How Writing a Book Convinced Me I'm an Introvert
Personal Perspective: Life is much easier now that I know I'm an introvert.
Posted December 8, 2025 | Reviewed by Monica Vilhauer Ph.D.
The book I wrote isn’t even about introversion . But the process dispelled any doubt about where I fall on the introvert/extrovert scale.
My project was to collect childless and childfree wisdom from academics, experts, and lay people. I talked with hundreds of people about the topic and had a ball. Extrovert, right?
Not so fast. Sure, I talked with a lot of people when I was interviewing, but most meetings were one-on-one or in groups of no more than eight participants.
In the early stage of writing, I was stimulated by the different ways I could move the project forward—researching, sourcing interviewees, and churning out piles of “shitty first drafts” (a term coined by Anne Lamott in her brilliant book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life). Decisions on what to do next were up to me, so I was never bored . Introvert.
My local library provided sanctuary in the form of a private room available only to writers. Strict rules precluded chatter, and the discipline involved in going to my “office” every day kept me focused. Introvert.
Walking to and from said library, reviewing my day and planning the next one bookended my otherwise sedentary existence. Much needed exercise got my brain going in the morning and helped shake off lethargy on my way home. Yup, introvert.
As my wordcount increased, I became just like a kid anticipating her birthday. I was singularly focused on making it to my first milestone—a completed draft.
Editing the mess was a dream—find a better word or phrase, shift paragraph order, then read the revisions aloud. I was in my happy place. In about a year’s time, I held my completed masterpiece in my hands. Oh, the joy!
Followed by fear about the tasks to come. I wanted an agent, and that involved querying them. I polished my book proposal (a business plan for nonfiction books) and spiffed up my cover letter, all fine ways to invest time in moving the work forward.
What followed was tantamount to a dating game for authors. I sent my stuff out, hoping the agents I’d targeted would bite. I went to author conferences and signed up for 15-minute speed-pitching sessions with agents in attendance. A few asked to see my completed manuscript, just like a promising first date. Their rejection letters stung.
I met my match only after a second query to the agent I really wanted to work with. Fielding publisher rejections stung a little less, thanks to my agent’s enthusiastic championing of my work. It helped that, like me, she doesn’t have kids.
We ended up signing with a hybrid publisher, which is basically a cost-sharing partnership with an experienced team. The next steps involved begging established authors to read the book and write blurbs, drafting promotional materials, and proofing galleys of the layout. I felt like a busking street musician.
After the book came out, I did some events in bookstores, colleges, and libraries. My anxiety spiked before every single one, even with beloved friends and relatives in the crowd. I relied on my old community theater experience to play a gregarious character and absorb energy from the rapt attention of an audience. It worked.
Afterwards, though, I was spent. I felt shadows creeping into the sides of my eyes as I signed books and chatted up readers. Staying in character depleted my energy bank, even as it made me feel pretty special.
Now that the post-publication hubbub has died down, I’ve had time to process the whole experience. It means the world to hold in my hands a book I wrote. My agent even sold several overseas translations. It cracks me up that I can’t read a word I wrote in the Korean and Chinese versions.
These days, put me in an intimate podcast, and I shine. Never mind the multitudes who tune in someday. I like supporting the hosts and accessing listeners who might benefit from what we have to say. My strategy for webinars and in-person panels is to yield space to other speakers until I have some nugget to add in the mix.
I’m the kind of introvert Susan Cain writes about in Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. “Introverts are capable of acting like extroverts for the sake of work they consider important, people they love, or anything they value highly.”
I now know how precious times of solitude are. When I find the being “out there” unnerving, I steal away to rejuvenate. As time goes by, I like shifting into the background, though I confess I still enjoy the rush of an occasional media hit.
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Kate Kaufmann is the author of Do You Have Kids? Life When the Answer Is No. Her work has been featured in the Washington Post , on NBC, and CBC Radio.
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This article is part of the Bringwise Psychology Journal — daily insights on human behavior, mental health, and personal growth.