I nearly swooned with joy. My husband says I need to learn to act like a diva. “Joanna, you’ve sold a lot of books! Why on earth do you act so surprised that someone had a couple of them? 60,000 is a ton of books.”
Actually, I have sold 85,000 of Scrapbook Storytelling. Fifteen thousand of The Best of British, One Minute Journaling and Quick & Easy Pages. Seven thousand five hundred of Storytelling with Rubber Stamps. And 10,000 of Using Stories and Humor: Grab Your Audience. I also sold more than 15,000 copies of I’m Too Blessed to Be Depressed.
As I type this, I realize, well, duh. Someone out there must own a copy or two of my books. (And forgive me. I KNOW a lot of you do. See how silly I am?)
Okay, anyone know HOW to act like a diva? Better question, do I want to act like a diva? The answer is NO.
Charlaine Harris and I were talking about this yesterday at breakfast. We’re Southern girls. I never heard my mother (and have never heard my mother) compliment me. I’m sure she has, but not in front of me. I was taught to be humble. I was taught—almost with superstitious zeal—not to brag.
I just don’t think I can be a diva. I can dress like one, sort of. (I bought really cool zebra striped shoes to wear to Malice.)
But act like one? Hello? What would that mean? What would I say, “Well, of course you’ve heard of me?” What do you think? Do I need to change? To be more, I dunno, prideful?
Okay, send me an answer. Comment, please. I’ll send one of you the great Malice bag honoring Charlaine. (You can put her and MY books in it. How’s that? I don’t think she’d mind.)