Do you know who you are??
And other stupid shit I'm glad I didn't say
I’ve just had one of the biggest literary weeks of my author career. And I believe I made a complete ass out of myself.
Starting at the Top
I flew “home” to Massachusetts on a Tuesday where that evening I gave a talk about The Pelican Tide. It went great!
On Wednesday, I went to my hometown of Wakefield and donated a copy of my book to the library. All the good feels on this!
On Thursday, I went to Gloucester, Mass where I attended a terrific book launch for author JoeAnn Hart. She and I are sitting on a panel at the upcoming Fall or the Book festival. Fantastic event. I met JoeAnn that night for the first time, She’s incredible. I’m reading her book now and I’m already worried about all the characters.
Gloucester, Mass at sunset On Friday, I drove with my 88-year-old mom and my sister to Concord, NH for the inaugural New Hampshire book festival where I sat on a panel. Two of my college friends came to the event making it all so much more worthwhile than it already was.
We were asked to sign posters. Can you find my signature? And on Sunday, I went to a local author event in Burlington, Massachusetts where HOLY HELL, open mouth insert foot because well… more on that later.
I’m exhausted and exhilarated.
This is the inside of the Lucius Beebe Memorial Library. My first and hometown library. It’s an iconic brick and marble building that has been remodeled with cozy readings nooks. I walked down the marble stairs to the children’s section - not on the video - and it was like walking backwards in time. All libraries should be this beautiful.
I had come home and my book was now here. I had more than a little bit of “Ha! Look what I did everyone!” flowing through me. My twelve years of public school were not the most joyous of my life. I allowed myself this moment of hubris. Honestly, if we didn’t have difficult school years, where would we mine the angst that powers our novels?
Coming Home
Returning to Wakefield is always bittersweet. I no longer drive by my old family home. The current owners have made huge changes, including cutting down three massive trees. It just makes me sad. It’s not mine anymore, and hasn’t been for a long time. I prefer the memories.
Right before going to the library, I had read a news story about mule trains delivering insulin and medical supplies to areas around Asheville,North Carolina.
Who was I to be celebrating my triumphant return when thousands of people no longer had a library, let alone a hometown?
In true researcher fashion, here are some links to places where you can donate funds (cash really is best). And with Hurricane Milton barreling towards Florida, we can’t let disaster fatigue keep us from helping.
Geographical Personality Traits
As an author who writes about the environment, and how we’re walking through this new reality, this disaster feels different. Of course all natural disasters are bad. Yet, we expect and somewhat prepare for tornadoes in tornado alley, hurricanes along the coasts, and earthquakes in California. These events are geographical personality traits. I write stories with hope woven through them. I haven’t found the hope here. As JoeAnn Hart said at her debut - she also writes climate-centered stories, any of us could be next.
Sharon Goes to Burlington and Becomes Stupid
Burlington, Massachusetts is a cozy suburb of Boston. Insert anywhere USA and Burlington could slide right in. I had seen a post on Instagram that a fellow Women’s Fiction Writers Association member was participating in a local author event at the Burlington Library, which happens to be ten minutes from where my mother lives. “Let’s go,” I said to my mom.
Library events are hugely important to self-published and indie authors who have to go out and sell their books. I often find great stories. This event was well planned with an author passport. You could visit 12 authors and have them stamp your passport for a chance to win a prize pack. Brilliant. It provides a reason to talk to everyone.
Mom and I had finished the top floor and decided to catch the last four authors on our way out.
I stopped at a table with an elderly man who had his books on display. I assumed that he was a retiree with a memoir. But, what the heck? I had a passport to be stamped for a potential prize. I asked about the book. It had a striking cover. He had a quiet, gravelly voice and never stood, where all the other authors were up and animated. His pitch didn’t wow me, and I had already bought a stack of books. I picked up the book and noticed it had a blurb from Margot Livesey. WTF???
I’m not going to assume you dear reader know who she is. Her writing slants literary, but she’s a force in the literary world. Mere mortal writers such as moi don’t have Margot Livesey blurbs. Though I do have Camille Pagán and Rebecca Hodge and that’s huge, too. But… back to the story.
So…I said, “Wow, Margot Livesey.” And yes, the stupidity was already flowing from me. He said almost shyly, “Yes, she’s an old friend.”
I vomited something equally awkward not knowing how to reply when he said…
I’M ONE OF THE FOUNDERS OF PLOUGHSHARES.
At that moment, the mantle of babble and stupidity fell from the ceiling covering me like a cheap ghost costume. You know, the sheet with two eyes cut out. But that would have been better as my face would have been covered. I caught myself before I almost said, Do you know who you are? Followed by, why the hell are you sitting behind a table in Burlington, Massachusetts?
But, to make me even dumber, I realized I didn’t know who he was - just what he’d done for the literary universe. I know Ploughsares. I’m sure I have a rejection in my files from them in my archives of sadness. He’s DeWitt Henry and of course he has a Wikipedia page and is listed in lots of places.
At this point, I was out of coherent sentences, and muttering wow, just wow while swaying on my feet balancing my heavy stack of books. My stunning eloquence was truly flowing.
I was thinking, do any of these writers know who you are? Does the romantasy author to the left of you know who you are? Does the author writing witch crime fiction to the right of you know who you are? Do the authors upstairs know you are? Does the head librarian who has curated the hundred of books by authors who launched their careers in the pages of Ploughshares know who you are, and that you are sitting behind a table in front of the media stacks?
I could have asked him hundreds of interesting questions like, what are you reading? Tell me about meeting x,y,z author? Is Margot Livesey nice? If I send a submission to the magazine can you put in a good word - ha, ha. But all I wanted to say was, Do you know who you are? and Why are you here?
Thankfully the mantle of babble came with a politeness filter, at least I think it did. Or it was the fact I was standing next to my mom who was giving off, what’s up with Sharon vibes?
I didn’t buy his book because somehow that felt like pandering, and I was already blithering. Which, okay, is wrong. Rule one of being a good literary citizen is buy the book, and then he would have signed it as proof.
I somehow managed to end the awkward exchange with a thanks for your time and went to turn in my passport because he did stamp it. Then I discovered I had my business cards on me. Because I always have them, But, stupidity muddles the marketing reflexes. I returned to his table, at this point he must have been chuckling about the crazy woman who was fan girling about the literary magazine. I managed to hand him my card with another thank you and scurried out with my stack of books.
Stupidity Epilogue
That night while waiting for dinner at my mom’s favorite restaurant, I checked my email and there was one that said Edelweiss Review Copy:
Dear Sharon, Great meeting you in Burlington today. I hope you'll take the trouble to download the reissue of my award-winning novel, THE MARRIAGE OF ANNA MAYE POTTS, explore, and if you agree with Margot Livesey and other recent readers that this novel deserves wider recognition, please leave your ranking and comments. Much appreciated!
DeWitt Henry looked me up from my business card and sent me his book! I haven’t answered him yet. I will, once the embarrassment subsides and I craft, rewrite, and edit a response.
Send him this post?
This is wonderful, Sharon :-) I feel we should all walk around at writer's conferences wearing t-shirts that say, "Do you know who you are?"