Dealing with Vulnerability

The author in her preferred state

So, I have a book out this week. 

Which means I've been talking and writing and otherwise interacting with a whole lot of people in support of the release. And it's exhausting. Not just because I am -- like so many of my fellow authors -- an introvert, but because being noticed means I make myself vulnerable.

I had been prepared for the energy cost of the intense social interactions of back to back appearances: Arisia, a group reading in Brooklyn, Boskone. I had not counted on the deep fear that has come along for the ride. 

Those that know me would never describe me as fearful. I've spent my life advocating and speaking out for what I believe in. If I were to pick a single word to represent my personality, it would probably be determined. (A more polite way to say stubborn, ornery, unyielding...just ask my spouse and my children.)

But fearful? 

Yeah. 

Give me a cause to rally around, and I am all in. Put a bully in front of me? I'm all "you shall not pass". But have me stand up and promote myself? My work? I'd rather face that Balrog.  

Tomorrow, I will be traveling to Boskone in Boston and celebrating the release of LITANY FOR A BROKEN WORLD with my science fiction/fantasy community. I will need to cosplay a confident, functional adult author. All the while, my insides will be squirming and I will have to work to keep my hands from flailing around in distress. (One of the reasons I'm usually knitting at cons.)

If I didn't care so passionately about this story, it would be easy. And while I  know I am not my book and my book is not me, it is still the deepest expression of my innermost self. So, in a way, it represents me. It's important to me and as an artist, I believe the work can't reach its true potential until it's experienced by the reader.  

Truly, most creators I know are -- like me -- balls of anxiety wrapped in a human suit. So if you encounter me at Boskone, please be gentle. Approach as if you were nearing a feral kitten because I will be torn between wanting to flee to hide under a table and needing to be (metaphorically) petted.

 

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