A company once invited me to their offices to give a talk about my favourite books. They suggested I talk for half an hour or so about six books I loved. It was a literary version of Desert Island Discs. It sounded interesting as well as a deliciously hard selection to make. I like books. I’ve read more than six. I’m quite happy about giving talks. I replied, ‘hell yeah!’

So why did I feel unusually nervous on my way to the event?

I was worried because I was not an expert. I am not a ‘Literary Critic’. I found Ulysses boring and loved the Da Vinci Code. I did not belong in the lofty world of book reviewing. Despite having written several books of my own, I never think of myself as an ‘author’. What right did I have to pontificate about Good Books?

I have every right.

But I only realised this several minutes into my talk. At first, I felt a fraud as I stood up and clicked into my PowerPoint presentation. I mumbled and avoided catching the boss’s eye. 

If I am ever asked to do a similar event again, I will do a better talk. It would be more concise and articulate. More professional, perhaps, for I fear my ramblings were a little amateur. 

[A quick detour: the etymology of the word ‘amateur’ derives from being a ‘lover of’ something. That does not mean it is worse than being a professional. The spirit of the enthusiastic amateur is a vital component of this book. Do what you do because you love it. Or do what you do to the best of your ability and learn to love it. From this love and repetition will stem confidence, competence and momentum. 

So don’t play down the role of the amateur. Indeed, turning ‘pro’ – getting paid – can at times take the fun and simplicity out of what you are doing.]

Anyway, back to my stuttering PowerPoint. At some point in the talk, I noticed I was no longer nervous and began to relax. The audience was actually interested in what I was saying. They were listening carefully. Most had never read my choices of book or heard about some of the stories. 

Therefore I was more of an expert than I’d appreciated. I knew more than my audience. I had feared raised eyebrows, but the response was much more positive. At the end of the talk, a cluster of people gathered round to ask questions or thank me for introducing them to new books. And I tucked into the evening’s free beer and canapés with gusto. 

So now let me invite you to the party too.

‘Come on in! You’re very welcome. Whatever it is you are hesitant about, let me invite you to start. If you’re already on the way, I give you permission to continue at full throttle.’

It’s up to you now to decide if you’re going to turn up and shine. Whichever world you want to be a part of, just show up and get dancing.

Dithering on the edge of the dance floor looks and feels so awkward (I know that only too well…) But everyone loves the person who thinks ‘to hell with it’. The one dancing under the lights like a loon, with all their heart and soul. 

Begin to the best of your amateur ability. Work hard at it. Get better at it. Enjoy it. It’s going to be a hell of a party. You have a choice. And you have permission. 

In the next part of the book, it is time to begin.