[Note from Frolic: We’re so excited to have author Vivienne Lorret guest posting on the site today. Take it away, Vivienne!]
It starts with the troglodyte author, emerging from her cave to attend Avon’s KissCon Chicago, 2019.
She steps into the conference room, taking in the unfamiliar environment at a glance—the bright colors, the smiling faces, the elegantly coiffed and dressed attendees. She smiles, too, hoping to blend in with this tribe of readers. Hoping no one notices that she’s perspiring through her pink Tommy Hilfiger blazer.
Taking a step, she accidentally makes eye contact with a reader and her smile freezes. In the back of her mind, she hopes her expression resembles a friendly I like books, too. The reader returns this nonverbal form of communication. The author expels a sigh of relief and continues to trudge forward.
Ahead of her, empty chairs await on a dais, facing the growing audience. And one of those chairs is for her.
She swallows down a rise of nerves and quickly decides to look at the carpet instead. Nice carpet. Colorful. It reminds her of melted crayon shavings. She hopes she doesn’t trip on it.
A few more steps and she is greeted by the welcoming faces of her fellow panelists and proceeds to practice small talk, attempting to appear like one of them. Unsure of her success, she makes her way onto the dais. Again, she hopes she doesn’t trip. She hopes the audience is too far away to notice the pulse at her throat beating a repeating, panicked SOS to the rest of her body. Her fingertips could freeze every water bottle in the room.
The questions begin. Her brain proceeds to close all the shutters, hunch down out of sight, and pretend it isn’t home. She answers with that smile etched in place, having no idea what she’s saying. But she is thankful that sound is coming out of her mouth and hopes that the utterances resemble actual words.
Then something wonderful happens. The audience wants to know what fairytale tropes the authors would like to reshape and mold in their own way.
In response, her brain stands up and peeks through the shutters. She knows this answer. In fact, she just finished submitting a proposal about such a story. So she eagerly shares the idea.
The instant she says “Tarzan in London” there is an audible ooooh through the audience. Even troglodytes recognize this as a universal sound of interest, excitement and, quite often, chocolate appreciation.
The author feels seen. Her icy panic melts into the layers of her pink blazer (sorry, Mr. Hilfiger). And in that moment of elation, she knows that if given the chance to write this story, she will dedicate it to the readers who helped her, more than they know, by making her feel accepted into their tribe.
My Kind of Earl is dedicated to all the readers who made this dream a reality.
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Thank you so much for welcoming me here!