God fucking damnit I wish I wasn’t an anxious mess 90% of the time.
Let me back up.
I like to think of myself as a chill person. Easygoing. Friendly. You know the type. I aspire to be a stoner without the stoning. Feel me? And I feel like I am. It’s just on the outside, though. I internalize every anxiety I have until it becomes less “chill” and more “complete shut down.” Just don’t pay attention to what my hands are doing, and I’ll have you fooled.
Introverting at its finest, I suppose?
Fast forward.
I was browsing though Facebook one day only to see that Joe Hill was doing a book tour, and he would be coming to Denver, which is several hops, skips, and jumps away, but definitely doable. It was going to be for October, so I went through the moral dilemma of taking basically the entire month off work. But, eventually, as I always do, I got over it and ordered the tickets anyway.
Side note: I totally have a good work ethic, I promise. I’m just happiest when I’m not there. 😉
Anyway, fast forward a few more, get to Denver with my mama, who is a retired reader, aka she used to read all the time but now she does not unless it’s something I wrote, aka she’s the reason that I read, aka I’m not using “aka” correctly. The point is she went with me even though she was busy, and even though it wasn’t her thing. That’s a good mom right there. I’ll forever be grateful for her.
Seating was first come first serve, so we got there a couple hours early to get a good spot. Then we waited. And waited. And waited. Which I was fine with. She was not so much. She suffers from a bad back and the world’s smallest bladder. It’s true. Check the world record manuals. I’ll wait.
Actually don’t. I’m lying. Probably. 😉
So we wait a bit, she talks to some people near us, and I go into silent and stoic mode, carefully planning in advance what I will say when he signs my book the same way I plan how I order my food in drive-thru. I absorb the environment.
And go a little bit empty.
About that time, the event is about to start, and my mom jabs me in the side.
“That was him! He walked right by you!”
“Hmm?”
“That was Joe!”
Cue anxiety.
“Oh my god I didn’t even pay any attention.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
“Nope, nope, nope. I did not.”
So I sit there and can physically feel my eyeballs get huge and dry, and for a while I forget that blinking is a thing. My contacts hated me for it, but at that moment, I didn’t care. And in that moment, I wonder why I do these things to begin with. People in general scare me. People I admire are terrifying. But there’s one of two ways this can go. I can have myself a good old-fashion breakdown right there in the middle of the bookstore. Or I can plant my feet on the ground and white knuckle something until it’s all over.
In this case, I hold onto the book like a lifeline.
If it seems overdramatic, it’s because it probably is, but if you have anxiety, it’ll probably seem familiar.
Moving on, though. He comes out and seems just as chill as everyone says he is. He read a bit from a story, then opened the floor for questions. It’s a pretty standard book reading, from what I can tell. Not that I’ve been to a whole lot in my life, but eh, pretty straightforward of a thing. It’ll sound stupid, but I was enamored by him, not just because he’s a great author and someone I look up to, but because he was a real person. He was down to earth and funny and (I imagine) easy to talk to. Super friendly dude.
So, his bit gets done, and it’s time to go up there and get books signed. Before our row goes up, I look at my mom and inform her that…welp…
“I’m gunna go mute for a bit.”
“What?”
“I’m going to be mute. I’m not going to talk. I’m going to forget how.”
“Starstruck?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a little? But mostly nerves making my voice not work. I’ll just stare and then leave. Blah.”
“No you won’t. I’ll go up with you and do the talking for you.”
Ladies and gents, I love my mama. We walked up together, he signed both our books, we got a picture, and went home happy.
Which is partially true.
When my mom talked to him, she told him she wanted him to write something very specific. He’s on board, he’s chill, he’s like, alright, whatcha got for me?
“I want you to write: To Peggy, wonderful mother of daughter, Amanda, fantastic grandmother to her amazing grandchildren, total mother of the year, and now I’m done writing this and my hand has a cramp.”
He looked up at her confused. I looked at her mortified. And she bust up laughing and tells him she was joking.
“People always ask me what scares me most.”
“People like me,” my mom responds.
She got a kick out of the whole thing. Joe took it like a champ and didn’t roll his eyes. That’s a win in my book. ❤
Out of the whole experience, I took away a couple things. For one, I can’t give up writing. I’m probably never going to be at the level that he is, but I’m not going to get any better if I don’t keep trying. (Side note: I swear the creative writing stuff is better than the word vomit that happens here.) (For realsies.) (I have some stuff on Amazon if you wanna test me on that.) (Wink wonk.) For two, I need to get some self confidence and learn how to overcome the weird stage-fright I have. I swore to my mom that next time, next book signing, I was going to try to ask something during the Q&A, and that I will talk to him, even if it’s forced and awkward small talk, if I ever again get the chance.
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Have you ever gone to a Joe Hill event? If so, what did you think? Did you talk to him? Tell me your secrets.
Manda Kay Writes 