“Let’s Open It Up to Questions from the Audience” at Every Author Interview Ever

“Hello, I have a two-part question.”

“Hello, I have a four-part question.”

“Hello, I have six one-part questions.”

“Hello, I have one question that’s really five questions packed into a single, rambling monologue.”

“Hello, I have the same question about writing that’s been answered at eight thousand previous panels.”

“Hello, I have a question that’s just an excuse to share my own brilliant thoughts and opinions.”

“Hello, I have a complaint about your book’s politics.”

“Hello, I have a complaint about that person’s complaint.”

“Excuse me, I was talking.”

“Hello, I have a question that was already asked, but I was asleep.”

“Hello, I have stuff to say about your novel’s sex scenes, which, given my general vibe, is going to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Hello, I have trouble hearing. Can you stick the entire microphone into your mouth and scream your answers?”

“Hello, I have a suggestion for how your book that’s already been published could be better.”

“Hello, I have a complaint about this Barnes & Noble.”

“Hello, I have an unhinged rant about this Barnes & Noble.”

“Hello, I have an unhinged rant about the 2024 election.”

“Hello, I have a pitch for my own novel that nobody asked for.”

“Follow-up question: Do you know anyone in publishing who might be interested?”

“You’re wrong. It’s nothing like ‘Congo.’ ”

“Hello, I have a racist interpretation of your novel.”

“Hello, I have nowhere else to go and will keep asking questions until everyone in this room passes out from dehydration.”

“Hello, I have a deeply personal and upsetting story related to your book that I shouldn’t be sharing with a bunch of strangers, plus everyone at that Starbucks.”

“Hello, I have a feeling you’re gonna pressure us to buy your book, so I’ll be sneaking out now.”

“Hello, I have two dozen copies of your previous books that I’d like you to sign so I can sell them on eBay.”

“I thought this was an A.A. meeting.”

“Hello, I’m having trouble seeing the stage. Can everyone in the audience who’s even one millimetre taller than me get on their hands and knees, crawl out of the building, and roll into the East River?”

“Hello, I have tickets to a Zadie Smith talk in twenty minutes. Are we done here?”

“Hello, I have a complaint about our neighborhood’s noise regulations, but am banned from all town halls for throwing a Keurig at an assemblywoman. So this will have to do.”

“Hello, I’m that person who brings multiple reusable shopping bags and a notebook to these things, so everyone buckle up.”

“Hello, I have to walk through here to get to this bookstore’s toy section.”

“Hello, I have a normal book question, but it’s about Clive Cussler’s ‘Crescent Dawn.’ ”

“Hello, I have a salted-caramel-cream cold brew for Billie!”

“I have to grab that. I’ll be right back.”

“Hello, I’m cold. Can you slowly crank up the temperature in this store till we all spontaneously combust?”

“Hello, does text alone determine the meaning of a work of fiction, or should we take into account the author’s intentions, the interpretations of the reader, and the sociopolitical context in which the work is being read?”

“Is there gonna be wine at this thing?” ♦