Back in the dark ages (before I understood the nature of these things) I figured finding a publisher for my book would be the biggest hurdle and most difficult part of the writing process. Well, as you know from reading my previous post, that happened on September 6 last year. One would think I’d have all sorts of time for blogging and catching up on things.
One would be wrong! Granted, finding a publisher is a huge part of the equation. I also knew (somewhere in the back of my head where life has a kind of story-book quality) that soon I’d be editing and promoting the book. What I didn’t realize was how fully it could consume a person and how I, in particular, seemed paralyzed to focus on anything else. From the moment I received the good news that I had a publisher, my brain started buzzing. What things did I need to do in preparation for the day I had the book in my hand? Who knew this would also be hard?
So it went. Each day my brain got more fevered. I needed to tell all the bookstores, “I’m on my way!” My friends at Treasure House Books in Old Town were jubilant for me and very amenable to hosting a book signing for me. Then there was my next encounter.
I was full of the enthusiasm only a newly contracted writer would understand. After years of dreams and toil, I had a book coming out. One afternoon I happened to be in the neighborhood of a store in which, over the course of thirty years, I’ve spent a lot of money. This was the first time I wanted something from them. I naively approached the first person I encountered and asked who I could speak to about buying my book. He directed me to another employee in the front of the store. I repeated my question. He informed me they took used books in each day, and that I would receive cash or store credit for turning them in.
Huh? Then I realized I was talking to the poor schlub who takes on all the outcast books from owners cleaning out their bookshelves. “No, no,” I quickly protest, “You don’t understand. I’ve written a book that is being published even as we speak, and I want you to order it from Ingram, put it on your shelves, and invite me to hold a book signing in your fair establishment.”
His raised eyebrows and weary expression (and yes, you can have both) told me I was definitely on the wrong track. “Lady, you need to talk to our manager. Maybe he can help you.”
So back I went to the bowels of the store and found the proper person. I repeated my fully rehearsed question. He heaved a huge sigh. “We only stock books by well-known authors.”
I explain that my books will be sold through the book distributor, Ingram.
He shakes his head.
“But,” says me, “I’m a local author. The book is set in Albuquerque and surrounding area. This is a book you should want on your shelves.”
“Lady,” (I’m now getting close to not fitting the description of a lady . . . at least by old school standards which require I not spew forth invectives) “we only stock books by local authors like Tony Hillerman or someone equally famous.”
I’m thinking, (thank God to myself) how the Hell do you think Tony Hillerman got to be famous if somebody didn’t stock his books so people could buy them, and he could GET famous? But instead, I smile . . . my most dazzling smile. Then he relents a tiny bit.
“Well, we allow all self-published authors and anyone who has a book to sell to come in one Saturday a month and bring their books.”
Not to be denied, I try another ploy. “How about I bring in a supply of my books that I purchase from the publisher. Then you could put them on your shelf and sell them, couldn’t you?”
I get the raised eyebrow again. These guys clearly need lessons in other facial expressions. “Sure thing, Lady. You bring them in if you want to. We don’t guarantee they won’t be stolen, though, and we aren’t liable for your losses.”
Gee, such a deal. I smile, eyes narrowed (I hope he noticed the eye thing) and thanked him. I’m out of that store and not likely to return.
I see everywhere that brick and mortar stores are having a rough time. People are buying at discount chains and on Amazon. I’m sure I won’t make a difference to that store’s bottom line. But if they can’t even stock books by local authors, then they don’t need my business.
So I’m off to talk to other, more friendly bookstores. We have several locally owned stores who seem to appreciate our local talent. I’m sure to have better luck with them. There’s also the libraries all around the area. I need to find out who to sweet talk into stocking their shelves with my book.
I hope I talk to you before next year!
2 thoughts on “And so the fun begins . . .”
I’ve read THE EASTER EGG MURDER and it is obviously a pearl too fine to caste before those swine…
Wow, Richard! Thanks for the wonderful comment. Your praise is appreciated!