David At The Clark's Inn

The Clark's Inn is our half way (sort of) stop in Santee, SC en route to our Florida condo.  It meets our criteria for a traveling over nighter:  clean, reasonable rates, a cut above restaurant, and a dose of rustic charm.  An added plus for me is I rarely sleep well the first night away from my own bed.  At Clark's, I sleep like a baby (I'm sure the 12 hour drive has something to do with it, but not all).

The Inn's halls were already decked when we got there, which was a plus since this was our first visit during the Holidays.

Last year, around the time my book, "Ark" was published, I mentioned the event to our favorite waiter extraordinaire, David Van Wynsberghe.  Using the term 'waiter" doesn't do him justice.  As he's taking care of you, he's more like a friend.  He makes my martini as well as I do (I don't tout many of my abilities, but this is one).  He has that perfect timing of delivering the meal at a  pace between too slow and too fast.

You get my drift.  He's a rarity among servers in a business where most food is chucked at you in this moderate range of establishments.

Anyway, after the book was published, I sent him a copy after he told me what an avid reader he was.  Month's went by, then I got a phone call from David praising the book.  He said he could hear my voice reading it to him.  That's the fun part of meeting an author, and hearing their voice.  Their books then seem like audio books as you read them.

                                                     "Genna" and David Van Wynsberghe

As we entered the dining room this trip, we were happy to see David, since he was off shift our last two stops.

"Will that be a Bombay Sapphire martini straight up, like in the book?" David asked with a smile.

I nodded with a smile, but was hoping he remembered other parts of "Ark", and not just thinking I was a lush!  He didn't disappoint:

"John, after I read your book, I got a surge of school spirit.  I organized a reunion committee, and got more involved reconnecting, seeing what my old classmates were doing."

"David,"  I said, "I can't think of anything else I'd want you to SAY to make me happier.  Touching readers, making them laugh, think, do something good, is why I write.  It's the real reason I tickle the keyboard, not just to sell a lot of books, although that would be nice since royalties are going to Rutgers, my Alma Mater.  Selling is secondary, I have to be useful, in a way which makes a reader feel better in some way."

"Now," I continued, "there's nothing you can DO to make me happier than to shake that Sapphire until enough tiny bubbles cloud the glass.  Then, as far as I'm concerned, you've said and done everything you can for me tonight."

David laughed, and made a beeline for the shaker. 

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