The Book Tour

Chapter 1

Capable women are both overestimated and underestimated all our lives. A truth perhaps universally unacknowledged, but evident in some form or other at our every turn.

Our competence is either weaponized against us—Why should I cook when your meals are so much better than mine, babe?

(Okay, words that have never been said to me since I can’t cook to save my life, but the point stands)—or it’s called into question.

Because how competent could we really be without a hero swooping in to mansplain our area of expertise to us?

And if we’re successful? Call in the haters. You haven’t earned it or Yeah, but the thing you’re successful at is worthless or Why are podcasters publishing books? Stay in your lane, boo.

Fine, maybe that last one is specific to me.

I’m buzzing with excitement for my book launch tonight when the push notification drops like a bomb on my phone.

Among so many innocent ones—congratulations on my publication day, a request from Mom to call the gardener again because her hedges weren’t cut short enough this morning, and various promos from Grubhub and Postmates—comes the full siren blare of LitCrit magazine’s review of my book.

I shouldn’t click through to read it. I promised Maral I wouldn’t read any reviews she didn’t personally send me after triaging first. My beloved cousin regularly saves me from my own clawing curiosity. Or tries to. (To be fair, it’s a full-time job.)

But Mar’s not here. She’s in my kitchen, making us coffee before we begin recording the podcast, while I’m chewing my cuticles over my phone in the den that doubles as our recording studio. And hey, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

It can hurt me, though.

So Proud of You has become a top-charting podcast in recent years.

Host Ana Movilian, who originally gained fame via her viral videos, interviews regular people and celebrity guests alike, a la We Can Do Hard Things, but with a focus on first- and second-generation immigrant experiences: their unique pressures, family expectations vs.

their own dreams, and so on. Her sunny disposition is a hit with fans, and her brand of wholesome cheerleading includes spouting encouraging words many people never hear at home, which may explain her rabid online following but fails to shed light on why big publishing continues to favor influencers over real writers.

After skimming the next paragraph, which goes on to talk about how nothing is sacred anymore in the nonfiction space, celebrity books stealing shelf space in shops from more warranted offerings, and unnecessary fluff pieces like mine being less valuable than the paper on which they’re printed, I close out of the tab like it’s about to set fire to my phone.

I take a deep breath, willing away the unease that prickles under the surface of my skin.

This is nothing new—I expected this. Fans may be excited about the book’s release today, but since I made the deal two years ago there have been literary snobs who can’t help shouting their abject distaste at “another book by some inane influencer” (that quote courtesy of Talon magazine).

They’re lumping me in with a type: the Midwestern mom who gains a following making videos of countertop Tex-Mex concoctions and lands a six-figure cookbook deal, or the affable frat bro traveloguer whose memoir, bloated with pages and pages of photos off his Instagram grid, is shelved next to Eat Pray Love.

Never mind that I worked my ass off—just as I do for everything else—writing a book I could be proud of.

Never mind that my editor and publisher and most reviewers and tastemakers have lauded its quality.

Never mind that the book is an extension of a brand that touches a deep chord for people, offering a sense of support and community they’ve never felt before (to the tune of four million followers across social channels, ahem, but who’s counting).

Good luck shaking ya girl’s confidence, LitCrit.

Bad reviews aren’t exactly hot takes—I’ve read my fair share by now.

Hell, I’ve spent a lifetime ignoring haters or using them as motivation.

No matter how hard a woman works or how earned her success is, some people—including, sometimes, her loved ones—will inevitably dismiss her wins.

It’s par for the course, and my skin’s grown thicker than a reptile’s.

I practically have a magic wand when it comes to disappearing unwelcome emotions. Poof, they never even existed.

This is not going to spoil my big day.

As Maral’s footsteps approach, I sit up straight, take a deep breath, and throw my shoulders back. Belatedly I realize I’m still clutching my phone and clatter it face down on the table just as she appears, holding two mugs, in the doorway.

She tilts her head disapprovingly. “You weren’t reading reviews, were you?”

“No,” I say, pasting on my winningest smile.

She takes in my bouncing leg under the table. “Ana,” she admonishes.

