Julia Quinn

Bridgerton Season 3 is over, and apparently, some viewers upset at a character change-up in the show versus the books piled onto to Julia Quinn’s socials to let her have it. Some comments got VERY ugly.

I’m mad about this because (1) hurling abuse at someone is never cool, and (2) because of what happened when I met Julia Quinn fifteen years ago. I had only two or three books out at this point, and I’d only been published about two years. My publisher was hosting a cocktail party at a convention, so attending felt like a required work function.

I don’t talk about this much, but I have pretty pronounced social anxiety. Back when I was a child, no one used that term, btw. It was just called shyness, and I was encouraged to “get over it. My social anxiety was compounded by being bulled through much of middle school, and I also developed a raging case of bulimia that lasted from age eleven until I was put in an inpatient treatment facility for it just shy of my sixteenth birthday. When I got out, I wanted to be a “normal” teen, so I’d often get drunk when I forced myself to go to parties or other public get-togethers since medicating my anxiety with alcohol was the only way I could feel anything close to comfortable in those settings.

None of this I recommend, of course.  You also might be wondering, “What the hell does this have to do with Julia Quinn?” I’m getting to that.

So, fast-forward to when I’m a newer-published author at my publisher’s cocktail party, and I don’t know anyone aside from my editor. I also hadn’t been prescribed any medication yet for high-stress social situations, and I don’t drink because I stopped using alcohol as a social crutch long ago. I also don’t smoke, and weed gummies weren’t a thing back then. So, I’m raw-dogging my stress while feeling like the new kid sitting alone in the school lunch room 😊

I’ll also add that at the time, I was the only paranormal author in a room full of historical and contemporary authors. I was also the only author writing a series that followed the same couple through multiple books (remember, this was over fifteen years ago.) I mention this because at a prior convention, two historical romance authors came up to me and told me that I Did Not Belong at Avon or any other romance publisher, and that “many” other authors thought so, too.

So, in addition to my usual tension, I also wondered if I’d be told I Didn’t Belong that night, too, and no, I wasn’t ready with a snappy comeback. I wanted to throw up instead, and not in the bulimia-relapse way. In the I’m-so-stressed-I-could-puke way.

My editor had spent the beginning of the evening with me, but of course, she eventually had to do the rounds with other people. She also didn’t know I had social anxiety because, again, I don’t talk about it. I’m not even sure if I’ve mentioned it in public before now. Anyway, I found a corner away from everyone and tried not to look like I was vibrating from nerves while mentally counting down the time until I could leave without being professionally rude. As I sat there, I watched the other people talking and laughing, and I wished I could be as happy and relaxed as they (although who knows how many of them might have been having a tough time, too?)

After about fifteen minutes of sitting alone, a lovely brunette came to my corner and sat next to me. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Julia Quinn.”

The late great Maya Angelou once said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

I don’t remember what Julia said to me after hello. I don’t remember what I said back. All I remember is that she stayed with me, chatting and putting me at ease. I had no idea who she was, either. I think I even asked her what sort of books she wrote *snort laughs*. Eventually, other people came over to our corner, and they were friendly, too. Maybe they were following Julia’s lead. Maybe they’d been friendly all along. Hell, they could have thought that I was standoffish and unfriendly because I’d avoided mingling before that. They didn’t know that I was barely holding it together.

Julia didn’t leave until I was relaxed enough to be freely chatting with the other people who’d sat down with us. Because of her, what could have been a miserable night turned into a nice one. She won’t remember this brief encounter, but Maya Angelou was right. I’ll never forget it. She helped me when I was at a low point, all when she could have just walked on by.

A very belated thank-you, Julia. The world would be a better place if more of us paused, looked at our fellow human beings, and decided to stop and be kind instead of keep on walking.

Has a stranger taken the time to be kind to you when you were low? If so, praise them here. Let’s do something different on the internet and have a KIND comment section