Tonight is the first reading of the second book, and the second reading I’ve done in public ever. Am I nervous? Well, yah. I’m also really excited. They did a beautiful write up for me in both local papers, and I told everybody and their cousin about it, so I hope more than eight people show up, which is what I had at the last reading.

I sincerely wish I could be one of those people who can get up in front of strangers without any trepidation, and just charm them all into liking me and buy all my books. Alas, such is not the case. The very reason I even write to begin with is to hide in another world. I don’t feel comfortable having people know who I am.

When I read, I don’t often look up. I know this is bad. I need to engage the audience, which requires eye contact. Like most mid-westerners, I’ve been raised to believe that direct eye contact is rude. That’s why, when you see two old farmers hanging out after church and having a conversation, they are looking at the sidewalk. Only salesman and politicians make direct eye contact. I guess I have to admit I’m a salesman of sorts.

I’ve been told that I read too fast. That’s because I’m probably trying to get it over with.

But I understand the reasons for the reading. It’s a free sample of what you get with the books. My voice may sound like Fran” Drescher with a head cold, but I must be doing something right. When I read, I can hear (because I don’t look up enough) people grunting in affirmation, or laughing appropriately, or gasping when something exciting happens in the story. So my delivery can’t be too painful to experience. Must be the material.

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