Seeking Brandon Mull

Just the mere mention of his name sets Brighton's face aglow. He's read every book; has them stacked next to his bed. He even stacks them next to my bed, telling me that I need to read them. And I will--when I'm done blogging.

Everyone knows that Brighton is a huge fan of Brandon Mull, author of the Fablehaven series. That's why my brother Benjy called to let me know that the famed writer was going to be signing books at the local Deseret Book store.

So last night I hauled all four kids out in the rain, braving traffic and ornery youngsters, to make sure we were at the bookstore promptly at seven o'clock, when the signing was scheduled to begin. Brighton hefted all four of the Fablehaven books through the store to where we found ourselves at the end of a very, very long line. At the back of the store. Tucked away in a tiny corner near the bathrooms along with twenty other people. It was hot, it didn't smell good, and Keelie began having a meltdown within the first ten minutes.

We waited patiently for the first thirty minutes. We all shed our jackets, used the bathroom, and tried to find comfortable ways to stand. The people around us cracked jokes about how slowly the line was moving. Brighton didn't think it was funny. He understood that we couldn't stay in line all night. He knew that we'd eventually have to go home, get Keelie out of the store before she hurt something or someone. His shoulders began to sag.

"We should just go home," he said. He was being realistic; the line had only moved five feet in 30 minutes. I encouraged him to stay another 30 minutes, figuring we could last until eight o'clock. So we continued to wait in the hot little corner of the store next to the smelly and often visited bathrooms and managed to move another two or three feet. Now Brighton's lower lip began to sag. "We can go home. I won't be mad," he said.

Now, I have to say that I am a quitter. If things don't go my way right away, I give up, figuring it wasn't meant to be. That's fine for me, though I know that I've missed out on quite a few experiences and opportunities for doing so. I don't want my kids to be that same way. I didn't want Brighton to give up so easily. Again, I encouraged him to stay. "Really. It's okay. We can go," he said.

So we quit the line, gave up, admitted defeat after waiting in line for an hour. I parted the crowds to lead my children back to the car, passing Brandon Mull on the way. I paused to let Brighton at least look at his favorite author, before retreating out the door.

How was I to know we had to be there an hour before the signing? I thought merely being on time was enough. I felt lousy. The children felt frustrated. Brighton felt dejected. As we pulled away from the store, he glumly offered: "It only took him four months to write a 580 page novel; but it took him an entire hour to sign his name."