Highlights from my weekend in Wilson

Reliving the glory days. Barton baseball alumni game 2010. Photo by Katie Wilkinson

Had a great weekend in Wilson. If I named every single awesome thing, this blog post would be longer than anything any of you should read. But there are always things, often hilarious, that happen to writers in their shameless self-promotional efforts.   

Thursday. A girl, middle school age, comes up to the table where I’m selling and signing books. “I want a book,” she says. Gives Heidi – my sister, filling in for Katie as my money girl for the night – the money. Takes a book. “You want me to sign it for you?” I ask. She sneers. “You’re not Anthony Atkinson.” Then she walks away.

Thursday. A guy comes up to me at the aforementioned signing. “So, how are you doing with the Globetrotters now?”

Friday. Crushed future writers’ dreams by pointing out how incredibly not rich I am. Spoke to three classes (Intro to Journalism and First Year Seminar at Barton College, and a mix of classes at Greenfield School). Not sure they believed me until I told them about The Ed, my ’97 Ford Explorer (Eddie Bauer Edition!) that has the paint peeling off and has holes in the steering wheel and sounds like a jet taking off because something’s messed up with the bearings in the wheels or something. (But hey, it’s got leather seats!)

Saturday. Spent all day sitting in the Barton campus bookstore. Got a great feel for what those people working the kiosks in the mall go through. Nothing’s quite as fun and depressing all at once as watching people avoid making eye contact. One guy tripped.

Saturday. A few old baseball buddies checked out the book. “Dude,” they said. “This is, like, a real book!”

Sunday. Alumni baseball game. Nothing to do with the book. (Except we sold seven copies afterwards; rockin!) But I hit a triple off my younger brother, Kramer. Yeah, that Kramer. The “Dude-you-got-drafted-by-the-New-York-Yankees” Kramer that throws 95 mph. Hit it off the right field fence. At least, I think it hit off the fence. In my memory, it’ll hit off the fence. Besides, it was mad clutch at the time. We were down 2 with men on first and second, and it tied up the game. (Alas, we ended up losing 10-5.) 

All the above really cracked me up this weekend, but there was a lot of really touching moments, too. I heard so many great stories about where people were when they saw Ant do what he did. About what it meant to them. About how excited they were to learn about his story and the person he was. Or, if they’d already read the book, about how much his story touched them and impacted their lives.

Over the past year and a half I’ve been working on this, I’ve wondered if I was crazy. I’ve wondered if I should have taken a real job and started working toward a different, more stable career. One without so much uncertainty.

Had a conversation with Albert—the father-in-law—and told him, “All this time, I’ve been wondering if this was a good idea.” This meaning spending the last year and a half on this instead of taking a “real” job. You know, one with benefits and stability and all that good stuff.

This weekend, all I felt was certainty. Felt this unquestionable sense of, “This was exactly the right idea.” It’s a fine line, the line between genius and insanity. The difference, I think, isn’t that I’m a genius. It’s that I had this idea for something, and everyone who’s supported me along the way was smart enough to guide me in the right direction. (Hence, we need new posts galore in the Awesome People Series, and soon!)

There are benefits about being a writer that money can’t buy. Working for myself is its own form of healthcare.

Great times this weekend. Got to see lots of old friends. Got to see the family. Got to talk to lots of people about the book. So stoked about the future. This was a great weekend, a great first push into the Wilson area. Just so happy and blessed to get to share this story, finally, after all this time.

That’s what writing—or any form of storytelling, or any form of creativity—is about. Sharing something that moved you, in a way that will move others. I’m so proud, and happy, and grateful, that I got to share something so great so early in my career. This, I’ve learned above all—this life, this career, this drive, this need to discover, craft, and share such stories—is not about me at all.

BONUS MATERIAL: A 1-minute documentary about the rockstar life of a published author.