Nathan smirked. “You’re a high fantasy writer. Talk about high fantasy stuff.”
“So… talk about swords?”
“Just don’t talk about your sword. That’s the quickest way to get a Pervert label slapped on you. Once you have a Pervert label, it’s impossible to shake it.”
“You sound as if you’re talking from experience.”
“Not my experience.” Nathan vehemently shook his head. “Ever hear of T. L. Carter?”
I racked my brain. “No,” I said finally.
“He wrote adventure thrillers.”
“Wrote? As in past tense?”
“I heard he writes poetry now. Stuff twelve-year-old girls would feel a kinship with. Six years ago, he accidentally put his hand on a reader’s ass without realizing it. He thought he was touching his suitcase. Another reader filmed it. The clip went viral. A bunch of people came out of the woodwork and said he looked like he wanted to touch their asses, too, when they met him. It was all over.”
“Did he apologize and explain what happened?” That seemed like the obvious—though embarrassing—remedy.
“Yup.” Nathan nodded. “It was too late. There were memes all over the internet. Tender Loving Cupping—that’s what they called him because of the initials.”
I internally shuddered. “So basically, you’re saying to keep sword talk on the down-low.”
“Sword talk will bring in a different sort of reader, but if that’s your thing…” Nathan held up his hands as if to say, “You do you.”
I rolled my eyes. He was one of my best friends, but he could be an absolute pain. Unlike me, he had no problem chatting with readers. They loved him. They called him the Hunk of Horror. I was just a guy who wrote fantasy. I’d had one big release—for which I was beyond grateful—and was gearing up for my second release. This conference was a way for me to soft launch the second book.
I got sweaty palms just thinking about it.What if I’m a one-book wonder? What if my second book is a failure? What if my career as an author is over before it even begins?I swallowed hard.What if my future consists of working at a bookstore and never being featured in one again?
Oh, geez, I could not work retail for the rest of my life. My personality strictly prohibited retail work. But it would never come to that, fortunately, because I had a trust fund.
Nathan snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Where the hell did your head just go?”
“Nowhere good,” I replied. Lying to him was a waste of time. He knew I was riddled with anxiety.
“That’s what I thought.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “You’re okay. Remember, these readers are here because they want to see you.”
That was all well and good in theory, but in practice … well, it was another matter entirely. “What if nobody comes to my table?” I blurted.
“People will come. You’re the highest-ranking new high fantasy author in a decade.”
“But what if high fantasy readers don’t come to these sorts of conferences?”
He laughed. “High fantasy readers live for conferences like this.”
“But … they live for fantasy conferences.” I thought I had a winning argument.
Nathan’s snort told me otherwise. “Dude, here’s a little-known fact.” He leaned close as if imparting some great wisdom. “The fantasy readers—especially the male ones—love coming to conferences like this because there are romance readers here.”
That was … a really weird thing to say. “Come again?”
He bobbed his head sagely. “It’s true. Romance readers are looking for love. Sure, some of them are married, but there are a lot who aren’t. They’ve been primed for these books.”
“Okay, but romance readers want a specific type of hero,” I argued, convinced I definitely had him now.
“Nope.” Nathan solemnly shook his head. “Nerds are in. There are a bunch of romances now with nerds as heroes.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Actually, they look like you. They’re handsome but don’t know they’re handsome.”
Had he just called me handsome? “Um…”
