“What’s your book about?” It’s an innocent enough question, and most times well meant, but it tends to send me into a minor panic.
It’s not that I don’t know the answer. Hell, I can rattle off my elevator pitch, and use my smartphone to send you a five-page synopsis, before the doors ping open for your floor.
But, somewhere deep in my shoes, I feel if I talk about my work too much, it won’t come true. The spell will be broken, and I’ll be left holding the dusty splinters of what used to be good ideas.
