Introverts in the Church is a serious book. I didn't realize I would have to remind people of this when it was published. But one of the first book reviews, by a dear friend and mentor, began thus: "Introverts in the Church. No, this isn't a joke." And here I thought the title was significantly less funny than other working titles I played with:
- Introverts in the Shack
- Three Cups of Tea...By Myself
- Blue Like Introverts
- Crazy Introvert: Overwhelmed by an Extroverted God
- Introverts in the Hands of an Extroverted God
- Good to Introvert
- Girl Meets Introvert, Keeps Looking
- The Life You've Never Wanted
- I Kissed Introverts Goodbye
- Left Behind, and Happy About It
If I were writing it now, I might try Introvert Wins and find a ragingly extroverted pastor to tweet: "Farewell Adam McHugh." (To which I would reply: "I never wanted to talk to you anyway.") Anyway, my publisher rejected those title options. I had thought we settled on a boring but descriptive option, but apparently my book title also works as a punch line.
As many authors can attest, however, after a few months of talking nonstop about your book topic, you get the writer's equivalent of the late-night giggles. Everything becomes a punch-line. You catch yourself applying the topic of your book to every conceivable situation. I started seeing introverts the way Haley Joel Osment sees dead people. As I poured the milk on my cereal, I pondered, "I wonder what type of cereal introverts prefer? Shredded Wheat has a lot of substance and depth, but Lucky Charms has layers of meaning, and the more you eat it, the more you learn about it." Then you realize that you're psychoanalyzing your cereal and you seriously consider pouring the leftover green-colored milk over your head. Yes, I went with Lucky Charms. I'm an Irish introvert. We're magically delicious.
It doesn't help when people you encounter in social media tend to reduce you to your book topic. Once I was asked to write a blog post on how introverts and extroverts can partner in ending the international orphan crisis. Granted this is one of the pressing global issues of our time, but is the fact that I need to retreat into solitude after extended social interaction really a significant factor in solving it?
Another time I tweeted that my book was selling better on Kindle than in paperback, and the first response was "Maybe introverts are just thrifty." I've received a few Facebook birthday wishes that said "Happy Birthday, introvert." Or there was the time I confessed that in college we smuggled in a student from another school to be our flag football quarterback (he was the brother of a friend and also just happened to be a Heisman trophy candidate that year) and someone replied "Totally sounds like something an introvert would do."
This happens in real life too. I haven't received as many speaking invitation as some of my peers, and I'm convinced it's because people assume that I, as a self-acknowledged introvert, will be a train wreck of a public speaker, and that I may not even be willing to leave the house. Once, when I did miraculously venture out to meet with a prominent pastor (to protect his identity I'll call him "John O" or "J. Ortberg"), he actually told me: "We made sure you would interact with as few people as possible on your walk from the church lobby to my office."
Because of all this, it's unclear to me whether this introvert thing is a genius piece of branding (in addition to being, you know, my personality type) or else an inescapable straitjacket that will limit me and make me a bit of a joke. In twenty years, will people say, "That book really changed things in evangelical culture and Adam has become a significant voice in the church"? Or will they say, in a sexy deep voice: "Adam McHugh: he is the most introverted man in the world. He doesn't always go to church, but when he does, he prefers not to talk to you."
Time will tell. Let me know what happens. I'll be at home.