Small Potatoes
It’s every author’s worst nightmare. And it happened to me.
Cross-posted to Substack.
Every author’s worst nightmare happened to me this week—my release week of all weeks. There was a moment at one of my events when I thought literally no one was going to show up.
There I was, in the break room of the bookstore with my conversation partner. The start time of the event rolled around, and when the employee working the event came back, we asked her if it was time to go.
“Well, that’s up to you,” she said, and my heart dropped because I knew what was coming next. “No one is here yet. You can get started and see if people walking around are interested in joining the conversation, or you can wait.”
People reserved books at this particular event, so we decided to wait. Sure enough, those people did roll in. I knew all of them. This was a big store, too, and they had ordered A LOT of books, so I had expected something totally different. My conversation partner was incredibly gracious, and we had a great time. (What else is there to do? We’ve all been there.) But when expectations don’t match reality, it’s hard not to feel disappointed.
There has been a lot about this release that has felt disappointing. This isn’t pity marketing, I swear; it’s just hard to focus on the positives sometimes. Especially when Not on the Same Page felt like the little book that could from the start. It was proof that sheer grit and determination (and probably an unhealthy fear of failure) really can motivate you to show up every day and get words on the page. It was proof that I could push through illness and anxiety and a metric shit ton of imposter syndrome to write a book I’m really proud of. Even if it wasn’t the book of my heart, it was the book I needed. And that’s no small thing.
But it’s hard not to feel like small potatoes when your friends are hitting bestseller lists and having sold-out auditorium-sized events, and you’re struggling to get four people to show up on your release week.
On Saturday, I did another event at a bookstore I love. My Q&A partners were people I adore. My husband drove with me, and one of my best friends from college came out. In an effort to protect my fragile heart, I had emailed the store owner asking how many people had RSVPed. She said ten, with an exclamation point.
“Ten!” is so much different than “Ten.” Isn’t it? “Ten!” feels exciting. Intimate, in a good way. Worth making the trip. Still small, but maybe with an exclamation point, small isn’t necessarily bad. I’ve gotten emails from store owners telling me they were disappointed in the attendance. Some have wanted to postpone or cancel. Some have wanted me to hunker down and sell more tickets. Like somehow if I try hard enough, I can be more famous. More interesting. Worth more of people’s time.
But “Ten!” didn’t say any of that. “Ten!” said that any expectations they might have had were met or exceeded. “Ten!” told my imposter syndrome to shut the hell up. (It didn’t, but it did get quieter.)
It wasn’t an auditorium-sized crowd. But it was Ten!
It actually ended up being slightly more than ten, which was perfect for the space. A great mix of new readers and people I recognized. Everyone laughed a lot, which is always true at any of my events, no matter the size. I’m funny! I’m incapable of being serious! My newest books might be rom-traums, but damn, we have a good time talking about them!
There was a kid there. A literal preteen child. She was with her mom. I figured her mom really wanted to come and didn’t have childcare, so I made a mental note to keep the F-bombs to a minimum and talk less about Casey *eating* than normal. Kids don’t scare me, and if a parent has OKed their presence, who am I to argue? I figured she’d hang out, enjoy her coffee drink, maybe catch a little of what I was saying while her mom enjoyed the conversation, and that’d be that.
It was in the middle of my answer to the second or third question when her hand went up in the air. Okay, we’re going off-script, I thought. No problem there. I’m a teacher, and I’ve almost never had something I’m presenting go as planned. I finished what I was saying and, amused, asked her if she had a question. She did. It was insightful and curious, and I answered it with delight. A little while later, she had another question, and another. She wanted to know about writing and romance and motivation. She was curious and open and excited, and I quickly realized her mom was there to see me, but so was this kid.
