For all of my life, I’ve thought of myself as an introvert. I’ve been described by others as shy, reclusive, socially awkward. I remember a conversation with my mother, when she diagnosed me as “high-functioning autistic,” which at the time I thought was funny, until I later shared her diagnosis with friends and family, who took her side. Of course, I’ve never been officially diagnosed, and my mom is no doctor, but a few of the symptoms she used in her WebMD-style conclusion, were my avoidance of eye contact, my fixation on subjects others don’t care about, my difficulty in coping with change, and my inability to pick up on social cues.

That last one I find the most amusing. Sure, I don’t pick up on every social cue, but the inability of others to pick up on social cues is really what I find so difficult about people in the first place. I mean, if other people could pick up on when conversations have run their course and leave me well alone after we’re done talking, I wouldn’t have such a fear of striking up a conversation in the first place.

I think most of my friends, especially my fellow writers, would describe themselves as introverts as well. We creatives tend to be socially reclusive, quiet, introspective people who avoid other humans like the plague.

But how much of that is nature and how much is nurture?

Through much of my childhood I was bullied by other kids, even by many who I considered my closest friends. Is it any wonder I have a fear of socialization, fear of crowds, and borderline agoraphobia? Is it any wonder I suffer from panic attacks whenever the phone rings?

Perhaps, in an alternate life – a life where people had always treated me with kindness – I’d be an outgoing extrovert. After all, when I spend quality time with good people, I find myself energized, rather than drained by the effort of socializing. And conversely, after a difficult social interaction, I find myself tapped out and wanting to withdraw. Does that truly make me an introvert? Or am I an extrovert who’s simply been through one too many awkward social situations?

I have a theory. It’s a radical one, so bear with me. What if I told you…

There are no introverts, and extroversion can be learned.

Ok, I’ll admit it. It’s a bit of a “click-bait” argument-inducing blanket statement. But what do I actually mean?

Well, you’ve heard about my awkward beginnings as a shy, reclusive self-described introvert. But now, let me tell you when that all began to change.

I’ve been a writer my whole life. I started out with short stories, grew into novel writing when I was ten. I’ve mostly been writing genre fiction: dark fantasy, steampunk, and horror have always been particular interests. A few years back, I edited and published a “dreadpunk” anthology of dark steampunk and gothic horror, and in order to promote it, I contacted several local bookstores, who invited me to set up a table for book signing events.

At first it was terrifying. Anyone who walked into the bookstore could approach me, ask me anything they wanted, and linger at the table far longer than what I found socially comfortable. Definitely well outside of my comfort zone. Especially because not everyone appreciates horror. I got a lot of strange, uncomfortable reactions, including one in which I was told my book was “the devil.”

But what I realized after doing more of these events was that I was getting better at it. Not just better at selling books, but also better at simply talking to other people. At navigating both the good conversations and the bad. And more than that, I learned that I was enjoying it. I actually looked forward to spending time around other people, even other strangers.

Human beings are social animals, as much as we might wish to think otherwise. We may wish to retreat to our own homes, curl up beneath a blanket with a good book and simply hide from the world, but that only works for so long. Eventually, we need to come out and face the world.

And it got easier still. About five years ago, I started writing a children’s book series (I still write horror too), which I co-wrote. My writing partner and I started doing book signings together, and let me tell you, people respond much differently to picture books than they do to horror. I will also admit that it’s a lot easier to talk to people with a close friend than one-on-one. So after five years of book signings for picture books, I’ve gotten really good at talking to people. It’s a skill that’s translated to being better in social situations outside of the book signings too.

I function better at work, can hold a conversation with strangers, and can even fit in at parties. Sometimes.

“Wait, am I an extrovert now?”

Have I learned to be an extrovert? Can such a thing actually be learned? Or is it truly in our nature to be either or? I don’t know. But maybe all this time I’ve been thinking of myself as an introvert, I’ve been doing myself a disservice. Maybe I was just an extrovert who struggled socially because I didn’t yet have the right skills to function socially, and my awkward social interactions left me exhausted and wanting simply to avoid society altogether.

Maybe. I don’t know. But I’m not sure the labels are helping us.

After all, many of the things that have kept me from enjoying being around people are skills that can be learned with a bit of practice.

With that in mind, here are a few tips for the socially awkward introverted horror writers out there who may be thinking of ways to promote their own work:

1. Try doing a book signing. To set this up, you’ll need to talk to the store’s consignment manager. You may need to pick up the phone or visit the store in person to make this happen. This alone can be good practice for talking to other people. And remember that book store managers generally love books, so expect them to be excited about your book, and treat them accordingly. That brings me to my next point.
2. Toot your own horn. Humility works well in day-to-day conversation, and it’s tough to talk about oneself, especially in a positive way. It can come across as cocky or arrogant, but in sales, being humble doesn’t sell books. Get excited about what you’ve written, and your prospective readers will match your excitement. This can be a tough balance. Try talking positively about your books by saying the positive things your readers have said about your work and attribute those positives to your readers. “Yes, my readers absolutely love my books!” doesn’t come across as arrogant, whereas, “Stephen King isn’t that great. Read my books if you want to read some quality horror,” absolutely does come across as cocky.
3. Be friendly. I greet every customer who comes into a store with a smile and attempt to make eye contact (remember, my inability to make eye contact is something my mom cited as a reason she thought I might be autistic, so this skill can be learned). If they return your smile, say hello. This often, but not always, leads to the customer coming over to my table to see what I’m so smiley about. This gives me the chance to tell them about my books, which often, but not always, leads to a sale. Politeness goes a long way. Not just in sales, but in life. I guess that’s kind of the point. What I’ve learned from selling books is something I can take with me into my ordinary life.

I’d like to throw a challenge out there for all you socially awkward, reclusive, shy, borderline agoraphobic introverts who’d rather read the most terrifying horror story you can get your hands on than simply strike up a conversation with someone. If you’ve written a book, go do a book signing. If not, join a writing group. One that meets in person. Talk to people about your writing. I know, it’s a terrifying thought for an introvert.

But then, what if there’s an extrovert inside all of us? An extrovert who’s been buried deep down for so long we’ve forgotten them. And they’re longing to get out and see the world again.

What if I’m right? What if there are no introverts—only extroverts who haven’t quite hit their stride just yet? Isn’t it worth finding out for yourself?