The Front Porch over at Scarritt-Bennett asked for more copies of A City of Ghosts, which is, of course, awesome. While I was there, feeling a little burnt out at the end of this long, hot, grouchy week, the woman I was talking to remarked about how it’s been a really nice thing for them, because it’s been selling steadily since October. People have responded really well to it.
And this gave me this feeling like… I don’t know, my heart leaped and broke at the same time. People who stumble across that book like it. I’m a good enough writer that people who don’t know me, who see my book, like it enough to buy it. And so, yes, there was the feeling of “Ugh, I should have tried harder to shop this book to someone who could have at least gotten it into local bookstores.”
But I also had this feeling of “Then why is this part so hard?” I’m a good writer. Why can’t someone instantly love me by osmosis? I will sit here and they will sit there and magically learn of my book through vibes out in the Universe and call me up and be all “Not only will I publish your book, don’t you totally think Walter Goggins should play the Devil in the movie version?”
To which I say yes, I say yes.