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It has been eight years since I've had a book out, and the entire process has changed. We don't see galleys anymore, for example, and much of the promotion is through the internet. Before, when I had a reading, I would make up posters to put up around town myself, or mail off for others to put up. Now I'm thinking of making up a poster that can be downloaded and printed from my website.
Some things never change, however: and that's the need for a box of my books in the back of my car. I went into town today — gas, bank machine, drug store, grocery store, flower shop ... — and I was asked several times for my book. (The town is small, 600 at last count, and bookstores nonexistant.) I'd forgotten about this part of the process, this ever-so-sweet selling of books out of the trunk of a car, a tradition every writer alive has been part of. I think of Grisham, driving around the country, peddling his novels to bookstores. I think of Dickens. It wouldn't have been a car but a horse-drawn buggy ... but without a doubt, he would have had books with him.
Showing posts with label selling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label selling. Show all posts
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
On airport bookstores
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I cannot pass a bookstore without browsing, and for a few moments in a Virgin bookstore in the Vancouver airport, I loose myself in the titles. And then I wake up: I'm an author, I've a new book just published, is it on the shelves?
No.
I can't believe it. How is that possible? It's not that it's a hardcover, for they do have other hardcover fiction titles displayed, and published by my own publisher — titles not on the Maclean's best-selling fiction in Canada list for over two months, I note with angry jealousy. For a crazy moment I consider inquiring of the clerk, and imagine her saying, Oh, we just can't keep it in stock, it flies off the shelves. Instead I skulk away, pouting.
It's amazing how emotional this can be. I'm not this type of person — normally. But normally, too, I'm not on a book tour, I don't have a book out, and normally I do not have a book on anyone's best-seller list. A sense of entitlement comes quickly ... and lethally.
I remember walking in a mall with my then-young son just before my first book was to be published. Passing a bookstore I told him, "Next time we come, my book will be in that store." I realized, then, that my bookstore experience would change forever. No longer, relaxed and easy browsing. Once I had a book published, I would approach bookstores as an Author, making sure I was presentable, checking to see if my titles were on a table or shelf, and then going up to the clerk and explaining that I was the author of a book on their shelf (pointing), and offering to sign.
It's a job, what you do. My experiences have been varied, from the manager of a large store jumping up and down with enthusiasm, to an annoyed end-of-day who-needs-this response from a clerk. More and more, I'm asked to prove my identity first with an ID before being allowed to sign.
I came to see airport bookstores as the cream of the crop, and longed for the day when my books would be in one. I remember with great satisfaction when I first saw the titles of the Josephine B. Trilogy on the shelf of a bookstore in a San Francisco airport. As the Trilogy became more successful, I began to even expect to see it.
And so, grumpily, I left the Virgin bookstore in the Vancouver airport and proceeded through check-in. There was another bookstore on the way to my gate: I glanced over the shelves warily. No. No. No.
And then: yes. There is was, Mistress of the Sun stacked ever so nicely on a shelf at the front.
Happily, I got on the plane.
.
I cannot pass a bookstore without browsing, and for a few moments in a Virgin bookstore in the Vancouver airport, I loose myself in the titles. And then I wake up: I'm an author, I've a new book just published, is it on the shelves?
No.
I can't believe it. How is that possible? It's not that it's a hardcover, for they do have other hardcover fiction titles displayed, and published by my own publisher — titles not on the Maclean's best-selling fiction in Canada list for over two months, I note with angry jealousy. For a crazy moment I consider inquiring of the clerk, and imagine her saying, Oh, we just can't keep it in stock, it flies off the shelves. Instead I skulk away, pouting.
It's amazing how emotional this can be. I'm not this type of person — normally. But normally, too, I'm not on a book tour, I don't have a book out, and normally I do not have a book on anyone's best-seller list. A sense of entitlement comes quickly ... and lethally.
I remember walking in a mall with my then-young son just before my first book was to be published. Passing a bookstore I told him, "Next time we come, my book will be in that store." I realized, then, that my bookstore experience would change forever. No longer, relaxed and easy browsing. Once I had a book published, I would approach bookstores as an Author, making sure I was presentable, checking to see if my titles were on a table or shelf, and then going up to the clerk and explaining that I was the author of a book on their shelf (pointing), and offering to sign.
It's a job, what you do. My experiences have been varied, from the manager of a large store jumping up and down with enthusiasm, to an annoyed end-of-day who-needs-this response from a clerk. More and more, I'm asked to prove my identity first with an ID before being allowed to sign.
I came to see airport bookstores as the cream of the crop, and longed for the day when my books would be in one. I remember with great satisfaction when I first saw the titles of the Josephine B. Trilogy on the shelf of a bookstore in a San Francisco airport. As the Trilogy became more successful, I began to even expect to see it.
And so, grumpily, I left the Virgin bookstore in the Vancouver airport and proceeded through check-in. There was another bookstore on the way to my gate: I glanced over the shelves warily. No. No. No.
And then: yes. There is was, Mistress of the Sun stacked ever so nicely on a shelf at the front.
Happily, I got on the plane.
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