Just as I had feared, neither of my two new books was ready and in my hands in time for what was supposed to be my birthday party combined with a book launch celebration this past weekend. So we celebrated my birthday, but nothing was done about promoting my books to a captive audience.
Of the first two guests to arrive, one was a fellow author, and we “talked shop” until the other guests began showing up. After that, my two new books were mentioned only a couple of times more for the duration of the party.
The party was good and the guests left early as requested. (I had put not only a 5:00 start time but a 7:45 end time on the invitations, adding that I customarily go to bed at 8.) There was enough food left over for a few nights’ dinners, and three different people brought brownies, not to mention the cheesecake a dear friend brought, which my S.O. promptly secreted in the fridge for our personal consumption, away from marauding guests.
The party was a success by all measures in my opinion except for the absence of the books and except for one totally inebriated guest. Among other indiscretions she spilled food on my upholstered chair, but when I went to assess the damage the next day it appeared that the dear friend—the same one who had brought the cheesecake—who had rushed to do damage control with a wet paper towel, had succeeded, and there was no evidence of a food stain at all.
I am hoping, once copies of the two books arrive at my house, to persuade the local indie bookstore to host me in two readings, one for each book, as they’re aimed at vastly different audiences, one for kids still young enough to believe in Santa and the other at adults who have reached an age of “seniorhood,” whether that’s 50 (by AARP standards) or 80-plus.
But I knew those darned books weren’t gonna get here for the party!