“You’re So Extra”: How I Launched My Apocalyptic Novel
The book launch party for When the Trees All Burned at my local art gallery turned out to be everything I’d hoped for—and quite the opposite of my 5 a.m. anxiety spiral where I imagined speaking to an empty room. Instead, we had a standing-room-only crowd gathered in a space where apocalyptic fiction beautifully intersected with the gallery’s “Margins & Peripheries” exhibition.
The bright white walls and careful lighting of the gallery space created the perfect atmosphere—intimate yet open, protective of the artwork yet illuminating for the guests. As people arrived, they had about fifteen minutes to mingle, explore the exhibit, and visit the book table before the program began. I’ve always been passionate about bringing different creative disciplines together, which is why launching my novel in an art gallery felt so right. There’s a natural symbiosis between visual art and literature—both tell stories, challenge perceptions, and invite audiences to see the world differently. The “Margins & Peripheries” exhibition, with its exploration of society’s boundaries, provided the perfect companion to a novel that examines humanity at its most extreme edge.
My book table featured a miniature version of “Eden” (the novel’s dome) created from an upside-down fishbowl containing a brass globe, a small lion figurine I’d painted to look like brass, and a tiny copy of my book. It drew curious glances throughout the afternoon, a small visual representation of the world I’d created on the page and my own artistic offering to the gallery’s already colourful display.
Gallery director Jennifer Norman welcomed everyone with a thoughtful land acknowledgement, followed by Kimm Culkin, adult programme director from the West Grey Library who introduced me with generous words about my community engagement and writer-in-residence work. She also mentioned my self-deprecating sense of humour, which I did not hold back on demonstrating when it was my turn behind the microphone.
When I took the stage, I shared a bit about the book and why I wrote it, giving the audience context for the apocalyptic world I’d created. Then came one of the most meaningful (and obligatory) parts of any book launch—the reading. I selected a portion from Chapter One that introduces the character of Aiya to the audience, giving them their first glimpse into this complex protagonist and the difficult circumstances she faces.
What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply Aiya’s story would resonate. After the formal portion of the event, a woman approached me privately to share that she had experienced the same kind of hardships that Aiya described in the book. She told me she truly hoped Aiya would find her way out, just as she herself had. That moment crystallized something fascinating about apocalyptic narratives: while the end of the world represents the ultimate horror for some, for others—particularly those trapped in difficult circumstances—it can symbolize liberation and second chances. Sometimes, the fictional destruction of one world creates space for characters to build something better. Aiya’s journey through the apocalypse may become this reader’s mirror, reflecting her own path to freedom. (This same woman went through my daughter’s till at the grocery store a few days later and shared that she was on Chapter 10 and really enjoying the journey!)
Stay Social (a local small business) provided still and sparkling water for our refreshments, while my daughter baked delicious honey and lavender shortbread cookies for the occasion. Though I didn’t mention it at the time, these flavours perfectly complemented the novel’s themes, as honey and lavender are both produced within the Eden dome in my story (or they will as the dome becomes a full time dwelling place in Book 2) —a small, sweet connection between fiction and reality.
A special moment came when I invited my husband and son to join me on stage for what I described as a “cover” of Pocket Rochelle’s song “The Path That Takes Us Home.” With straight-faced delivery, I explained how I’d commissioned this fictional band to write a song for my series—playfully blurring the line between fiction and reality, since I had, of course, created both the band and song. During the bridge, I’d prepped the audience to respond with “We did!” each time I asked “Who did this?”—and they participated with wonderful enthusiasm.
In a moment of theatrical over-the-topness, I announced that my mother had been warned about some “questionable” content in my book. To solve this problem, I dramatically tore out every page containing anything remotely risqué from one copy, then delivered this thinner volume directly into her hands. The audience’s laughter (and the look on my mother’s face) was worth sacrificing that one book!
For the finale, I distributed small vials of Kool-Aid, explaining the novel’s concept of the Arkhive and the selection process for the 200 dome survivors. We all raised our vials in a toast “To Eden!” before drinking together—a playful yet immersive way to connect everyone to the fictional world.
The only real malfunction of the day was a dress that had developed enough static electricity to power a dome, causing my slip (only worn to protect against said static) to make occasional unscheduled appearances—but even that couldn’t dampen the warmth and enthusiasm in the room. Yes, I see it peeking out in almost every photo of myself taken that day, but let’s just call it an intentional fashion choice and move on, shall we?
If we really want to go into it, I was not wearing the outfit of my dreams. I’d had my sights set on a gorgeous little number from a vintage store in Clarksburg. It was a short black dress with gold cheetahs and POCKETS! (Cheetahs to compliment the “ROAR” in Pocket Rochelle’s song “Hold the Line” and pockets because pockets.) When the shop owner posted the dress on Instagram, I knew I had to have it. We drove the one hour distance to try it on, but alas, it was a devastating no-go. My happy compromise was I finally had a place to wear the vintage velvet made-in-Montreal blazer that I love love love and hadn’t yet worn.
As one of my writer friends was leaving, she summed up the event perfectly: “You're so extra and I love that.” Her words captured exactly what I was going for. Yes, I could have hosted a solemn, traditionally literary event with sombre readings and book signings—and there would have been nothing wrong with that approach. But despite my deep love for literature and the dark, apocalyptic themes of my novel, I'd much rather infuse these moments with warmth, laughter, and a true sense of my personality that someone might not glean from the shadows I paint across my novels.
After all, even in a story full of death and destruction, there’s room to celebrate the joy of creation itself. The event wasn’t just about introducing a book—it was about creating a memory, building community, and proving that even the end of the world can be approached with a smile. Being “extra” isn’t just fun; sometimes it’s exactly what brings a story to life.
I left with fewer books (we emptied two full boxes!), more confidence, and the reassuring knowledge that there’s a wonderful community of readers eager to venture into the apocalyptic world I’ve created. The blend of literary discussion, art appreciation, and just the right touch of theatrical performance made for a book launch that I, and those who attended, will never forget.
Upcoming events where you can see me continuing to be “extra”:
Want to invite me to your book event or book club meeting? Yes, please!