In the signing line, she hung back until closer to the end. She told me all about her plans for a romance series about three brothers and their love interests. A sports romance, because she’s an athlete. It was brilliant and adorable, and I loved every second of listening to her. She let me sign the book to her mom, but told me she’d be reading it when she was old enough. And then she asked me if I’d be open to an interview for something she was working on. I told her I’d be honored.
After they left, someone thanked me for being cool about the kid. But why wouldn’t I? Being literally small doesn’t mean she’s small potatoes—she’s worth just as much as everyone else in that room.
I remember being that age, wanting to be a writer. I wrote to Patricia C. Wrede to tell her I loved her books and I wanted to be a writer just like her. She wrote a two-page typed letter back with all sorts of advice a young writer needs to hear. I don’t still have it (I wish I did), but it’s clear as day in my mind’s eye. I can still picture the gray ink from the 90s printer she printed it on, the perforated edge where she must have torn off the edges with those little holes on them before she folded it into the envelope. It took me a little while to get around to writing that first book, but I never forgot what it felt like to be worth writing to by someone who I thought was famous. She’d written books, after all, which was enough for me to think everyone knew who she was.
If twelve-year-old Allie could see me now, she wouldn’t believe her eyes. I told my college friend I was truly living the dream—writing books, traveling around and talking about them, meeting new people and seeing old friends when I’m somewhere they live now. I meant it, too, even still feeling like small potatoes. That’s the funny thing about life, isn’t it? That you can be on top of the world and humbled at exactly the same time. That Ten! and Ten. are the same damn word, after all. That you can have surpassed what your childhood self could have ever dreamed of while still wanting more. That you can be important to someone while feeling insignificant in so many other ways.
It’s an exclamation point versus a period. It’s getting a letter in the mail when you never expected one back. It’s the curiosity and openness of a kid. It’s the four people who showed up instead of zero.
Sometimes, we play to sold-out crowds. Sometimes, we play to far less than that. But we’re always playing. Because, ultimately, this is the dream—I’m the person I never thought I could be. This is the book I never thought I could write. It means something to someone, and that means everything to me.
The only person who can ever truly make me feel small is myself. I realized this week that I’m giving too many people that power, when it’s actually mine alone. I’ve started telling people I’m not a bestselling author yet. That yet is important—it’s an exclamation point. Four people. A letter in the mail. Someone who told me my book found them when they needed it the most.
It found me, too. It was the book I needed to write. At these events, I saw the people I needed to see—who needed to see me. Words and sentences and language bringing us together. Building connections. Meeting readers young and young at heart.
There are no small potatoes here. We’re a whole damn garden waiting for harvest, ready to bloom.
Not a Strong Enough Word & Not on the Same Page – Available Now
Not the Way it Ends – November 10, 2026
Preorder now to get the limited edition sprayed edges and goodies from your favorite indie bookstore!
This is the time when I remind you that reviews mean everything to authors, even if we’re traditionally published! Please, if you loved Not on the Same Page, leave a review everywhere you can! Amazon, Goodreads, and Barnes & Noble are especially important retail and social platforms if you can swing it. And then maybe tell a friend.
Finally, after weeks of being sick with a cold and then a sinus infection, I’ve gotten back to some workouts this week. I’m really trying to change my body composition, so I’ve been working on increasing my protein intake. Unfortunately for me, my gut has made that harder than it used to be. I’ve had to be very careful about protein powder because some of them do not agree with me! But I found one that I tolerate okay if I only do half a serving, and—lucky me!—this variety tastes like birthday cake. I’ve been adding it to my cold brew, which is delightful. Whatever works, amirite?
Marriage of Convenience | Football Romance | Opposites Attract | Forced Proximity | Protective Hero | Southern Socialite | Strangers to Friends to Lovers | He Falls First
There are so many ways you can show up for authors you love, and you never know when they might be feeling small enough that your review or purchase or seeing you at an event makes their whole day. Please, even if it’s not for me, pick some way to show up for an author this week. I promise, they’ll appreciate it more than you know.
Happy reading!
