I went through another fright filled book signing. This time on the East Coast. New area, knowing very few people, expectation was low, and I bombed. Yes, I did sell two books. Yes, I did talk to a few people. But— Basically, I bombed by the standard most writers and store owners expect.
To me? I survived. I am one event closer to this feeling normal. About midway through I realized all the little things I forgot to do in my preparation for the event. This is a significant growth mark! The next morning I realized all the things I could have done better. Doesn’t everyone? I refer to it with the analogy of a Monday morning quarterback, but call it a “Sunday Morning Signer,” moment. The next day stuff, normal review and improvement assessment, don’t go jumping to conclusions; this was not me beating myself up.
This was/is me doing something I find intimidating. Doing that scary thing on purpose, and before the scary thing was over, being able to step out of the fear and realize ways I had come into it wrong and ill prepared. Realizing what I needed to do, and making an attempt to correct while still in the back pocket of fear.
That change of perspective in the middle of the event— that is huge! Ginormous. That my dearie, that, is growth. That is the beginning of a new comfort zone.
Sure, I have since questioned myself over whether or not I should quit writing. Yep, it is like that badly painted, broken in need of repair horse on the merry-go-round of my writing journey; that particular saddle comes around with the rest of the perspectives every revolution. Only maybe, just maybe the part ordered has finally come in to fix that broken pony.