Book Fair Foray

A few years ago – somewhere in my early 50s – I decided that maybe it was a good idea to intentionally do scary things now and then. No, not bungee jumping or sky diving (check and check before I developed back problems). Really scary things. Like public speaking or wearing bright red lipstick or self-publishing a book.

The book thing has provided many opportunities to be terrified. Opportunities beyond learning new software and deciphering Amazon specifications and posing for an author photo in a public park. For instance, earlier this year I was interviewed on the radio. That was pretty scary. But ultimately great fun. As many of these stretch-myself-out-of-my-comfort-zone expeditions often are. Last weekend was the next adventure in finding fun in the midst of terror. Yes, this introvert participated in her first-ever book fair. Weeeee!

It was the third year this particular book fair was held, but the first time in a large, historic, echo-y wooden building that once housed US Army men back in early 1900s. The fair has grown quite a bit each year, with over 60 eager authors in attendance this year. At least one of whom had no idea what she was doing.

The fair was sponsored by the radio station that aired my aforementioned interview, which is how I got wind of it back in January. This gave me six solid months to be mildly petrified. I distracted myself by focusing on my display. SO much online shopping and returning and visits to the local print shop and dry-running in our breakfast nook.

I spent a few weeks in March deciding
what color was the best contrast to the
burgundy cover. Yellow for the
eye-catching win!

As the date for the book fair approached, I channeled my fear into obsessing about wrinkly tablecloths. Did you know there are YouTube videos showing you how to properly fold fitted tablecloths for convention tables? Yup. And some of them are even helpful! Unlike the smelly “Wrinkle Release” spray I quickly wished I could return. It turns out, my branded table runner sneakily hid any major wrinkles. Score!

Key among the requirements for my set-up was that each piece of my display puzzle needed to be light enough for me to manage on my own. I have some other events coming up (stay tuned for more terror!) that will make use of my display. I don’t want to have to drag Rob along to every single one as my roadie. So the book fair was something of a dry run – even though Rob was with me – to see if I could transport, set up, and tear down my table of All Things I’m FINE. all by myself. Verdict? We still don’t know.

Grateful for the opportunity to set up the night before the book fair, Rob and I arrived at the venue after dinner, agreeing that he would lag behind as I did everything myself. This ended up being torment for Rob. It nearly killed him to watch me struggle to keep all my supplies balanced on a light hand truck as I swerved it up a slalom-y ramp. A few other early birds offered to help me. I awkwardly insisted I was trying to do it myself, much like a toddler without the (outward) tantrum.

At one point, another author couldn’t take it anymore and gallantly took possession of my folding table while an event organizer escorted us to my spot. The two of them set up my table as I tried to find words that made any sense as to why I shouldn’t be accepting their help. I failed. Meanwhile, Rob cringed nearby, equally as conflicted as I was about how to explain that he was not in fact a total douche of a husband. Truth be told, I’m still cringing as I think about it.

Me clearly displeased about something
during my night-before set up. 

The next morning was much better. We arrived in plenty of time for me to nervously fiddle with bookmarks and buttons and set up my digital slide show of pain-related memes and photos. I introduced myself to my neighbors. One (Darcy) was a retired military pilot who has authored children’s books about his adventures. The other (Carl) was a retired stand-up comedian/radio show host who penned a baseball-themed memoir. Because of how my display was set up, I wasn’t able to chat with Darcy much during the day. Carl, however, was a hoot and a half! The man is a full-blown extrovert and quite funny. He had me and Rob and many potential customers rolling with laughter throughout the fair. It was essentially a 5-hour comedy show sitting next to Carl!

The laughter was much needed, because it turns out that talking about chronic pain for 5 hours is exhausting. It’s a tough topic. And for many folks I chatted with, it was clearly not a topic they were used to openly talking about. I totally get that – it’s one of the foundations of my book.

I was so deeply honored to have those conversations, where trust and commiseration were quickly felt despite the shared vulnerability. And I had to quickly assess if folks really wanted to “go there” with me. I know the walls of denial and the masks of “I’m fine, nothing to discuss here” behind years of hurt. I had – and have – them myself.

So while Carl was yukking it up about baseball and Philly in the ‘60s, I was having heart-to-hearts with strangers testing the waters of finally speaking their truth. It was super exhausting and incredibly profound.

As the 5 hours came to a close, I was both amazed and grateful that the book fair was already over. I watched the experienced authors start packing up during the last 30 minutes. By the official end time, I was one of only a few still fully set up. Twenty minutes later, I was one of the last to leave, with no help this time. Thankfully!

Sales-wise, I sold enough books to cover my costs. Interestingly, there was a fair amount of authors buying from each other (Darcy and Carl each have a copy of my book; Rob is currently reading Carl’s). It was all terribly awkward for me, the whole selling thing. I really just want to help people. I desperately wanted to give a few folks a free copy of my book. But I knew that would get ugly fast.

I eavesdropped on the experienced authors – most of whom were selling children’s books, memoirs, or fantasy/thriller fiction. They knew how to pitch their offerings. But there was a vibe of eagerness bordering on desperation that made me feel like I was wearing an itchy sweater. It was weird and I never got used to it.

So was my first foray into the world of Book Fairs a success? Yes! I handed out a LOT of cards and bookmarks to folks who needed to ponder what I was offering. My throat was raw from all the talking, and my body was spent from the physicality of spending 5 hours in the corner of an old building. But my spirit? My spirit was soaring. The opportunity to commiserate with other folks who hurt, to crack open the door to better and more authentic conversations, and to be empathetic proof that other pained people are not alone in their experience. That was everything. I can’t wait to do it again.