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| Last weekend I attended my first, in-person book signing for my novel, which came out in June 2020 during the dark days of the pandemic. |
| I had signed thousands of books for bookstores, always sequestered with vigilant staff in otherwise deserted shops, all of us masked and distanced. All my book talks, more than 50, were online. I am grateful to every reader who has found my novel, through brick-and-mortar stores, libraries and online sites. It was not the debut I had hoped for, but there was no complaining when thousands of Americans were dying of Covid. |
| When the Barnes and Noble staff in Mentor, Ohio asked if I might be willing to join them for an event to celebrate their 20th anniversary, I jumped at the chance. They are in northeast Ohio, the setting for The Daughters of Erietown, and I had recently received the newest vaccine booster for Covid. I could meet readers! |
 | | "The Daughters of Erietown," by Connie Schultz. | | Random House | |
| For two hours, I signed readers' books and happily stood with them for photographs. Normally, I hate posing for pictures, which my loved ones have regularly condemned as the height of hypocrisy for this family photographer. Like most of you, I am still discovering how the pandemic has changed me. Apparently, I no longer care as much about being in front of the lens. |
| There was one time when I was moved to tears during this event, and it happened after a soft-spoken man stood in front of me, smiled and said, "I came from Ashtabula to see you." |
| He was referring to my hometown. I looked into his eyes and knew he was familiar, but I couldn't place him. As soon as he said his name I jumped from my seat and embraced him. |
| "You changed my life," I told him, as the crowd watched. "I became a journalist because of you." I turned to everyone in line and introduced Joe Petros, my high school guidance counselor. My eyes teared up and so did his, and a few of the customers later told me theirs did, too. |
| Connie's latest: Americans want stricter gun safety measures. Gen Z will help us get there. |
| Most of us, if we're lucky, can name at least one person who changed our lives. Mr. Petros – he said to call him Joe, but how will I ever do that? – was that person in my young life. I wrote about him in my first book because he'd had such an impact on the trajectory of my life. |
| At the beginning of my senior year in high school, Mr. Petros asked me what I wanted to study in college. I would be the first in my working-class family to go, and all I knew about college was my parents' marching orders: You go for four years, and you get a job when you graduate. |
| "Well," I said, shrugging. "I thought I'd be a social worker." |
| He rightly sensed a lack of commitment. He looked down at my test scores and tapped his finger on the page. "You're good in English, and your writing scores are great. Have you ever thought of going in journalism?" |
| He could see from my face that I was stunned. "You're going to be working for a long time," he said. "You'd better pick something you really like to do." |
| As I wrote in 2006, just like that, life happens: a sudden wide-awake flash changes not just what you are, but who you are. Until that moment in Mr. Petros' dingy office, it had never occurred to me that I could love what I do for a living. In an instant, there it was: my brand-new life. |
| Four decades later, here I am, still immersed in this profession I love, and writing novels, too. Finally, I had the chance to thank Mr. Petros for helping to launch me into the world. |
| Is there a Mr. Petros in your life, a person who believed in you before you believed in yourself? If they're still around, I hope you'll tell them sooner than I did. I am certain I will never forget the look on Mr. Petros' face when I told him how much he means to me, still. |
| — Connie Schultz |
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