To Market, to Market, to market my Wares

I'm set to do a book signing at Huntcliff Summit, where my grandmother lives, on September 10th. She was kind enough to set it all up.

I should be thrilled. But there's a speech to be written. I've never been much of a public speaker.
Why, the last time I tried (2 years past) I spoke in front of 200+ people. The speech that night was for the "Taste of Alpharetta" festival, written by one of the teachers at a performing arts school I attended for a few months. (Before I decided it wasn't My Thing.) It was a cold, December night... I had to wear a suit... no proper coat. I was freezing my balls off. I was worried I would never be able to move my beautiful pinky-toe again.
Anyway, the memories still intertwine in the noodle of my head. A veil of fog covers what actually happened. I can only piece together from my mother and brothers' accounts what transpired.

Apparently, I became a completely different person. Maniacal, loud, obnoxious... It's true, I'm sure. But I pretty much blanked out when I walked onto the blindingly-bright stage. Whoever switched on the auto-pilot forgot to program in some sensibility. Let's leave it at that.

Worst of all? The local television crew that interviewed me.

Oy. Nightmarish.

Back to the present. Yes, I must needs write this speech. The writing won't be difficult. Dear, Lord! I'm trying to become an author. It'd be a friggin' tragedy if I couldn't scribble with the best of 'em.
But the speaking... well, I suppose it'll only be about 20-30 people. Maybe less.

Bah, shouldn't be too bad.

I hopes I sells some copies. Being a starving artist ain't as lucrative as the title implies.