How I Got Hosted, Not Ghosted, By A Very Special Book Club

Yes, how I got hosted, not ghosted, by a very special book club is the topic for today’s Just TypiKel.

If you’re new here, welcome. If not, welcome back.

How I Got Hosted, Not Ghosted, By A Very Special Book Club

I’d heard the rumors.

A Vancouver Island book club was considering reading my book, Never, Never, Hardly Ever – A Mother/Daughter Story of Antiques and Antics. I secretly hoped they were true. But I tried not to get my hopes up. I mean with thousands of options out there, what are the chances your book will be chosen?

I was delighted when my pal told me they’d selected NNHE. And when they asked me to join their April meeting, I was beyond thrilled. A chance to meet readers? How fun. Plus, I adore Vancouver Island. The ocean, the spring flowers, the sunshine … what’s not to love?

However, I was really not playing with a full deck.

I had no idea how special this book club would be.

Why is this group so special?

Two words: their stipulations.

Lunch first.

And no discussion of the book until 101-year-old Judy arrives.

On the menu?

Create-your-own Buddha bowls with options of sliced chicken, grated beets and grated carrots, cucumber slices, chickpeas, deviled eggs, rice, avocado, olives, and tomatoes. Forgive me if I’ve forgotten other options; I neglected to take a photo of the spread. However, I shan’t soon forget the delicious gluten free brownie dessert. I’m still dreaming about it.

With Judy now on site, we moved into our host’s living room.

Things got even better.

As you may know, Never, Never, Hardly Ever spills the tea on my relationship with my mom during the decade we worked together in her Vancouver antique shop.

To honor that, the group chose to open the business part of the meeting by sharing photos and stories of their own mothers.

I can’t stress enough how moving it was to see the photographs and hear the heartwarming stories of these women’s remarkable mothers. I only wish Francine could have been there.

A Unique Book Club Group Discussion

This book club wasn’t done. They had more surprises in store.

For example, I didn’t read aloud from Never, Never, Hardly Ever. Someone else did. We were giggling about one gal’s late mom and how similar she sounded to Francine, when the daughter suddenly whipped open her NNHE copy.

“Okay, the Madame Wasabi chapter, Kelly! The one about your mother being able to talk anyone into anything. You could have been writing about mine. Especially this passage …”

Several others spoke of how they enjoyed NNHE and went on to ask some pretty insightful questions.

“Were you jealous when your mom took folks out for tea, leaving you to cover the shop?”

I was. It was especially hurtful when the customers were my age and they prefered to deal with Mom rather than me.

“Did you ever want to give up, Kelly?”

I touched briefly on the realities of publishing.

According to the New York Times: “Ninety-seven percent of people who start to write a book NEVER finish it. In simpler terms, out of every 1,000 people who start a book, only thirty actually complete it. In addition, only twenty percent of people who write a book actually publish it.”

As I’ve mentioned, I wanted to publish before our 101-year-old Francine passed. I was running out of time, so I chose to self-publish.

I shared another truth with the group. As most self-published authors will tell you, the royalties received per book will be just enough to afford a large oat milk latte at a cosy coffee shop. Two, if you’re very blessed.

This writing gig ain’t about the money, folks. No, it’s about the joy I get from opportunities like this; connecting with inspiring, kind and generous people.

As our dear Francine would say, “It’s pure soul food.”

Thank you, Pam, Kathleen, Gail and the other members of this very special book club for selecting Never, Never, Hardly Ever as your April read, and for making me feel so very welcome and appreciated.

Meeting 101-year-old Judy was an absolute treat. I thought of our late Francine the second this bright spark grabbed my hand and said, “Please write more.”

I am.