What it’s Like to Go on a (Tiny) Book Tour
And why I’ve felt weird about talking about it.
At least three people have said to me: you should write a post about going on a book tour.
And my response each time was: OMG, I didn’t go on a book tour. (With an internal cringe at even the idea that someone might think that I thought that reading and signing my book at two book stores means I went on a book tour.)
So this post is about two things. Owning you cool stuff. And what it was like to go on a book tour.
My inner cringe/outer denial that my book tour was a book tour has a couple of roots I think.
The first can be summed up nicely by Theodore Roosevelt.
Comparison is the thief of joy.
My two book stores can’t be a tour, even if they were in two different cities and my publisher bought me an airline ticket, because real authors on real book tours have, IDK, ten stops? Twenty-five?
Not two.
And the other is deep-seated false modesty that I think is hammered into kids from an early age and is firmly established by adulthood. Especially (but not only) if you happen to be female.
