I Have Groupies.

I Have Groupies.

Well, okay, not exactly groupies, but fans. My Facebook pal, Kate, saw a woman pull a copy of Revenge of the Soccer Moms out of her bag on a commuter train in suburban Chicago, and started a conversation. Other people sitting nearby got in on it, and now they have a book club thing going on the train that meets each week. They’re reading chapters together.  And just a few minutes ago a woman who saw my new video ad on Facebook and bought a book,  texted to say she’s enjoying the read.

Yes, I wanted a million-dollar publishing contract, movie deal, etc., but watching sales grow organically because people enjoy the novel is really satisfying. It certainly makes it easier to plow ahead with the current novel I’m writing. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m probably not going to win literary awards, but since I have so little patience for “literary books,” I can’t really bitch about this. I like to read about interesting, flawed characters, but I don’t get very far into books where depressing psychological things happen to people I wouldn’t really like to spend an afternoon hanging out with.

Does that make sense?

I like a combination of action, surprise, and reality in the books I listen to (I prefer audio books to print books, because I can “read” while I drive, cook, pretend to clean, etc.), but I don’t enjoy unrelenting misery. There nearly always has to be a bit of humor for me , or I don’t care what happens in the book. I was thinking about this in Iowa, while classmates at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival were talking about literary works they enjoy. I frantically wrote down the authors’ names, but very few will turn out to be my cuppa tea.

Maybe I have literary ADD.

 


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