At the markets, someone will stop and pick up one of my quote pieces.
“That’s mine,” I’ll say. Then comes the story. Sometimes it’s one of my Dad’s sayings. Sometimes it’s one of my Gran’s. Sometimes it’s one of my own.
A woman recently said, “It’s beautiful. It’s not like one of them you get from the supermarket.” I knew exactly what she meant. Because they’re not just quotes, or pieces of art. They’re buying the story that comes with them. The person, the memory and the meaning behind them.
It’s the same with my book. People pick it up, and as they turn it round to read the back page, I say, “You might recognise someone there,” while pointing to myself.
Something happens in that moment. It’s no longer about me.
We end up having a chat, sometimes tears, sometimes a hug. And if they buy the book, I sign it. I didn’t realise I’d love that part as much as I do.
But when I think about it, it’s not the sale, or even the signing, that I love. It’s the exchange of energy. Somebody picking up a quote. Reading it, and then telling me about their Gran, or their Dad, and why those few words mean so much.
In that moment, I can see them. Hear them. And I can feel their energy.
Writing about my book in my letters and blogs is totally different. You write the words, press publish, and then …nothing. Or at least nothing you can see. You don’t see the smile or hear the conversation. You don’t know who’s reading it or what kind of day they’re having.
You just have to trust it lands somewhere.
So, here’s me, trusting it.
I’d love you to buy my book.
My Gran used to say, “If you don’t ask, you don’t get.”
She was right.
I’d love you to buy my book.
Andrea