I’d love to talk about how froid my sang was at the prospect of reading from my new contemporary romance in front of a crowd of smart, savvy Salon regulars in a bar in the West Village. I write fiction for a living; I could definitely spin you a tale about laughing carelessly in the face of public speaking, or how I just threw on whatever dress came to hand and definitely didn’t try on multiple outfits or take an extra shower to get my hair looking right.

But I’m not going to lie. I was freaking out. I practiced the section I’d painstakingly chosen over and over. I thought about what I’d say when I got up there, the points I needed to hit. And then it was my turn and Ron Hogan, our emcee, ushered me up those stairs and onto that little balcony stage.

Nearly every second I spent up there is a blur. I can only hope I pronounced my own name correctly, much less the title of my book, On the Steamy Side. I know for a fact that I forgot to mention it was hitting bookstores the very next day! I’m pretty sure I read the right section, but my main memory is of how hot it was under the lights.

And then . . . something kind of magical happened. I know, that sounds lame. But there was this moment, as I got to the banter between the hero and the heroine, and I read a line of dialogue that always makes me smile—and the crowd laughed.

I looked up from the book I’d been clutching hard enough to make my fingers ache. I stared out over the upturned faces of my listeners, perched on couches and poufs, sprawled on the floor and standing by the bar, and realized they were all smiling with me. They were engaged and interested and present in the moment, right alongside me.

And all of a sudden, my nerves evaporated.

What was there to be nervous about? I wasn’t on some random stage in front of strangers! No. I’d stumbled into a room filled with kindred spirits, romance readers and writers and aficionados, just like me. I was home.

That’s the magic of Lady Jane’s Salon. It’s a safe place, a sanctuary for those of us who don’t believe that a fondness for happily-ever-afters makes us stupid. It’s also a way to expand our world and discover new writers, as I did when I got my turn in the audience, gazing raptly up as the fiercely intelligent Cara Elliot and the lovely, frank, funny Mingmei Yip took to the stage.

I can’t wait to go back to Lady Jane’s Salon, to experience that energy and enthusiasm for the genre I love, and that sense of community and camaraderie I miss during my solitary writing hours. And while I’ll probably still choose my next reading—and my outfit—with care, I won’t be afraid.

Louisa

Continue reading Confessions of a Lady Jane’s Salon Virgin by author Louisa Edwards