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The weekend, though, was mostly one that gave. I was there to participate in a celebration of a book release for an anthology called “Best Climate Change Stories“, in which I was fortunate enough to have a story selected for publish. The book was released earlier in the week, and there was to be an author signing for a half-dozen of us on the east coast, as well as a launch party.

Anyone who knows me well knows that publishing a novel is a life goal of mine; honestly, one of the few I have remaining. I’ve tried to keep my bucket list tidy and, broadly-speaking, accomplishable. I don’t have aspirations to sail around the world or dip my feet in the Mediterranean. I’ve made it to mid-life without jonesing for a Corvette or a Lear jet. I’ve heard The Hold Steady perform the long version of “Oaks” live. I’m deeply fortunate to have family and friends, a career that I’m mostly satisfied with, and the amenities I desire.

Sometimes I think that I’d like to have a band, though I think I prefer the idea more than the reality. I’m not sure that counts.

I would like to run the Boston Marathon one day, but that’s one of those things that may just require me to keep myself alive long enough to catch up with the qualifying times, which are brutal for men and for me in particular. If that doesn’t happen, I won’t blame myself.

But seeing my name on the spine of a book. My book. That’s something I’m still hungry for.

My name isn’t on the spine of “Best Climate Change Stories,” so that’s a dream deferred, but having a story published has given me a pretty inspiring taste.

The signing event was a bit of a blur. It was held in a small, charming local bookstore called The Book Bin that had a steady flow of coffee-seeking customers. Not surprising, as the coffee was delicious. The half-dozen of us signed books for about three hours to a steady flow of friendly locals. A local author who was one of the judges of the competition gave me the sage advice to have the signee confirm the spelling of their names visually before inscribing a book with their name. Sometimes I signed with “Best wishes,” which I guess seems trite in retrospect. Sometimes I signed with “Stay positive!” which felt like an in-joke with myself. Sometimes just “Thank you!” which was the closest to my actual emotion.

We finished the day with a book party in nearby Onancock, where I was did an impromptu reading of a few pages of my story. I’m fairly sure I spontaneously ejected sweat out of every gland, but, as they say, it’s not bravery if you’re not afraid. It went great, and the small audience was very kind.

And then that’s it. Back to real life, with a draft manuscript I finished six years ago and a bunch of notes for a new book I want to work on. I really need to get started on that while there’s still time.