There could be no other interpretation of the committee’s response when I offered to deliver a lecture on Victorian comedy at their science fiction book fair.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that organizers of sci-fi book fairs are in desperate need of more interesting speakers.
I told them so.
They told me to get out.
Ruffian interns shepherded me to the street.
I received a call.
“Did you hear they approved a symposium on Jules Verne?” asked my agent.
Another blow.
I had been drawn to Texas, confident of the community’s embrace. Thousands would attend the fair, each a potential fan of my work.
One sweltering day in August, when my patience was at its stickiest, I received an email from a discount tour guide. He was offering personalized legacy trips through England, helping Americans reconnect with their forgotten aristocratic heritages.
Having always sensed my innate nobility, I was sure the trip would deliver a fascinating reveal.
(It was promised in the advertisement.)
I phoned two friends, proposing we flee our oppressive environment to seek our oppressive roots.
I was not alone in my enthusiasm.
Both friends suspected they were distantly royal. It was worth checking out.
After calling a financial associate to propose a credit limit increase, three tickets were obtained, and we commenced our journey.
Let me begin this report by extending my heartfelt gratitude to the entire society staff for their assistance throughout the day. (Rest assured, the fifty-five dollar balance on my invoice will be arriving shortly.)
After a brief reading, which seemed well received by the listening security guard, I hosted a public signing for my new book An Aspiration To Lie Flat. The society seated me behind a large desk stacked with paperback copies of my book, in a gorgeous space large enough to accommodate the expected crowd.
Things were going well until the security guard—whose reaction I had clearly misjudged—approached.
“Your writing would be so much better if you let your characters feel any emotions besides pissed off and hurt,” he lectured.
“Thanks,” I replied, feeling pissed off and hurt. “Would you like me to sign a copy for you?”
“No. I’m definitely not interested. That chapter you read? Said it all, man. Said it all.”
Fortunately, the other two society employees were kinder. One told me she would consider purchasing my book in the future.
I counted it as a sale.
What a rewarding experience!
I am pleased to report that the entire event proceeded without incident. Wait times remained acceptably low throughout.
To those who could not attend: I understand. Parking was limited.
Stanton Fenwick 