Chapter Twenty-Four
Today is the official release day for Woman Down. It’s been over two years since I last released a novel. Releases normally feel like a dream, but this one sort of feels like a nightmare.
I’ve been through this process more times than I can remember, but this time is different. The success or failure of this particular book rests heavier on my shoulders thanks to all the guilt that came with my experience writing it.
I don’t even care if it hits a bestseller list. I don’t even care if people like it.
I just hope I can make it through this first appearance and Q&A in one piece.
If I get emotional and run offstage again, I can just imagine all the coconut Pepperidge Farm cakes I’ll be consuming in my bed while I figure out a new career path.
My chest tightens with every passing moment. I can hear the faint hum of voices outside the greenroom where I’m waiting, a reminder that soon, I’ll have to face that crowd and answer every question they have about the book. About anything, really.
Nora asked if I wanted the questions vetted, but I told her no. I need to face whatever is coming my way, no matter how vulnerable it makes me feel.
Nora stands beside me, her energy as bright and bubbly as ever, but today, it feels like her confidence only amplifies my anxiety.
She glances at me, concern flickering in her eyes as she picks up on the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
I’ve always been able to hide my nerves from everyone else, but not Nora.
“You’ve done this a million times,” she says reassuringly. “Everyone in that room is here because they’re happy you’re here.”
“What if that’s not true? What if there are people here with bad intentions so they can get a video that’ll make me look stupid and go viral, like the last Q&A I did?”
Nora grabs both my hands in hers. “Hey,” she says, her voice a whisper. “You’ve already gone viral. You’ve already looked stupid. It’s too late to worry about that.”
Her response makes me cackle. “You’re right. You are absolutely right.”
The store manager finally calls my name, my cue to walk out onto the stage. Nora grabs my purse and phone from me and gives me a reassuring smile. “You’ve got this, Petra. Easy peasy.”
I leave her backstage and step out from behind the curtains, my heart thudding in my chest as I force a smile onto my face.
The bookstore manager’s voice echoes faintly in my ears, something about how excited they are to host me, how proud they are of the turnout.
But all I can focus on is the sea of faces, and just how many of them there are.
There are so many people. I freeze in place for a few seconds, surprised by the turnout. People actually showed up. And the smile that’s plastered on my face might be a real one.
I take a deep breath, my legs trembling slightly as I continue making my way across the stage, the soft glow of the overhead lights doing little to warm the cold nerves pooling in my stomach.
I wave at the crowd and then settle into the chair, smoothing my hands over my lap as I try to find my center.
The manager continues to speak, naming off my bestsellers, but it feels distant, like I’m watching from underwater.
My fingers toy with the edge of the armrest as I prepare myself for the inevitable barrage of questions, knowing that this moment is where the real vulnerability begins.
When the manager is finished with her introduction, she instructs, “If you’ll just raise your hand if you have a question, Francis will get the microphone to you.”
People immediately begin to raise their hands. Francis rushes the microphone over to one of them. It’s a woman who looks to be around my age, and she’s wearing a shirt with a stack of books on the front of it. Other women in her row are whispering to her, so it looks like she’s here with a group.
She finally makes eye contact with me, and she looks just as nervous as I feel. “This might be an uncomfortable question,” she says. “But this is the first time you’ve done a Q&A in two years. Since the adaptation.”
“Oh boy,” I say, laughing awkwardly.
The woman continues. “I know, it’s the elephant in the room. But you’ve never once spoken on it, and we’re all dying to know why you agreed with the choice to remove Caleb from the movie. Could you talk about that?”
There’s a quiet murmur in the room, but surprisingly, I don’t mind it. I don’t mind this. It’s an inevitable question if I plan on writing more books, and it’s better to get it out of the way first.
“Yes. I mean, not that I necessarily want to, but I do think readers deserve an explanation.”
More murmurs rush through the room. A few excited claps.
“The truth is, I’m a writer. I write books.
And when those books get adapted, it takes years, and dozens of people.
