Page 195 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Do they take cards?” I asked, holding up my debit card I’d magically extracted from my wallet without even knowing.
“Oh, they do. This is your lucky day.”
I fist-pumped the air, nearly crushing my card with my superhuman book-love power.
“Then let’s spend some money.”
Like a giddy little schoolgirl, I skipped from table to table, meeting authors, grabbing every piece of swag I could find, cherishing them as my very own treasures, and buying paperbacks I’d either read or wanted to read.
I made sure to go to every table, to introduce myself, and shake hands with some of the nicest people I had ever met. Even if I didn’t buy a paperback, they still wanted to talk to me, they wanted to know about my book, and they told me to write them if I had any questions about the process.
I had never felt so accepted in my life. On Facebook, the book groups gave me a small glimpse of what this community was like, but now, I fully understood.
Books didn’t just expand your imagination and take you into another world where reality was a far-off memory. Books connected souls. Books created a common ground for everyone to walk on. No matter your background, your fortunes or misgivings, books brought readers and authors together to form an unyielding and beautiful bond.
Women could be catty at times, they could be backstabbing, and they could be straight-up trolls if they were in the mood. Not here, not in this world. This community was about empowering women and seeing your friends succeed at a daunting task: writing a book.
I’d never really thought about the notion until I talked to some of the authors at the signing. Writing a book wasn’t just typing out words onto your computer that twisted into a plot. It was taking a little piece of your soul and letting it bleed out for everyone to read and judge. To write a book was like capturing a moment in your life and exposing it for prying and curious eyes.
I understood that very clearly.
What I accomplished only a few days ago was a feat on its own: writing a novel. I poured my heart and soul into it, exposing my flaws, my insecurities, and some of my most embarrassing moments.
And once I published my book, I wouldn’t sit there and look at the sales page, trying to figure out if this would be a future I could pursue. Instead, I’d sit back and be proud of my accomplishment.
I wrote a book.
Even if only one person bought it, I would still consider myself an author.
“Are you okay?” Wendy asked, coming up to me from behind.
I wiped my tears away and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve just been emotional lately. A lot’s been going on. I needed this day. I feel refreshed, I feel welcomed, and I feel like I’m a part of something.”
“You are.” Wendy smiled at me. “You are very much a part of this world.”
“You don’t think I’m wasting my time writing a book? You really think I could be one of these authors one day?”
Wendy wrapped her arm around my shoulder and smiled at me. “I do and I can’t wait to see where your career takes you. It’s going to be a beautiful thing to watch. You’re something special, Rosie.”
I pressed my lips tightly together as tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of elation and nerves consuming me at the same time. Forgetting about my troubles with Henry, my weight problems, and the orange tabby waiting to claw my toe later tonight, I took in a deep breath and gave the ballroom one last glance.
I could taste it, my dream at the precipice of being accomplished.
I could see it, sitting at one of these tables, talking to a bubbly reader about the dreaded wax scene in my book.
I could feel it, the sense of belonging. This was my place, my tribe, my people.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Pillow Beating Beelzebub
HENRY
Rosie:Are you coming home soon? You were going to help me with these bachelorette party bags.
I was letting her down left and right. Every chance she gave me, I wasn’t there to help. I felt like the biggest ass ever, but I was so close to closing in on this account, I kept working late night after late night to guarantee a run at the position.
This campaign hadn’t been the easiest one to work on, especially since Derk predicted Rosie was pregnant. It was so obvious to me now, all her emotions, her erratic behavior; they all made sense. It was like the puzzle pieces of a crazy person finally came together. Now I just needed to secure this job so I could provide for the three of us.
