Yesterday morning I was getting a little ahead of myself with pre-event jitters; I’ll be the 7 P.M. guest speaker tomorrow at Book Passage in Corte Madera; “The Bay Area’s Liveliest Bookstore!” Doubt began to have its way with me after I checked-in with an on-line invitation I had sent out to almost 180 people. 99 hadn’t responded, 50 had responded “No,” and there were 10 that said “Maybe.” Those numbers don’t tell the whole story, so, before my thinking got out of hand, I gave myself a good talkin’ to.
First, I took a closer look at why I was feeling so vulnerable. I ticked down a familiar list of likely foes.
Greed. Greed tells me that I have to sell lots of books. The more sales I make the better person I am. Wait, that’s not right.
Sloth. Have I done enough to prepare? This niggling foe will run me ragged. First, I’ll go into manic, mission-impossible mode trying to do too much in too little time. Afterward, it’s crash and burn, and I don’t want to talk to anyone or do anything. Sloth is sneaky.
Envy. Hum, getting close. I envy famous authors of the world, both living and dead. I desire their heights of achievement. I’m not so envious as to wish they didn’t have their glory, but I yearn for that perceived end. Envy is so much a case of judging my insides against another person’s outsides, and it’s a massive waste of energy.
Pride. Pride, of course it’s pride; it’s always pride with me. I’m so prideful that failure, of any degree, feels like death. I just want to shrivel up and die. In pride, I become a slave to my reputation and a pathological need to be liked. The anecdote? Humility.
Tomorrow, I want to remember that it’s okay to simply tell my story. I know the material; it’s not like I’m gonna be winging it. Ever since it appeared as though this story would go public, I had a very real sense that if these characters could jump off the pages and promote themselves, they would. It is my humble role to speak on their behalf, and I can do that.
Once I saw those scary parts for the illusions that they are, I gave each of them permission slips to leave me alone. With that somewhat out of the way, I was able to concentrate on the good stuff. I went back to the on-line invitation, the E-vite, and began reading the comments that accompanied the replies. They were filled loving support and lots of exclamation marks: “I’m so sorry I will not be able to make it to your reading. We have dinner plans. Wow! Book Passage is huge! Congrats and please let me know when you will be having another reading I really want to see you. I’m so happy for you. Hugs!” – “it is with great joy that i congratulate you, and with great regret that i must say no, i will not be attending what is sure to be a moving and stellar event. Brilliant and continued success to you, and lots of love. xoD” – “Congratulations !!!!!! This is just marvelous and I have a copy of your book, of course….”
Over and over, the regrets were sincere and the encouragement overwhelming. That’s what I need to remember. I need to remember the celebratory atmosphere surrounding Pearls My Mother Wore. I need to remember that my effort is appreciated. I need to remember that this novel has brought a new level of companionship and conversation into my life. I need to remember that this novel has been a generous gift that I get to share.
It’s all good. I’ll post again next Friday. Until then, have a great week, and as always, comments are welcomed and appreciated.