Today I took two of my classes to the library so that our "cybrarian" could show them all of the latest miraculous research tools, most of which, of course, are online. (Not that they dismiss print sources, which are still very much available and attractively displayed).
While demonstrating to the students how to find the copyright and publisher information inside a book, she said, "And did you know we had a published author in the room?" My students stared at her blankly. They did not know. The librarian took the copy of my book, which they loyally display on the counter, and held it up for the girls, and they regarded me for a time as though I were a new zoo animal.
"I can't believe you haven't told your students!" our librarians enthused.
But of course I would never tell my students that I've written a book. It feels, to me, like a conflict of interest--like I'm abusing my educator's podium to try to rack up some sales, and so I've never done it. Some people say that this is ridiculous--that I can always just mention it in passing--and they are probably right. But I know I never will.
The last time I had an eye doctor appointment and he stood over me, breathing into my face and examining my pupils right up close with a blinding light, he talked about how much he loved reading--especially mysteries. There would be, I knew, no better opportunity to hop right in there and say, "What I coincidence! I write mysteries! Here's one that I happen to have in my purse."
But I didn't. And the moment passed. And I lost my opportunity. The reasons for this are rooted in my upbringing: in the strict Catholic world of my childhood, you did not talk about yourself (vanity), and you certainly did not brag about your achievements (pride). And even though I have my fair share of both vanity and pride, the reticence of those years is permanently ingrained upon me. I don't speak up. I am NOT a good saleswoman. I doubt I will ever be. I cannot change my nature. My only chance is to try to write books so good that people will hear about them through word of mouth. (Someone else's mouth, of course).
Even that is sort of a vain thought. See? Sister Theodora would be proud of my humility, but I'm sure she'd wince at my book sales. :)
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