“I had great fun at my reading,” Sari said, “and you’ll have fun at yours, too.” Sari is a friend, a former LSU colleague, and the author of a wonderful memoir, Wait for God to Notice. I’ve asked her for advice about the publishing process more times than I can count, and she’s been unfailingly helpful, generous, and honest about how things work.
But this time, I was skeptical. I remembered the first time I had to stand before a roomful of college freshman unwillingly taking a composition class. The teaching mentor I was assigned to would be there also, observing all my blunders and missteps. That was even worse than facing the students. “Do I have to do this, Professor Eigner?” I pleaded. “Do you have to be there? I might faint or something and my grandmother told me that fainting was not languid and graceful like in novels; she said bad things can happen.” (She’d also said what those bad things might be—loss of control of bodily functions, but I didn’t share that bit of information.) I don’t know what Professor Eigner thought about this plea—I must have sounded demented—but he was reassuring, and I survived the experience with no problems at all.
In no way was I experiencing the same level of fear about the reading as I had about that first comp class; no, I was tremendously excited. I’d had a book signing at Barnes & Noble, but this was the first time I was actually going to be able to talk about Sita and the
Prince of Tigers to a group. I wanted to talk about it, I was excited to talk about it but, at the same time, I had to admit to some qualms. I’ve never felt totally at ease “up in front” except, ironically, in the classroom. What if someone asked me a question and I blanked on the answer? What if someone in the back row asked a question and I misheard what they asked? I might give an answer that didn’t apply to the question they’d really asked?
As
it turned out, Sari was right. The reading was held in the perfect spot—the atrium of the La Sierra University Library. There were trees and plants all around us, a jungle as it were—so appropriate for discussion of Sita and the Prince of Tigers. Of course, I didn’t know everyone who came, but colleagues and friends were there, even a college roommate! It was easy to talk about what had led me to write this book (seeing my first wild tiger in India) and the things that had directed the development of the plot (Kipling’s Jungle Books, Jim Corbett’s writing, our experiences in India, etc.). Afterwards, I sat at a table and signed books. The tablecloth on the table was an Indian print, and the roses a friend brought could have been grown in Darjeeling. Yes, Sari was right again, of course. The reading was a lot of fun—I couldn’t have enjoyed it more.
