What, Like It's Hard? Five Things I Learned in Promoting Myself (as an introvert)

Hard to believe it was twenty-five years ago we all fell in love with you, Elle!

Elle, I’m not talking about getting into Harvard Law School. I’m talking about something that can feel just as scary: putting yourself out there for public consumption and judgment.

Honestly, though, why sign up for that?

Especially if you’re an introvert who breaks out in hives at the thought of talking about yourself, or something deeply meaningful and vulnerable, like your book.

Here’s the thing I’m learning:

The thinking about doing the thing is always scarier than actually doing the thing.

Last week, I went to Rochester Reads to dip my toe into the idea of pitching my book. At a festival, you have about 2.5 seconds to capture someone’s interest.

Chocolate helps.

Some kind acquaintances there basically said, “Practice. Now.”

I stared at them. Literally.

I started with my sweeping overview: "It takes place over fifty years, and tells the story of three generations of women—” They shook their heads. I tried again. “Well, okay. Ronja is a Swedish con artist who is escaping to America—”

“Bam!” they said. “That’s it. Start with that!”

So here are five things I learned about pitching my book that I think apply to any intra-preneur trying to put a product into the world.

5. Don’t practice the words. Practice knowing your stuff.

I once listened to a podcast about becoming a better speaker, and the advice was: never use notecards.

Seriously? Are we tossing out all those years of advice about writing out exactly what you’re going to say?

Because that was me. I used to literally write out every word of a presentation. A few years ago, I lost my place during a talk and became so flustered I almost cried. Did I learn my lesson? No.

The next time I gave the same talk, the technology broke down. I had no notes—just my slides.

I had no choice but to breathe and remind myself: I know this stuff.

So I talked.

That’s what I do now. I practice in my head with my slides or materials, but I don’t memorize a script. I remind myself that I know the material, and, more importantly, I love talking about it.

Do I ramble? Sure.

But people don’t necessarily remember whether you rambled. They remember how you made them feel (Thank you, Maya Angelou, for reminding us of that).

My last conference talk had slides and zero notes. I told myself, Becca, you are an expert on this. You can talk to anyone about this.

And I did.

Was it perfect? No.

But I was me. I was engaged with the audience instead of detached, desperately trying to remember the PERFECT words. Humans don’t need perfect. They need authentic.

4. Chocolate is magic.

I always assumed people brought candy to festivals because, well, who doesn’t love candy?

Now I understand.

At Rochester Reads, every time someone walked past my table, I called out, “No one is taking my chocolate! Please eat my chocolate!” So much easier than saying, "Hey, want to hear about my book?"

The Minnesota Nice thing is real. People would laugh and say, “Oh, I want to make sure there’s enough for everyone else.”

So I’d insist.

And once they were standing there eating chocolate, we had a conversation.

Sometimes the smallest invitation is enough to get someone to stop. Which leads to how to have a conversation . . .

3. Ask questions.

During my psychodynamic training as a psychiatrist, I learned a lot about asking questions, and also about how to not answer questions by asking one back. ;-) "What kind of books do you like to read," was the easiest.

The woman next to me at the festival was selling children’s books, and she was fantastic. She watched people walk by and asked, over and over: “Do you or anyone in your life like children’s books?”

And people stopped. Because who is going to say, “Sorry, I don’t like children’s books.”

Are you human? Exactly.

She drew people in with warmth, expertise, and curiosity. She wasn’t giving them a sales pitch. She was starting a conversation.

2. Stand. Don’t sit.

At first, I sat at my table because standing felt awkward. Then I noticed something: the people commanding attention weren’t sitting.

They were standing. Moving. Making eye contact. Having conversations.

It makes sense. We stand when we talk and present because we can project, connect, gesture, and engage. And when you mirror the posture and energy of the person you’re talking to, they tend to feel more at ease.

You become part of the conversation rather than someone waiting behind a table to be approached.

Which brings me to the most important thing:

1. Make a good product.

You can have the best pitch in the world, the best chocolate, and the most magnetic personality, and none of it matters if you don’t believe in what you’re selling.

Make something you genuinely believe in.

Not everyone will love what you make. Because no one makes something for everyone. But if someone gives me their money and their limited time to invest in my product or my expertise, I'd better deliver.

For the longest time I was convinced I wrote books that never seemed worthy of someone's time or money. Rejection, writing classes, reading, rewriting, more rejection. I’d like to believe all of that was part of studying for this moment. Putting a good product into the world.

Will The Dala Horse Daughters be perfect?

Of course not.

Will I probably read it ten years from now and wish I had changed a sentence or a scene?

Absolutely.

But I’m hoping my future self doesn’t say, How dare you think you should have published that?

I hope she says: Good for you. Now make the next book even better.

Because maybe that’s the whole point.

The thing we spend so much time thinking about. Whether it’s a book, a business, a painting, an idea, a presentation, or something else entirely, is almost always scarier before we put it into the world.

So make it good. It won't be the best. That's okay. Test it on as many people (readers and writers in my case!) as you can before letting it go.

And then stand up, offer someone some chocolate, ask a question, and tell them about it.

You might be surprised by what happens next.

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