off. “That’s just what I’ll do!”

So I gathered my purse and walked down a side aisle. The music followed me. As I turned a corner, the music followed me. As I approached the counter, it followed me. And that’s when I knew that I was the source of the “piped-in” music.

Somehow I’d activated the sleep song track I have downloaded onto my phone, and it was providing background music for my friend’s event. My hope is that only a few folks in my immediate vicinity heard my musical accompaniment and were bothered by it.

And I’m so thankful the music I use as inspiration for writing steamy scenes wasn’t queued up. This might’ve been an entirely different kind of tale.

Paula’s book is available on Amazon, by the way. It’s, well, MARVELOUS!