Ouch

The reading/signing tonight drew ten people, six of whom I knew. I was immensely grateful for the four I did not recognize (though I fear one of them may have worked in the store). So, on the attendance level, the event was a failure for the bookstore, and it was in many ways the exercise in humiliation I had feared.

I feel particularly bad about letting down the store, but I really couldn't do more. Some folks pointed to the weather--storms, with tornado warnings--as the reason for the small group, but let's face it: a bigger name writer would have drawn more folks.

The actual reading and talking part, though, was fun, at least for me. Like most writers, I find it all too easy to talk about my work. Get me going, and I can probably bore you into a coma.

I also delivered on the "do something different" notice: For the first time ever at a reading, I read part of a novel in progress--one single-spaced page from Overthrowing Heaven. I also read a personal essay, "The Roach God," a true story that appeard in 1988 in Orson Scott Card's Short Form. I went for humor, because outside the night was humorless.

We also went for ice cream afterward, and it was yummy cold goodness.