This past Thursday evening, I had a wonderful time with my friend Stacy’s book club talking about my experience writing Nothing Really Bad Will Happen. It was a small, intimate group, which was fantastic because everyone could actively participate in the discussion.
As people arrived, we gathered in the kitchen, chatting over delicious snacks. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that one of the guests had actually grown up in New Rochelle, the city featured prominently in my novel. With a huge smile, she told me how excited she was to “walk down the street with your mother and grandmother,” as she reminisced about her own childhood while reading. It was yet another serendipitous moment added to the list of those I experienced while writing the book.
Another guest came prepared with a list of questions, all of which I answered—probably with more detail than she expected! I may have even divulged a few family secrets along the way. Unfortunately, I can’t recall the specific questions now, but it was a lively discussion.
The doorway between the kitchen and the sunroom was just wide enough for my head to fit through, even after it had swelled ten times its size due to all the accolades I received.
“It’s a real book!”
“You write really well.”
“I didn’t expect a book written by someone we knew to be so good.”
They loved my mother.
We then moved into the sunroom, where Stacy and I had successfully paired my laptop with her large-screen television. I gave my usual presentation, talking about why I wrote the book, the process of becoming a published author, and the unforeseen difficulties of marketing.
After finishing the PowerPoint, I brought out one of the hats produced by my great-grandfather’s hat company, Lital. It was a black derby, the design that won him first prize at the 1900 Paris Exposition. Everyone was excited to examine the design and the interior label. I also shared a triangle-shaped hatbox, patented by my great-uncle Emile. Seeing and touching items that inspired scenes in the book brought the story to life for them.
After a couple of hours, the party wound down, but not before someone asked about my next project. “Oh, you’ll love it!” I assured them. “It’s a quite different story, with lots of laughs planned.” I shared a bit about the premise: my husband’s great-grandmother, known to the family as Catherine C. FitzAllen, a sweet, frail old woman. I blew her cover when I discovered that after her divorce in 1889 (at nearly 60 years old!), she went on to become known as “one of the most expert sneak thieves in the country.”
The meeting with the book club truly energized me. As I wrote in a previous post, I am beginning to shed imposter syndrome and embrace my new life as an author.
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