An Evening in the Hollow

I thought I was throwing one final launch party for Horseman Rising.

What I didn't realize was that I was about to experience something that would mean even more to me than the celebration itself.

People showed up.

And I don't just mean they came to enjoy the food, the drinks, the books, and the atmosphere. They showed up to help. To carry things, arrange decorations, set up displays, solve problems, and do the actual, physical, sweaty work of bringing this event to life.

At one point, I left to shower and get ready, already dreading the thought of returning to put up the enormous photo backdrop. I had so much left to do, and I was exhausted.

When I came back, it was already up.

Someone had simply taken care of it.

That might sound like a small thing. To me, it wasn't.

I've gone a very long time without feeling like I had a solid circle of friends I could truly count on. And somewhere along the way, I think I became accustomed to the idea that if something mattered to me, I would probably have to figure out how to make it happen myself.

But that night, people showed me something different.

They gave their time, their energy, their creativity, and their kindness. They didn't just come to celebrate something I'd created. They helped create the celebration with me.

And then we got to enjoy it together.

There were themed treats and drinks, candles and decorations, readings, raffles, laughter, photographs, and the surreal experience of hearing the Horseman Rising soundtrack playing throughout the bookstore.

But when I look back at these photographs, what stands out most isn't how everything looked.

It's the people.

The people who helped. The people who came. The people who stayed. The people who made me laugh, gave me gifts, shared their talents, and reminded me what it feels like to have others genuinely in your corner.

I wanted to create an unforgettable evening for everyone who came to the Hollow.

I never expected that the people who came would give me one, too.