“So, what’s it about?”
It’s the first question I got asked at my book signing this past weekend.
“Well, it’s about my stepdad, who suffers from a rare form of dementia.”
“Ohhhhh. I’m sorry.”
My newly released book, A Fade of Light, is hard for me to communicate well in just a few moments. And, rightfully so, that’s usually the first reaction I get.
There’s so much more to the story. However, I can’t “nail it” in the opening line when explaining what it’s about.
I quickly go into, “But…there are a lot of lighthearted moments. There’s more to it, like my cartooning and the journey between past and present.”
I still get the sad look.
But then I remember, it IS sad.
So, how do I talk about my book in a compelling way that doesn’t want to make one cry or feel terrible the second they hear about it?
It’s not easy.
Sometimes, I come across as if I don’t even have a clue what my book is about because I stumble over words as I try to say what is exactly right.
I wish I could spill out of my mouth what the reviews write. For example:
“A young cartoonist’s career ascent coincides with his stepfather’s struggle with dementia in this moving graphic memoir by syndicated cartoonist Fakes (Break of Day). In the 1990s, high schooler Nate gets his first impression of his mom’s then-boyfriend Ron: a talkative Jim Carrey type, perpetually dialed up to eleven. Driving around Toledo with stereo blasting, drumming on the steering wheel, and waving at complete strangers, Ron and his puppy-dog enthusiasm embarrass the teen, but “life was less dull with Ron around.” A business seminar devotee, Ron bubbles over with outlandish schemes, and his passion pays off in a successful landscaping company. He’s equally zealous about Fakes’s artistic pursuits. But, during Fakes’s late 20s, strange slips appear in the still-young Ron’s memory, the familiar gregarious antics skidding into confused episodes that alarm and alienate neighbors and disrupt work. By the time a doctor diagnoses a rare form of dementia, Fakes fears he’s one of the last people sticking by his stepdad, now a shell of his former self. Rendered in homey illustrations seemingly pulled from the funny pages, Ron’s irremediable decline feels all the more disarming. It’s a heartbreaking but loving portrait, swelling with pathos, that will appeal to family memoir readers who might post cut-out strips of For Better or for Worse on the fridge.”
–Publishers Weekly
Nice. That explains it well. So does Library Journal and Shelf Awareness.
But I don’t talk that way (which would be incredibly awkward if I did).
My main goal when someone asks me what the premise is is, yes — it’s about dementia. However, I want to convey all of the elements to it.
It’s a book that will relate to anyone that knows someone with a crippling illness or who has a stepparent. Like cartooning? It will relate to you there, too!
I wouldn’t change a thing when it comes to publishing A Fade of Light. But I can’t wait for my next book to be easier to explain, so I don’t get a sad look every time I talk about it.
I’m thinking about writing about rainbows and unicorns. Simple and straight to the point — and happy! I can imagine saying to a person interested in my book, “It’s about rainbows and unicorns!” and getting a big smile.
I appreciate the sympathy for my ordeal of going through knowing someone with this disease. Of course, I’m not saying that. It’s just…it’s hard to talk about my book without it sounding depressing.
So, how do I say that in about a 5-second pitch to someone that knows nothing about me or the book?
I’m still working on it. Not that I even need to be a salesman or “sell it,” but I want to convey to someone interested in my graphic novel on a display table at Barnes & Noble that it’s worth it. I wish I could just say, “I think you’ll like it.” And leave my explanation at that.
Of course, I am finding that those folks that DO stick around after I fumble my intro on what it’s about tend to get compelled — eventually. I have a lot to tell, and I can usually (sometimes) spit it out to where it all comes together, and they purchase a book. Or at least flip through the pages.
And after they read it, sometimes I get positive reviews. “See? It’s got some sad parts, but it’s okay. It's a story.” That’s the part that’s easy for me to talk about next in person.
In the meantime, I’m still getting used to saying that delicate balance of, yes, dementia is a sore subject, but the book is essential — and I think you’ll enjoy it.
“So, what’s it about?”
I’ll give you an answer, but you might have to listen to me explain it for a while.