And the movie side of this is a different world from what I’m used to.
I don’t even look at that world as part of my career, because I’m not a director or a producer or even a screenwriter.
I feel like they’re the experts in their field, so when their idea for their adaptation differed from what I wanted to see on-screen, and what I knew you all wanted to see on-screen, I ultimately trusted them to know what would make the better movie.
Because that wasn’t my area of expertise.
Of course I gave my opinion, but every time I fought to keep Caleb, my words were met with resistance. ”
A few groans come from the audience.
“Hold on,” I say. “I’m not blaming anyone. Yes, the producer, Allister, had a different vision than I did. It was his project at that point, and he chose to change the storyline, along with many other people. That’s the risk you take as an author when you sell your film rights.”
Someone else already has the microphone, and she immediately piles on to the previous question. “But why did you deny having a part in it? We all saw the text exchange.”
I can feel heat crawling up my neck. But I knew this was inevitable, so I face it with complete honesty.
“Honestly? I made the post saying it wasn’t up to me because, honestly, it wasn’t.
If I had it my way, I would have been faithful to the book.
But I lost confidence. I gave up and gave in when I should have fought harder for Caleb.
And that’s no one’s fault but my own. For that, I’m sorry.
Because for what it’s worth, I am team fucking Caleb. ”
The audience erupts into immediate applause.
I feel instant relief at the reaction, despite knowing once this Q&A hits the internet, there will be a myriad of opinions on what I just said.
But finally saying my piece without throwing anyone under the bus while doing it feels good.
The same can’t be said for Allister, but for all I care, he can continue parading around on podcasts and calling me difficult all he wants.
Because the truth is, I am going to be difficult if another adaptation happens.
I’m going to fight tooth and nail for the story the readers supported, and I don’t mind having the reputation Allister is out there giving me.
It’s probably better that I do. I’d rather have adaptations I’m proud of than adaptations that don’t even resemble their original forms.
The woman who asked that question thanks me, but then pauses before handing the microphone off to someone else. She brings it back to her mouth and says, “You used to be more active online, but then disappeared for a while. We thought you gave up. I just wanted to say thank you for not giving up.”
“I did give up,” I say quickly, cutting off the applause. People’s reactions are mixed. There’s confusion on some of their faces. “I mean, I know that wasn’t a question, and thank you for saying that, but I do want to clarify that I did give up.”
I straighten up in my chair, preparing to continue answering the nonquestion.
I don’t know how to put what I want to say into words, or if I even should.
It almost feels too vulnerable to be sharing with a room full of strangers, but without this room full of strangers, I wouldn’t be here. So I speak honestly.
“I wish I could say I’ve developed an impenetrable skin being in this industry, but I haven’t.
Sometimes the negativity can be too overwhelming, and all I can do is hide from it.
And yes, I’ve read the self-help books, I’ve tried just ignoring it, I’ve tried therapy, I’ve tried it all.
But I find myself still reacting to things I read, and sometimes I need a break from those reactions.
I think it’s okay if you aren’t someone who can just let everything roll off without it seeping into your heart just a little bit.
I don’t mind admitting I don’t have that kind of resilience.
I show up when I’m mentally capable, and I’ll interact when I’m emotionally stable enough to.
But my mental health is precious to me, and as much advice as people give me, nothing anyone has said to me so far has cured me of feeling the sting of a hit every now and then.
And I’m sure I’ll continue to give up as I move through life.
But as long as I keep starting over, I’m okay with being a fallible human. ”
When I finish speaking, there’s another loud burst of applause.
The woman who asked the question thanks me, and then hands the microphone to the next girl in line.
I glance off to the side of the stage and see Nora standing there, watching me with a look of pride.
She gives me a thumbs-up, and her reassurance puts me a little more at ease.
“I was going to ask about the movie, too, but I guess you covered that,” the next girl says. Her comment is met by a round of laughter. “First of all, I love your books. My name is Christian, big fan. My whole book club is here.” She gestures toward a group of women all wearing matching shirts.