“You look really pretty today.” Major-league understatement. Even with a scowl on her face, Maral is a sight to behold, her dark waves cascading over one shoulder of the rose-colored dress she’s already donned for the launch tonight.

She raises a dubious brow. “Uh-huh.” Places a mug before me. “Simu Liu is all cued up. You ready to get started? Or do you need a minute?”

I sip the coffee, its dark-roast deliciosity powering through me. I imagine it washing away the prickliness the review left in its wake and flooding me with good vibes only. Poof.

Chin high, I slip on my headphones and adjust the mic. “I was born ready.”

“Thank you for spending this hour with us,” I say into the mic ninety minutes later. “Shout-out to our sponsors, and my eternal gratitude to Maral as always for producing this episode, for being a co-host extraordinaire, and for generally being the best person on earth.”

My cousin rolls her eyes at me even as her olive skin projects a blush like a sunrise. She hates it when I embarrass her publicly, which makes it all the more fun. She twirls her finger in the air. Wrap it up.

“There’s my cue to shut the hell up,” I say.

“As you all know, this is our last episode before a brief hiatus because we’re off on a publicity tour for my book over the next couple of weeks.

Check out the link in my bio for event dates and tickets in a city near you!

Thank you for listening. You’re all wonderful people doing amazing things. I’m so proud of you.”

I blow a kiss at the camera after my signature closing line—we started filming our recording sessions years ago, which boosted our profile considerably—and Mar stops the voice and video recordings.

“So you can stop talking,” she says. “Editing this episode is going to take even longer than usual.”

“Better hop to, only an hour before we have to leave.”

She turns off the mics. “Our run times are getting unwieldy. Can you learn to stop asking so many off-script questions?”

I purse my lips. “Can you learn to stop booking such fascinating guests? I can’t help it if I’m interested in what they have to say.”

“Can we skip the thing where you try to refute me five or six times and just get to the thing where you realize I’m right? I don’t have the energy for your…energy right now.”

I heave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but just this once.” She wouldn’t be much of a brand manager if she wasn’t so great at keeping me on track.

Maral taps her phone with a prettily manicured finger. “Shanthi says the setup for tonight is almost complete.” She turns the screen to me and I’m greeted by my own giant smiling face on posterboard, erected on an easel by the door to the Rare Book Room. “That’ll draw a crowd.”

“Let’s just hope it’s a friendly crowd,” I say, the LitCrit review slithering back into my mind before I banish it, sliding open the soundproof door so I can go get dressed.

“It’s ticketed to max capacity,” Maral calls after me. “It will be.”

With events where every attendee has reserved a ticket, like at the Strand, where my book launch is taking place, we know that whoever is there wants to be there.

So I have every reason to believe tonight will go off without a hitch.

But some of the events on my upcoming tour are only partially ticketed, with additional space available for general admission, so it’s possible we’re in for some walk-in haters over the coming two weeks.

I’m grateful I even get the opportunity for a book tour, given how rare they are these days.

My publisher is bankrolling part of it because I’m a public figure whose national speaking engagements prove that people will turn up in droves to see me, which translates to sales.

My publicist, Meredith, has arranged for various interviews and bookstore events, and Woodsworth Press is sending her along to deal with setups, book and swag shipments, stock signings, and all the thankless grunt work she’s assured me will be a joy if it’s in service of your book (god love her, the liar).

Maral and Shanthi are accompanying us on my dime, since Mar set up the rest of the speaking events at various conferences and symposiums along the route, and as my ace content manager, Shanthi has the dubious honor of recording my every public move for followers to enjoy.

I already did my makeup for the podcast and changing only takes a minute. I spend the balance of time before we have to leave finishing up a Q and A I was due to turn in to Meredith by end of day.

After pressing Send, a new email crops up. From the last name I expected to see in my inbox today.

Today, 4:47 p.m.

From: ryan.grant@

To: ana@

Subject: Congratulations

Ana,

I wanted to wish you a happy release day. Your book is going to touch a lot of people. Congratulations on your achievement.

Best,

Ryan