In 2005, I went to WorldCon in Glasgow. It was my first major convention. My friends Arin and Rich, experienced at this sort of thing, calmly worked the room, whilst I bounced around like a stoat on speed. Great weekend.
In my typical way, I grossly over-prepared by bringing a few dozen 'essential' books for the key signings. But, never one to let an author go un-molested, I freely shopped for the other authors that were at the event.
One was Jane Yolen, whom I grew up reading - meaning my books were all in boxes in Kansas City, rather than in my greedy hands in London.
I found a pretty paperback at the event and carried it over to her to get signed.
Only to find that she'd already signed it. Inscribed it, in fact... She wasn't, say, entirely pleased to see it again. I suppose as an author, that must feel like a bit of a rejection. I know that I, as the messenger, felt a bit like shooting myself.
Still, after the initial irritation, Jane Yolen was a sport about it, so I spared myself the ritual suicide.
Plus, I got a cute inscription out of it. Wherever you are, Ms. Yolen, thanks.
(And you too, Pat)