On Tuesday evening, I ducked out of work a little early. I stepped onto the F train, and headed midtown. I hopped off at Bryant Park and walked a couple of blocks. I switched shoes while balancing precariously on Fifth Avenue.
And then I hung out with Nicholas Sparks.
I thought we’d be insta-besties. We have so much in common! I, too, am an international best-selling author of nearly 20 heart-wrenching, lyrical, beautifully-written novels (in my head). But it turns out Nicholas is a pretty in-demand guy, so he’s hard to get to know–even at an invite-only party (hairflip) hosted by Hachette in honor of the 15th anniversary of The Notebook.
So here’s what I know:
Nicholas Sparks absolutely radiates energy and enthusiasm. Even if you didn’t know what he looked like I think you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd. He’s magnetic.
All those books? The product of a track injury during Nick’s college days. He started writing when he was knocked out for summer and bored to tears.
I went home with a goody bag that included a copy of both The Notebook and The Best of Me, a DVD of The Notebook (which I popped in approximately 30 seconds after I got home), and a packet of tissues.
The tissues are necessary.