If you’re a writer, you already know this, but writing is hard. Drafting, revisions, querying, it’s a lot. The book tour is supposed to be the easy part. Unless you’re a complete introvert, like me. Frankly, my reclusive nature is my defining characteristic. Besides the hair. And my shoe size.

I peek out from behind a bookshelf at the neat lines of arrayed chairs, now filled with attendees. I gasp involuntarily. After years of struggle, I’ve finally published my novel, and today is the launch party. Out of the woods and into the big city. I just didn’t expect this many people to show up.

My agent Jerry sidles over from his crowdwork and reaches up to rub my arm. “First time jitters?” 

I nod absently, still staring at the crowd. 

“You’re gonna do great, bud! Everyone feels like this their first time. Just roll with it. And I’ll be right here if anyone gives you a hard time.”

I pause and look down at him. “They’re gonna give me a hard time?”

My agent waves the question off. “Nahhh. No way. Well, maybe.” A bead of sweat drips down my temple. “Look, bud, when a big name like yourself gets into writing for the first time, it can be a shock, and the press turns out for that.” Big names. Sigh. “And you know the press, always looking for an angle. ‘Is he any good at this?’ ‘What’s his motivation?’ ‘Does he always sweat this much?’ He checks his watch, presses a finger into the tuft of hair sticking out of my shirt. “Just get out there and be yourself!”
He pushes me out from behind the shelf towards a table at the front, loaded with freshly printed copies of my novel, and I fall into a too-small chair. 

“Hello everyone, thanks for coming. I—I don’t have too much of a preamble, I just hope you all enjoy my book. First I’ll take some questions, and if we have time, I can do a short reading.” Just a bogstandard book tour appearance. Nothing special here. Nothing to worry about. You got this. I take a deep breath.

“So any questions?” 

The reporters start to shout immediately.

“Mr. Bigfoot! Mr. Bigfoot!”

Oh, great. I hate when they call me that. I call on a woman in the front row.

“Mr. Bigfoot. The world is so excited to read your life story. What made you step out of the woods and into the world of autobiography?”

I exhale deeply. Does no one read the synopsis? “First off, it’s not ‘Mr. Bigfoot’, it’s Mr. Sasquatch. But you can call me Grarg. And actually, this book is not my ‘life story’. It’s a novel. A romance novel.”

A wave of confusion passes over the crowd. I clear my throat to try to fill the awkward silence. “Um, any other questions?”

More hands shoot up and I call on a man a few rows back.

“So it’s a romance! Wow, I’m sure readers will be thrilled to learn what constitutes romance in the world of Bigf—err, Sasquatches. So tell us, is there a Mrs. Sasquatch in your life? Is it true what they say about big foots?” The crowd titters.

I grumble, but it comes out as more of a growl and a man in the front row falls from his seat in fright. I look at Jerry in desperation, but he just shrugs and waves his hands to ‘go on’.

“So, to be clear, this is not a story about Sasquatches. It’s a typical contemporary romance, with a dash of comedy. Just a classic story of human boy meets human girl, with everything that human fans love: a meet-cute, a fake relationship. Y’know, classic romance stuff.” I bite my lip. “But, uh, no there’s not a Mrs. Sasquatch. I’m, uh, single. Not a lot of time for dating when you read as much as I do.” I grin charmingly, but I guess it comes across more like I’m baring my teeth and a few audience members appear to wet themselves.

“Look, before I answer any more questions, please put down your hand if your question is about my being a ‘Bigfoot’… or my love life.” All the raised hands drop.

“So has no one here actually read the book? My publisher sent out a lot of advance copies…”

Silence. I groan, but it comes out more like a roar, and some audience members run screaming for the door. This launch party has been a disaster. Can’t a cryptid catch a break? 

I’m rescued by a single hand rising in the back row. I point and a microphone passes to an enthusiastic woman in big red cateyed glasses.

“Mr. Sasquatch. I count myself as an avid romance reader, and I must say, this is a stunning debut.” 

I sit up straight. She read the book! She really read it! 

The woman continues, “It’s clear you have a lot of familiarity with the genre and its tropes, but also some creative new ideas about its future.”

Finally. A reader of substance. I nod graciously. “Yes, I’ve read more than my fair share in my time. You’d be surprised how many people leave romance novels in the woods.”

“Just one question. About chapter 34?” Oh, here we go. “It’s clear you are in favor of, er, ‘open door romance’. But, to be honest, I was a bit surprised to see such an explicit smut scene from a public figure like yourself. So, I suppose my question is… you do know that humans don’t… do it like that? …Right?”

The crowd is silent. I am a bit puzzled myself, to be frank. I open my mouth to respond when Jerry rushes in front of the table. “Aaand that’s the time we have today. Pre-signed books are available for purchase by the exit! Check out chapter 34!”