Three Things I Learned At My Book Reading

A couple of weekends ago I was invited to do a book reading in Shaunavon, a small town about three hours from where I live. The venue was an art gallery and the librarians who hosted me were the sweetest people in the world. I had such a blast, despite the fact that I have not yet mastered my fear of people, and there were quite a few of those in that room. 

But it was, as with pretty much everything in life if you go into it with the right attitude, a learning experience, and I thought I'd write down the things I learned so I can come back and read them later, when I've forgotten them, and learn them again.

Ahem:

1. If You Are Not Confident, Pretend

When I was prepping my little speech thing (it wasn't enough of a speech to just call it a speech), I remember thinking to myself, don't let them know you're nervous. Don't think it to yourself, don't say it to other people before the event, and for the love of every single in the whole wide world, don't say it to the audience. 

So what did I do? I got up there, in front of all the people in all the chairs, and I said, "Thank you so much for having me today! I am really nervous!"

It just came out of me, like a hiccup. Have you ever tried to hold in a hiccup? Yes you have. And you know how impossible it is to do. But the ladies in the front row (maybe other people too but I was having one of those very anxious moments where the room shrinks to the size of a TV set in front of your face) laughed, like I was making a joke. Like I was actually a very confident person making a joke about being a very nervous person. That was super nice of them. And suddenly, magically, I felt kind of like a very confident person making a joke about being a very nervous person. And I decided to pretend, from that point on, that that was the case. And you know what? It kind of felt like it was the case. (Even though it very much wasn't.)

So the lesson I learned there was, if you feel nervous, pretend you're a super confident person just pretending to be nervous, like as a schtick. It might not work for you. I don't know. But you can try. 

2. People Want You to Succeed

I think part of what makes me feel so anxious about public speaking is the idea that people might be sitting there hoping I mess up so they can go home and tell their friends and family about how stupid I am and what a terrible time they had listening to me talk about my dumb books. I feel like I have framed, in my mind, the entire situation as a room full of Simon Cowells hoping I will be very awful so they can say something blisteringly mean. 

But.

On Sunday, when I was talking, I looked over at one of the librarians, whose name was Anne (still is, as far as I know), and she gave me this smile that had a lot in it, if you know what I mean. It was one of those smiles that said, almost word for word, "I'm glad you're here, and I want you to do well."

It was a whole revelation! People want you to succeed! Not everyone, obviously, but lots of people. People go to things like book talks to have a nice time. They don't go there not to have a nice time. They want to enjoy you. You don't have to be afraid of them. Was everyone else aware of this the whole time? Why did no one tell me?

3. You Should Remember to Read From Your Book At Your Book Reading

Did I bring a book up onto the stage with me? Yes! Did I have a sticky note in it where I was going to read from? Yes! Did I practice reading the reading from my book? Yes! 

Did I read from it? 

No!

I just forgot. I forgot to read from my book at my book reading. What a maroon. Thankfully, everyone there seemed to have a copy of it, and hopefully they went home and read from it themselves. Still, this is embarrassing. 

Okay. Three things is enough. Three things is so many things to learn in one day. If you learned three things every day for the rest of your life, you'd have to start forgetting things on purpose to make room for all of it, and that's such a waste. 

But now we have this handy resource for the next time I have to do a book reading, or maybe for the next time you have to do a book reading, or the next time you have to do any kind of public speaking. (Though, if you're not doing a book reading, maybe just skip #3. As embarrassing as it was to not read from my book at my book reading, I think it might be even more embarrassing to read from a book at something that is not a book reading.)

Cheers, Public Speakers. 

Hobby, Meet Children, Children, Hobby

Remember hobbies? We used to have hobbies, and we liked them so much. Photography, knitting, painting, writing. Then the internet showed us how to monetize hobbies and a side effect of that was that if you were not good enough at something to monetize it, you stopped doing it. 

I mean, a lot of us also had babies and/or careers and now spend most of our time focusing on things that will suffer if we're not giving them a lot of attention, and that's not really conducive to hobbying either. And then there's the fact that everything is getting so expensive. My kingdom for yogurt! Who has time to sit and paint a picture when a carton of eggs costs five million dollars?

I talk about this with my friends sometimes; we speak about hobbies like they're actual people we knew a long time ago. People who have ghosted us with no explanation. We fondly remember them, bitterly recall their sudden disappearance, long for their return, but also acknowledge that if they did show up again, we don't know quite where they'd fit in our lives anymore. 

The other day though, one of my favorite old hobbies called me up and wanted to reconnect. 

Before I got pregnant with Sully, I collected Lomography cameras. They were these cheap plastic film cameras that had neat little features—there was a fisheye one, the La Sardina that allowed for easy multiple exposure shooting and had colored filters for the flash, and the Dianas that shot nice big square film. I used to carry them in my purse, downtown, out with friends, on vacation. I'd make a roll of film last for a year or so, long enough to forget what all was on it so I could have a surprise when I got it developed. It was a hobby that required a lot of patience, a lot of waiting. I would shoot things on my digital alongside the Lomo cameras so I could contrast and compare. It was fun. Here, a random sampling of those pictures:

I took a picture or two after Sully was born, then abandoned the plastic cameras completely after Scarlett came to live with us (we were not sleeping, I was working on my first book...maybe, in retrospect, I was the ghoster, not the ghostee). But the other day, the kids and I were heading out for a walk and the old Diana, hanging from a hook on my living room wall, caught my eye. 

It said, Hey, you. I think Scarlett would get a kick of out of me.

I didn't answer, because it's weird to talk to cameras, but I silently acknowledged that Diana was correct. So I went around the house and gathered up all of my old Lomo cameras, the Dianas, the fish eye, the La Sardina, and I put film in the ones that didn't have film (yes, I still have random canisters of unused film in almost every room in my house), and I gave them to the children and I told them how film works, how they had to be judicious (and then I had to explain what judicious meant) and patient and thoughtful and creative and they got very excited because kids are fun and get excited easily, which is something I really like about them. 

And then we went on a walk, with our cameras around our necks, and with our years-old film, and I showed them how to do multiple exposures and how to decide whether something was really worth taking a picture of and we had a great old time. 

So anyway. All of that to say: if there's an old hobby you've been missing and would like to reconnect with, maybe try introducing it to your children. If they get along with each other, it might just stick around for a while.