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Chapter One
Heather
“Five minutes, folks!” Jenna walks around the ballroom, smiling and giving last minute directions to authors. She points out crooked tablecloths, reminds us of how long we have to speak with readers, and lets us know that in just a few minutes, the doors to the space are going to open. We’re going to be swarmed with dozens of happy, excited, and curious readers who are here for one purpose: to buy books.
It’s my very first book signing as an author and I don’t know whether I’m feeling more excited or horrified. Maybe I’m feeling a little bit of both. My stomach churns, but I know it’s not hunger because I definitely ate this morning. Definitely. I made sure to.
I found this list online that had ten things every writer needs to know before their first signing. One of the first things on the list was to have a good breakfast and to bring snacks. My book signing is in the evening, but I definitely ate right on time all day long and even though it’s nearly seven now, I packed some snacks to tide me over in case I get hungry. Besides, the author at the table next to me is giving away donuts. If I need to, I can always sneak one.
“Are you ready?” The writer beside me, Sunflower Wilson, leans over and smiles.
I nod, jerking my head up and down. Somehow, I feel like a robot. Since when did normal interactions and gestures become so damn hard?
She doesn’t seem to mind.
“Don’t worry. It gets better. The first ten minutes are the hardest, anyway.”
I hope she’s right.
The doors to the ballroom open and anxious readers hurry in. I stand up straight and paste a smile on my face. I try not to let everyone know just how nervous I am. I mean, it’s my first book signing. It’s supposed to be fun. Not a nightmare.
So why do I suddenly feel nervous?
My anxiety lasts only a few minutes. Readers start hurrying toward the tables of the authors they really love and want to have books signed by, but then someone arrives in front of my table. It’s a tall, slender redhead and she grins.
“Hi!” I say. “Do you like paranormal romance?”
She laughs and shoves a stack of my books at me.
“You could say that,” she says. “I’ve read the entire Polar Bear Shifters and Their Beloved Mates series three times, and Werewolves Who Love Humans was my favorite!”
“Wow,” I blush, taking the books from her. “That’s so great to hear. I mean, thank you! Who should I make these out to?” I ask.
“Clarissa,” she tells me. She spells it out and I try really hard not to mess up the spelling. How embarrassing would it be to make a mistake like that at my first signing? Pushing the thought away, I finish writing a little greeting, I sign my name, and I hand the books back.
“Well, it’s so great to hear you enjoyed the books!” I tell her.
“My friend Missy is here, too,” Clarissa says. “So keep an eye out for her. She’s an even bigger fan than me!” She laughs and takes her books, grabs a couple of mints from my table, and takes off. As soon as she’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I did it.
I survived my first reader.
A feeling of satisfaction settles in my belly. That wasn’t so bad, after all. Was it? I might be a newer writer, but I have some real fans who make sitting down and working on my stories every day totally worth it.
A few minutes later, another woman comes by with her boyfriend in tow. He doesn’t look bored the way I assume boyfriends at these events would look. Instead, he’s carrying her stack of books and smiles as he hands over a few copies of books I’ve written.
“Can you sign these for us?” He asks. “We loved Anna and Thad in The Werewolf’s Human Baby.”
“They were perfect,” the girl nods. “Truly wonderful. The way Anna and Thad overcame all of their differences and reunited at the end,” she swoons and grabs her heart. “It was perfect.”
I grin.
“Thank you! And yes,” I take the books from them. “You know, figuring out how they were going to overcome her terrible family history wasn’t easy.”
“What was the hardest part about writing this book?” The girl asks me.
“Probably trying to find a good way for them to move past her childhood. I mean, she was raised in a society that totally hated werewolves, right?”
“And she was so shocked to discover that he was one!” The man holding my books shakes his head. “I got so into those books that I stayed up until 4 in the morning reading them. I was almost late to work. Wasn’t I, Winnie?”
“It’s true,” Winnie nods. “Not me, though,” she laughs. “I started reading the second they arrived at the house and was finished before midnight.”
“That’s fantastic,” I grin. A feeling of satisfaction washes over me as we chat about my stories for a few more minutes. Being a writer can be a really lonely journey, but having people who read and enjoy my books makes me feel a little less alone. Besides, it also feels really, really good.
