Sarah E. Moffett

Tattered Cover
Denver, CO

There are bookstores. Then there is the Tattered Cover. Situated on Colfax Avenue in Denver, it occupies a former theater with lofty, high ceilings, and is composed of achingly tall bookshelves, velvety green carpeting, and a world of books unlike any I had ever seen. Walking in, I half expected to hear the angels sing, see St. Peter by the door, and be given a harp to play as I flittered inbetween bookshelves. Of course flittering was all I got to do, because I arrived 15 minutes before my own event. For once, I wish I hadn’t done that.

Note: Doing a book event at the Tattered Cover felt like going from local Karaoke night to the Apollo. Book ended by Daniel Silva, the chronic New York Bestseller author and teenage-girl-fan-favorite Stephanie Meyer, some crazy new, unknown author made her debut on a Monday night.

That would be me.

Downstairs, I met the lovely Christine, a seventeen-year-veteran of the Tattered Cover, who was a world of encouragement, suggestions, and gracious direction. She noted my deep breathing and observed the altitude of the mile high city has that affect. I decided not to tell her it was because the podium, microphone, oak signing desk, and multitude of chairs had given me a mild heart attack.

But I rallied. Family came. Friends came. And some poor random strangers were sucked in as well. And I read. Out loud. For only the sixth time in my life.

After the book event, there were the usual book signings and socializing. Christine gave me a book marker of green ribbon that was anchored by a nickel plated image of the Tattered Cover on one end and an engraved nickel plated engraving with my name, the date of the event, and the Tattered Cover. I told her this rivaled the box of Godiva chocolates one generous B&N CRM had hooked me up with. Then she brought out the black book. The black book was a leather bound, blank paged book that each visiting author signed with a message to the Tattered Cover. I repressed analogies to rock ‘n roll venues whose bathrooms have similar acknowledgements, and signed.

It was all I could do not to hug Christine, who graciously smiled as I left and said, “now hurry up and get the next book out. We’ll see you then.”

Yes ma’am.

Acknowledgments. Alyssa Yatsko, my hero, Colorado book agent, and ferocious litigator.  And Crystal for putting up with her.  Again to the Moffetts. And everyone who came they invited. Particulary to Carol who convinced her 13 year old son to read the book. Since he did not finish a baseball book but finished mine, I feel akin to Hemmingway. (Without the drinking problem.) Tattered Cover and Christine-WOW. Long live the indy bookstore tradition.

Share This