Book Signing – I’m scared, maybe terrified – Barbara Baker

 

The book signing takes place January 14, 2023 at Owl’s Nest Books in Calgary, Alberta. Please come.

When my first novel, SUMMER OF LIES, was released, COVID was shaking up the world. People met on Zoom, Facetime or Messenger. No public gatherings allowed. I must admit, I was okay with that. Talking to real people in real time about my book scared me.

But now that WHAT ABOUT ME? has been released in a less restrictive COVID environment, I will be at my first book signing. In public. With those real people.

The logistics are taken care of. I have chocolates, a small poster, my favourite pen, a selection of colourful sticky notes and a bottle of hand-sanitizer. To be prepared, I Googled Everything I Need to Know about Book Signings. A few articles disagree with each other but spelling the person’s name correctly in the book, bringing your favourite pen and smiling were consistent throughout.

But here’s my problem. I’m an introvert. Stop laughing! I am. Honest. Yes, I can talk the ear off an elephant if need be and can converse with mammogram technicians like nothing is amiss, but when someone asks about my writing, I force my eyes not to dart around in search of an exit. And my mouth - well all the words it knows reaches the exit before I do.

I’m thankful that, in seconds, I can redirect the conversation - possibly mention grandkids. I have six of them and numerous tales of their antics. Or there’s my 90-year-old dad. He’s super interesting and I have a lifetime of stories to share about him.

When I attended my first writers’ retreat in 2009, I realized my hesitation to discuss my writing with strangers. At the introduction supper I sat at a large round table. There was constant chatter about agents and publishers and editing techniques. 

I was in awe of their writerly worldliness right up until someone asked me what I was working on. With my fork, I lifted a piece of lettuce from my plate and said, “do you think the dressing is raspberry vinaigrette?” Yes, I dodged that bullet! And I still deflect those conversations.

Why?

I wish I knew. Book reviews have been good. Emails and notes say readers enjoyed my novels. So why can’t I promote them? Do I have Imposter Syndrome? Maybe?

Today I blame the problem on my lack of sales skills. People say being good at sales is an art - just like writing. And it takes practice. Since I’m at the bottom of the ‘art of sales’ learning curve, I will take all suggestions on how to have a successful book signing.

In the meantime, I ask myself, what if no one shows up? Do I eat the chocolates? Do I cry? Do I cry first and then eat the chocolates?

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Prepping for a book signing, by J.C. Kavanagh

BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Award
The Twisted Climb

Just imagine being face-to-face with countless strangers who have come to check out your book. And you. What to say? What to wear? What to do? 
I have three book signings this month and the thought of each one brings on the fears - what if no one comes - what if no one buys my book - what if my tongue turns to mush and gibberish pops out in the middle of a conversation. Oh boy, I hate it when I get a case of the 'what-ifs.' Gah!

Me before a book signing

Me putting on a bit of sass during a book signing
 

Me after every book signing :)



The Twisted Climb sequel: Darkness Descends

I've been busy working on the sequel to my book and enjoying the story as it unfolds in the playground that is my mind. Here's a sneak preview:

DRAFT IN PROGRESS:
The darkness descended around her, its blackness sliding against her bare arms like the cold clammy fingers of a corpse. Georgia shivered with fear, her lips trembling.

“CONNOR,” her mind screamed. “I NEED YOU.”

But her big brother was not in this frightening, unfamiliar place. Six-year-old Georgia was alone in the darkness, surrounded by giant pine trees on one side and a grassy meadow on the other. A yellowish full moon shone brightly from the heavens, ghoulishly displaying its pock-marked face while illuminating a narrow path between the pines. Georgia squinted ahead.

Where am I?

She crossed one arm over the other and gave herself a hug. She was not only missing her big brother, she was craving the solace that Foleydota, her stuffed-toy baby pangolin, brought her during the night. She whimpered as a sob built up in her throat. She gulped it down. The prospect of being alone in the dark was making her panic.

“I’m a big girl n-n-now,” Georgia said with feigned confidence, pushing her tongue in the space where two baby teeth used to be. A moment later, the sound of an owl hooting in the distance made her screech in terror.  

“Please,” she whispered to the darkness, crouching low to the grassy earth. “Why am I here? I don’t want to be here… is this a dream?” Georgia turned her face to the glowing moon. A single, hot salty tear trickled down her right cheek and she buried her face on her knees.

“Wake up,” she told herself.

A light wind rustled the trees and bushes. They rubbed and shifted together, creaking and moaning, first in soprano notes, then bass. The high-to-low-to-high notes continued, like a wind instrument tuning up and down the musical scale. It was an eerie, whistling sound and Georgia’s terror escalated in keeping with the amplified volume. She was breathing in shallow pants. The intensity and number of high-low notes slowly changed – from a duet to a multi-instrument, full-blown orchestra. Every tree and every bush surrounding Georgia joined the thrashing, whistling, wailing band. The soprano pitch descended just as the bass note moved up the scale. Georgia covered her ears but it did not reduce the cacophony of notes as they raged in opposite directions. It sounded like dozens of cats simultaneously and ferociously brawling as they slid, claws out, down an old school blackboard. Suddenly, the high-low screeches met in the middle of the scale, howling and hissing with an urgency that made Georgia’s skin crawl. Then, in a thunderous clash much like the slam of cymbals coming together, the notes spoke in unison, screeching a single-syllable command.

“Climb.”

Georgia fainted.

 

* * * * *

Stay tuned for more previews of the sequel to The Twisted Climb: Darkness Descends

 

J.C. Kavanagh

The Twisted Climb

A novel for teens, young adults and adults young at heart.

VOTED Best Young Adult Book, P&E Award, 2016

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