What Running a Book Club for 18 Years Taught Me About Marketing

I didn't mean to start a book club.

At a pivotal moment in my personal life, I joined a women's empowerment group. I mentioned casually that I love to read and that I want to be a member of a book club. Instead of pointing me toward existing options, I was assigned to start one myself.

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I posted on MeetUp, put an ad in the paper, put up posters at the local libraries, and invited complete strangers to my house.

Forty people showed up.

It was a wintry mix in NJ that January night. My driveway was steep. I had a set of stairs outside to my main floor. We still talk about how spectacularly stupid this was. Putting your address on the Internet and opening your doors to dozens of strangers. That first meeting could have gone very differently.

But it didn't. It started something magical, and a dozen of those original women still show up now and then, 18 years later.

The moment it became real

Eighteen months in, we took a field trip to meet Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love. Our first book. An international bestseller. A woman whose work had already shaped how millions of people thought about transformation and courage. We carpooled to her local store, where she sometimes worked. And there she was.

We were starstruck. We were also there. Together.

That's when I realized this thing might last. We weren't just reading books. We were building something while building each other up. Real friendships built on a foundation of transparency and tenacity. Honesty and openness. Kindness and understanding. Magical moments.

The thing that almost killed it

Seven years in, I moved an hour away.

I'd been running this club through a house move and job changes, monthly meetings and book selections, the invisible work of keeping people coordinated and engaged. I assumed that if I stepped back, it would quietly fall apart.

I was wrong.

A few incredible members stepped up. Gracefully. Naturally. They kept it going. And here's the part that still gets me: they make a big deal when I show up in person now. They introduce me to new members as the person who started this amazing club.

They make me feel like it matters that I was there at the beginning. Making me feel, well, magical.

What book club taught me about marketing

Retention doesn't mean frozen in time.

Forty people showed up that first night. Over 18 years, we've welcomed more than 80 women through our doors. Some stayed for a season. Some moved away. Some found other communities.

A dozen from that original group still show up now and then. The regular core has shifted. New women come consistently now. We've expanded and contracted. The faces change, but the foundation holds.

That's retention in the real world. Not everyone stays forever. But enough people staying connected that the thing survives and evolves.

Community builds itself when you let it

I thought stepping back meant letting it die. Instead, it meant letting it grow beyond me.

The group morphed. New leaders emerged. Different women became the regulars. The club I started isn't the same club that exists today, and that's exactly why it still exists.

The best communities don't need a hero. They need a foundation. Once you've built that, your job is to get out of the way and let other people make it theirs.

The best ideas aren't always yours

I've learned to try things I didn't love at first. Suggestions from members that felt off-brand, complicated, and not how I would have done it. Some flopped. Others became traditions.

Flexibility matters more than being right. Listening matters more than having the best plan.

Every voice is powerful and necessary

The regulars change. Some join virtually. Some come in person. Some show up once a quarter. The club doesn't work if everyone agrees, if one person dominates, or if we optimize for efficiency over connection.

Community isn't scalable in the way we want it to be. It's messy. It requires space for every voice. And that's exactly why it works.

Stepping back is a form of leadership

I'm proud of this club. Not because I run every meeting (I don't), but because I don't have to.

The highest form of leadership is building something that doesn't need you to be involved 24/7 anymore. That survives your absence. That makes space for new people to step up and lead in ways you never would have imagined.

What I didn't expect

When I invited 40 strangers to my house on a winter night 18 years ago, I thought I was starting a book club.

I ended up with something that lasted. Women who showed up through job losses, career pivots, and cross-country moves. Divorce and marriage. Becoming grandmothers and getting cancer diagnoses. Through retirements and family crises and personal transformations. And a pandemic.

All of us live vastly different lives from when we started 18 years ago. But we come back. New women have become the regulars. The community evolved.

And all of them make me feel like I built something that mattered.

You can't plan for that. But you can make space for it.

You can show up. You can listen. You can try things that aren't your idea. You can step back when it's time.

And if you're lucky, you'll build something bigger than yourself. And that is truly magical.