No, I haven’t gotten celebrity-crazy and started referring to myself in third person. Tonight, I met Hugh Howey.
It feels weird to even write that. It was even weirder to endorse a book to him and then sign my name. I found out about Hugh several months ago. I believe he messaged me on Facebook to say that he was the real Hugh Howey. He had seen my name in relation to Wool (I think) and reached out to me. I inquired about his age. He said 34. The cries of “Imposter!” began immediately.
(I’m the real Hugh Howey, as it turns out).
In the middle of signing books tonight, the above gentleman in the blue shirt introduced himself as Hugh Howey. A lot of people introduce themselves to me. Rarely do they use my name. But I knew who this was, and so I leapt out of my chair immediately to hug my nemesis (Sun Tzo recommends this).
The people waiting in line got a kick out of the exchanges that followed. A lot of picture-taking; I signed his book; I had him sign one of my books to me; we all marveled at having worn identical outfits (down to the shoes); I pointed out several times that he was the larger and more handsome of the two of us (everyone in line agreed); and I encouraged him to use my fame in whatever way it best helps him, which probably means not at all.
Hugh Howey signed my book!
This was one of the more surreal and cooler experiences I’ve had on tour. Hugh Howey, you made my day. And that’s not a phrase that gets bandied about all too often.
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