Neil Gaiman smells nice. Like fresh, steamy water. And his stubble is scratchy.
I went to the Ocean at the End of the Lane Phoenix book signing. It was 104 outside. I grew smelly sweating buckets as we stood in line for an hour and a half. We got seats in the second row. The reading was pure, mesmerizing delight; I drifted away on words of toast and death until the words stopped and I came back to an auditorium, blinking.
None of this matters.
Neil Gaiman asked to hug me.
I got to my turn and I choked up on all the words simultaneously trying to fight their way out, each in a desperate bid to convey everything all the words he’s written have ever meant to me which resulted in me fumbling and being all,
“I MADE A THING”
and shoved my phone at him with a photo of me in my cosplay on the screen and he lit up and said, “It’s IDRIS!” as though it delighted him and he asked to hug me. Hug me.
No one has thrown herself into the arms of an author as I threw myself upon Neil Gaiman (with the probable exception of Amanda Palmer). He was stubbly and smelled nice.Got his new book signed and had him sign The Graveyard Book, the first page of which he drew a headstone with my name on it. Only seems kinda creepy now; was too incoherent to recognize what he was drawing at the time. He was patient and gracious to everyone and the embodiment of 'it's always a pleasure to work with him'. I left shaking. A lot.
I love him.
Edit: Now with Picture
And video of my friends getting their signatures: