Two proud stacks of The Language of Bodies decorated our dining room table when our eldest grandchild and their girlfriend came to hang out the other day. We'd opened the first box the day before, and were still enjoying the afterglow. When I went to make dinner, they both grabbed a copy, moved to the living room, and began reading.
So there I was, puttering around in the kitchen--my happy place--while two smart, funny, empathic people read my novel nearby.
It's a bit nerve-wracking having people I love read a piece as emotionally connected to me as this book is. Today's young adults are so much wiser than when I was that age, and they've got sophisticated tastes in media. The Language of Bodies is full of strange darkness, humor, and beauty, which I hope transfers from page to mind in a seamless, immersive way. But I hadn't thought about this particular audience, nor about how nervous I'd be awaiting their reaction.
I'm not sure how far along they are in the book now. Perhaps they love it. Perhaps they hate it. Either way, I'll never forget the jittery joy of stirring a pot while my work was read in the next room.
It was another once-in-a-lifetime experience, another first, and I'm elated.