Cold Granite in Christchurch, NZ. Crazy shiz.
If you don't have a clue who he is, he writes crime novels set in our lovely Aberdeen, and I went to a reading of his and another writer, Allan Guthrie's books as part of the Word festival.
(I also got to play the part of Shop Alarm Number 3. during a reading of the book, which was, let me tell you, a highlight of my life.)
I've never actually got a book signed before, although I do own a first edition Sabriel and a First edition, signed Lirael -because I'm a massive loser like that- but I bought them both, so it doesn't count. I also was nearly sick when I found out that Terry Pratchett had been and gone at Ottakars signing "The Wee Free Men" without me knowing. Curses!
So, I was a little apprehensive, a bit excited. Authors are strange people to meet. (Not because they themselves are strange, although I'm sure some of them must be...) You've read so much of what has come out of their brain, and that's got to be pretty personal, but all you actually know about them is gleaned from a little, grainy, normally out-of-date picture and a tiny blurb which usually endeavours to reveal as little as possible. In short, I didn't know what he would look like, sound like or talk about.
I'm pleased to say Stuart was as good as I had expected; clever, funny, good accent, excellent beard.
It's the first Word festival thingy I've been to and I'll definately have to go to some more next year, it was fantastic, EVERYONE was wearing pashminas or at least had glasses on a string- I felt quite scummy in my pirate T-shirt and jeans, but it was worth it to get told that I must be deranged by an author I am very fond of...
Say the bells of St. Clement's.