Postpartum Book Festival Blues

We just finished a run at the South Carolina Book Festival. As usual, despite the weather, it was a great event. We sold well. Everyone seemed to have a good time.

Now, maybe it’s just me; maybe I’m just tired. I know we’re supposed to have our game faces on. We smile. We compliment the lady on her beautiful necklace just to engage her in conversation to hopefully make a sale. We ask the gentleman, “How did Carolina do in the game last night? Did Zam score plenty?” for the same purpose.

Here’s my quandary. I sometimes ask, as many of my fellow authors do, “What do you like to read?” (hoping, of course, they will say “Police thrillers,” so I can sell them my book!).

Then there’s the kicker: “Oh, I don’t like to read,” or the curt alternative, “I don’t read books.”

Say what? Then why are you at a BOOK FESTIVAL????!!!

Jackass.

Do philatelists hoping to add to their stamp collections root around football stadiums filled with half-drunk, rowdy, popcorn-and-Coke-laden, jersey-wearing fans? Do sci-fi enthusiasts head over to the Kenny Chesnee concert dressed like Darth Vader hoping to meet some blue-skinned chick with horns coming out of her head?

Hell no. They don’t go to these places. So why, then, are you in a room filled with books and authors if you don’t like to read? Isn’t that like watching Telemundo and not speaking a word of Spanish?

It’s not just South Carolina with our lack of interest for anything that doesn’t involve a gun, liquor, or a four-wheel drive vehicle. We get that response in Chicago and Los Angeles, too.

I got a tip for you. Why don’t y’all start your own “I Don’t Like Books Festival?” You can gather in a room full of empty booths and sit around not reading a damn thing to each other. You’d LOVE an event like this.

Maybe it’s just me…maybe I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap!