San Diego Festival of Books

The inaugural San Diego Festival of Books, hosted by KPBS took place yesterday at Liberty Station in Point Loma. It was, as is typical for San Diego, a beautiful day, and if I were guessing I would say that the organizers were pretty happy with the turnout. The kid’s tent was packed, the book signing lines long, and everyone seemed to be having a blast.

In preparation, I had hastily thrown together a business card the day before and rushed to Staples to pick it up in time so I could carry it around and hand it out in an effort to begin building a San Diego network for my 2018 release of Chasing Zebras. A Veterinarian’s Stories of Healing and Loving Animals. Unfortunately, my proper British reserve prevented me from giving cards to anyone other than a few people who already knew me—not really the point. Now that the book has a publish date, uncorrected proof, and list of dream endorsers, the writing is temporarily behind me—until I begin work on the next one.

But what lies ahead seems altogether more terrifying and insurmountable than the blank page I fought. I have to get the word out, hustle, network, build a brand, whatever you want to call it, because the book is coming out, and I have to let people know that their lives will surely be better with a copy of Chasing Zebras in it. After all, I want people to read it; that’s why I spent the last three years writing the thing.

It seems perfectly reasonable when I talk to my agent, my editor, or writer friends that self-promotion, shameless as it may be, is the way forward. But my British genes and upbringing, when push comes to shove, get in the way of my politely smiling, shaking someone’s hand and introducing myself as an almost-big time famous author. I’d rather, if I’m honest, hide under the nearest table and only come out after everyone has left or been distracted by someone far more adept at social interactions than I. So, if you see me hovering in the corner at a literary event in the near future, with the same revealing redness to my cheeks that I used to get when called on in class at high school, please take pity on me: Come over and say hi. I’m not being mysterious and aloof, only awkward and a little afraid.