Catherine's post on Persistence, and the struggle of introverted authors to toot our own horn, made me smile. How I can relate! It's twenty-five years since my first book came out, but with 21 (soon to be 22 books out), I still have to force myself not only to praise my own work on social media and at parties but also to initiate conversations with (AKA waylay) perfect strangers in mall bookstores and public events. I'm proud of my work. I think I've written some pretty good books, which have even been nominated for awards over the years. But I absolutely suck at saying that. As a psychologist, I was much more adept at listening than talking and much better at letting the other person lead the conversation where they wanted it to go. But no doubt I chose that profession in part because it fit my introverted style.
I've gotten better at this socializing and promoting business over the years and have developed some "patter" I can trot out. In structured situations like doing presentations, interviews, and panels, I am now at ease, but in unstructured conversational settings, it still does not come easily. Yesterday evening I attended the annual Christmas dinner of Capital Crime Writers, a local Ottawa crime writers association founded over thirty-five years ago and still going strong. I was one of the earliest members, one of twelve, none of whom were published (yet) but we wanted to learn the craft and support one another. Over the years members came and went, but the organization grew and many of us went on to successful publishing careers. I remember one of the earliest dinners I attended. I don't recall whether I'd had any short stories out by then, but one of the members had had two works published. They might have been screenplays. The only thing I remember was that I was in awe of her and shy to talk to her. Who was I, after all, to presume to occupy her time!
Good grief.
 |
| My debut baby, Sept 2000 |
The organization has quite a few published authors now, especially with the recent increase in indie publishing and micro-presses, but at last night's dinner I was one of the longest-published and most recognized authors there. The shoe felt as if it was on the other foot! I wondered if some of the new and aspiring writers would be reluctant to approach me or wait for me to talk first? That turned out not to be the case, but it was a relief not to have to worry about promotion or exposure. I had no pitch to sell, no bookmarks to offer. I could relax and enjoy the dinner and the chance to connect with old friends, commiserate about the book industry, and enjoy the book talk. But I remember that shy little me who didn't know what to say to a real published author and now that I experience it from the other side, I realize it was all in my head.
The glass of wine was nice too.
