Dear readers,

A few days ago, a friend remarked on how glamorous the various book presentations, signings, and literary awards I attend might seem.
And in part, she is right: that sparkling side does exist, at times.
More often, though, the public life of an author – the one devoted to promoting her books – is made up of hard work and quiet perseverance.

With a bit of irony in the title (I am sure you caught the music reference!), in this newsletter, I want to take you with me behind the scenes of an author’s life: through its efforts and joys, through the encounters that transform us, and the daily commitment that holds it all together. Keeping in mind that my personal philosophy is that the quality of the energy one brings ot the world always comes back in some form.

Literary prizes and distances

There’s an aspect of literary prizes that is rarely discussed: distance.

Not the symbolic one between writer and reader, but the real, tangible kind: made of kilometers, of trains caught at dawn, of tickets paid out of pocket, of trips nearly impossible to organize between family and work.

Almost always, award ceremonies take place far from where one lives, and participation – however deeply desired – becomes an inaccessible luxury.

And yet, true inclusivity should also mean this: creating conditions that allow everyone to be present, even from afar.

That’s why I was so struck by the decision of the Publio Virgilio Marone Prize, which recently informed me that I had won first place in the published poetry category.
The organizers showed great foresight by offering winners the chance to participate via video in the ceremony to be held in November.

A simple yet meaningful gesture — a sign of openness, of listening, of genuine attention toward those who, for various reasons, cannot travel but still wish to share in that moment of recognition and celebration.

As a mother of three, I have often reflected on the theme of inclusivity — and its absence.
To be inclusive does not mean only to welcome diversity in words or content, but also in the ways people are allowed to participate.

Making an experience accessible is, in truth, an act of respect for the plurality of lives.
Culture, and literature in particular, should unite, not exclude.

Book signings: between effort and encounter

These are bookstore events, often lasting an entire day, where an author meets readers, talks about their books, signs copies, and listens to the stories readers bring with them.

They are precious moments, allowing for a direct and genuine connection with those who read.
But they are also long, demanding days – not always valued as they should be.

The author devotes time, energy, and voice to promoting a book that, economically speaking, is at that moment a product of the bookstore.
The actual compensation is minimal — an average of 10% of the cover price, paid months later — while the true gain lies in visibility and human connection.

And yet, this effort isn’t always recognized: at times, one senses from the hosting bookstore a kind of indifference, as if the author’s presence were a burden rather than an added value.

It’s a pity, because a book signing truly works only when it becomes a moment of collaboration, when author and booksellers work together to create an experience of encounter and storytelling.

That’s why I want to thank Libreria Giunti al Punto in Turin, on Via Garibaldi, where I recently had a completely different experience: warm, attentive, and engaging.

The booksellers created an atmosphere of dialogue, kindly directing people toward me, inviting them to stop, chat, and discover the book.
A small gesture of cooperation that, however, changes everything.

When there is mutual respect, effort turns into pleasure — and a long day becomes something beautiful, alive, and shared.