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Book Signing
This is fiction, but I’m sure it’s fiction all writers can relate to.
If there’s one thing I’ve always dreaded about trying to become a professional writer, it’s the very idea of signings. Or readings. Or being on panels. Or… Big guilty not-so-secret here: I get stage fright.
I get cold, trembling, sick to the stomach stage fright. Sometimes I get it walking to the post office to mail a submission. The absolute thought of the signing made my breath turn ragged and a chill go through my chest. I couldn’t even eat. I kept going over and over in my head whether I had everything. Did I have enough business cards? Enough of the bookmarks I’d had made up with my web site on? Would the store have enough copies of the book?
Would I end up sitting at an empty desk fighting back tears as the customers ignored me and went to the romance section? I even had a nightmare about it. Not naked, but showing up to realize I’d completely forgotten my pen. I had it three times.
So, fast forward, and I’m sitting at a table with a stack of books that’s higher than my head and threatens to teeter. Two people stop. One wants a book, the other starts to ask me where to find the westerns, then realizes his error and flees, blushing.
This isn’t good at all. Who am I to think this will work? A nobody, a woman who dreams about the midlist as if it’s the summit of Everest.
Then in they walk. All of them. Every one of my friends, pulling up chairs as if the bookstore was somebody’s living room. Forming a protective circle against the ravages of stage fright and fear of success and fear of failure.
After that, it’s easy. I have such wonderful friends.