Wildly opposite, strangely perfect days.
Perfect days.
I’m back from last week’s Banff girlfriend getaway. All the TikTok videos in the world can’t truly convey how stunning Mother Nature is up close, can it? Rippling blue lakes. Craggy mountaintops. And a quiet that feels so much larger and more expansive than the tinny sound of distant hikers.
Even now with eyes closed I can hear Banff’s depth of silence.
Pretty cool, right?
Well, turns out that battery recharge came just in time. For right from the return gate back into St. Louis, I jumped from the memory of pristine serenity into the thick of a different kind of wallop. A lot noisier one.
A book festival.
Because at book festivals—this past weekend the first one my rookie tush attended as an author—I experienced a different kind of echo: Give ‘em half a second and booklovers love, love, love to talk about. . . you got it: Books.
Come back with me to the up-and-coming artsy town of Washington, Missouri.
Do you read historical fiction?
I call out the question. It’s Saturday. I’m at the Missouri Book Festival in the public library parking lot of Washington, MO, standing behind a table to sell an anthology (I have a short story in it). Proceeds from the anthology all go to a scholarship fund for aspiring writers so I figure this is a comfortable ask for me. Plus I want to spread a little awareness about my own book (Saving Vincent, A Novel of Jo van Gogh) with a poster and bookmarks and—wait for it— “Saving Vincent” printed M&M candies!
Yes, I am blatantly appealing to chocolate-lovers.
People are passing by. Hand-holding couples. Kids dragging dawdling parents. But as they get closer, I notice that most people keep their heads down or stare forward, slipping a quick glance at my tabletop as they pass. That’s when I reach out with Do you read historical fiction? And you know what? It acts like a magnet. People are awesome; they don’t ignore me. Their eyes hitch up to meet mine.
If it’s a nod, or “yes,” to my histfic question, I quickly follow up, What do you read?
“Kristin Hannah.” Oh, yes. The Women. I just read it too. “Diana Gabaldon.” Love time travel! “Barbara Kingsolver.” Demon Copperhead stayed with me for days. Authors’ names trip off tongues. Eyes light up. We are mini fanatics. Fellow groupies. Gathered for a moment at my author table. Connected in our own little fandom.
What do you like about historical fiction?
“Learning something about history.” Or “getting lost in stories from the past,” and “bringing forgotten people to life.” I nod, Me too.
OK, OK, on the surface it could look like I’m doing a little market research. (Once a market researcher, always a market researcher.) But I have to say, I’m not taking notes. I’m just having fun.
Who wouldn’t? It’s this lovely community of people appreciating books.
And it’s fantastic when a passerby shakes her head with a challenging tilt: “Nope, don’t read historical fiction.”
I grin. What then?
Nonfiction, mystery, romcom, thrillers. . . no matter the genre, it’s like a boast. Proud of what unique tastes she or he has. In fact, it feels like an entire rollicking library of different genre fans show up over the course of the day. For after we chat a minute, I can direct them. You like mysteries? Check out the mystery author three tables down. Same with horror. Meet John, right here. (His creepy black book covers are right next to my table, and he happily sells out of his cache). Or Christian fiction. Did you meet Roberta? I offer, for she sits to my right. Roberta is a debut author who's crafted a story based on tales her father used to spin about her great-grandfather.
There are t-shirts and tattoos. Pink hair and grey curls. Multi-colored sneakers and cheerful dogs. Kids toting books sliding from under their small grips. Different ethnicities and gender and race.
That’s right: Books are a unifier.
The uproar from an outdoor wrestling competition swells from the next block over. A stage with cooking demonstrations on how to make your own doughnuts wafts whiffs of cinnamon into the air. Later, a jazz band will play so loud behind me—three horns!—that I will have to lean over and yell in a passersby’s ear to be heard.
We grin sheepishly.
Let me tell you: This is one nutty book festival.
By the end of the afternoon twenty-two copies of the anthology Feisty Deeds, Historical Fictions of Daring Women* have been purchased by feisty daring booklovers. All the Saving Vincent bookmarks for my book are taken and, of course, the fifty, nifty packets of M&M’s have disappeared.
And I am happily spent with booklover conversation.
As a debut author, I was eager to earn a notch on my author belt by holding down a table at a book festival, but I had no idea of what I’d encounter.
Perfect day.
Warmly,
P.S. You can add to our scholarship funds by purchasing Feisty Deeds, Historical Fictions of Daring Women via this Amazon link. And if you’d like my book, Saving Vincent, A Novel of Jo van Gogh, can be preordered via Simon & Schuster.
Comments