From a publicist:
I had an author, “a former Oprah regular,” who wanted to “approve” the types of cars that author escorts were going to drive him around in because he didn’t want to have to get into an “old, dirty Honda.”
P.S. He ended up canceling the tour. [Quelle surprise!]
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Publicity Terrible Tale #9: Yet Another Ghastly Event
From a YA novelist:
The Educators' Night from Hell
A very good local bookstore was having an educators' night; in other words, a night where they invite local educators to meet authors of books for children, teens and 'tweens, buy those books for their classrooms and hopefully book the authors into their schools for paid, in-school presentations. A good deal, right?
Wrong. I carpooled up there with three other young adult authors, and though this store is a bit of a schlep, the good company made the drive roll quickly by. We arrived at the bookstore to find that we, along with about ten other authors, had been positioned at tables scattered throughout the place, so the educators could flow through the entire store, passing other books, stuffed animals, educational toys--i.e., distractions. Luckily, I was stationed in an area with a bunch of other authors who not only had good senses of humor, but had brought snacks. Chocolate, even.
The event began, and there were maybe twenty educators there - teachers picking up free posters and book promo freebies that publishers manufacture for their BIG books. After a short time to mingle with authors, the teachers were called to a seating area where the woman running the event--a totally clueless marketing wonk--was going to give a short presentation on all the fall books these teachers might be interested in...AND NONE OF THEM WERE OURS.
In fact, none of us were invited to present our books. We were left at our outposts, gossiping, discussing the merits of blogging and, yup, eating chocolate. Not long after the presentation, the event was over. It was, after all, a school night. My fellow carpool authors and I, plus one, went to a local eatery and drowned our sorrows in pie.
And I still sent my damn thank-you notes, thank you VERY much!
The Educators' Night from Hell
A very good local bookstore was having an educators' night; in other words, a night where they invite local educators to meet authors of books for children, teens and 'tweens, buy those books for their classrooms and hopefully book the authors into their schools for paid, in-school presentations. A good deal, right?
Wrong. I carpooled up there with three other young adult authors, and though this store is a bit of a schlep, the good company made the drive roll quickly by. We arrived at the bookstore to find that we, along with about ten other authors, had been positioned at tables scattered throughout the place, so the educators could flow through the entire store, passing other books, stuffed animals, educational toys--i.e., distractions. Luckily, I was stationed in an area with a bunch of other authors who not only had good senses of humor, but had brought snacks. Chocolate, even.
The event began, and there were maybe twenty educators there - teachers picking up free posters and book promo freebies that publishers manufacture for their BIG books. After a short time to mingle with authors, the teachers were called to a seating area where the woman running the event--a totally clueless marketing wonk--was going to give a short presentation on all the fall books these teachers might be interested in...AND NONE OF THEM WERE OURS.
In fact, none of us were invited to present our books. We were left at our outposts, gossiping, discussing the merits of blogging and, yup, eating chocolate. Not long after the presentation, the event was over. It was, after all, a school night. My fellow carpool authors and I, plus one, went to a local eatery and drowned our sorrows in pie.
And I still sent my damn thank-you notes, thank you VERY much!
Publicity Terrible Tale #8: Haunted Sleep
A touring author's worst nightmare; fortunately this really was a dream. Sent by Beverly Gray, author of the Halloween-appropriate biography ROGER CORMAN: Blood-Sucking Vampires, Flesh-Eating Cockroaches, and Driller Killers.
I was on the phone doing an early morning 30-minute radio interview to promote my book. At the midpoint, the hosts put me on hold and went to a long string of very dull commercials. At some point, I nodded off to sleep (in my dream!). When I woke up they were doing the sign-off, and I realized with horror that not only had I subjected them to dead air but I had not gotten my key points across. I tried desperately to jump back into a conversation, but of course was ignored. There's a cautionary tale in there someplace!
I was on the phone doing an early morning 30-minute radio interview to promote my book. At the midpoint, the hosts put me on hold and went to a long string of very dull commercials. At some point, I nodded off to sleep (in my dream!). When I woke up they were doing the sign-off, and I realized with horror that not only had I subjected them to dead air but I had not gotten my key points across. I tried desperately to jump back into a conversation, but of course was ignored. There's a cautionary tale in there someplace!
What Terror?
From an author in Los Angeles, the bubbling cauldron of artistic expression (and appalling behavior):
Obviously, the pluggers and the hawkers don't recognize the sensitivity of the artists that they are privileged to serve. Authors are special people who need greater latitude and understanding. They simply don't play by the mundane rules of normal society. Publicists are just going to have to grow up and accommodate the special needs of their clients. They should be awed to sit at the feet of these literary giants. So stop whining and start kowtowing.
Obviously, the pluggers and the hawkers don't recognize the sensitivity of the artists that they are privileged to serve. Authors are special people who need greater latitude and understanding. They simply don't play by the mundane rules of normal society. Publicists are just going to have to grow up and accommodate the special needs of their clients. They should be awed to sit at the feet of these literary giants. So stop whining and start kowtowing.
Publicity Terror Tale #7: More Stupid Author Tricks
From another NY inhouse publicist, who brags (rails?), "I got a million of 'em!!":
- The author who locked herself in the bookstore storage room with a bottle of Jack Daniels and wouldn't come out.
- The author who was so drunk on a local talk show she fell out of the chair during the interview on live tv.
- The author who wouldn't promote in Chicago because there was wind.
More Slicing & Dicing
Getting screwed on August 15 didn't do enough for me, despite the poetic encouragement of the Snarklings. My right middle finger has gotten more numb, and though I've regained some function in the other digits, the thumb and index finger remain weak and the ring finger partially numb. Anything requiring fine motor skills is very difficult, if not impossible: writing; using a fork, tweezers or nail clippers; turning a key; buttoning clothes; blowing (or picking) my nose...Two orthopedists, two neurologists and a neurosurgeon finally agreed that I need additional surgery. My osteopath has been saying it for months, but MDs don't want to hear what a DO thinks--even though he's been the only doc who's been, you know, actually touching me all along and not just looking at Xrays. One neurologist even rolled his eyes when I told him the osteo's opinion during our first visit. Naturally I felt compelled to point out to each and every MD that the DO had been right all along.
So tomorrow a hand & arm specialist (orthopedist #5, for those keeping track) is going to do exploratory surgery on my right arm in order to free the median nerve from the mass of scar tissue in which it's entrapped, presumably near the site of the original break.
The outpatient (aka "drive-by") procedure will be done exactly six months after the equestrian fiasco that broke my arm and so many other parts: on All Saints' Day. Here's hoping the surgeon is the saint he seems to be. I nearly plotzed when he called me at home--unprompted!--last week to ask me whether I had any questions before the surgery.
Publicity Terror Tale #6: The Librarian's Revenge
From an author who wishes to remain anonymous, for obvious reasons:
When my first book came out, my publisher's tiny publicity department arranged a series of talks at libraries and community centers around Southern California. Most of these events went very well, and I was particularly looking forward to the final talk, which was at the library in a community where I used to live.
I showed up about a half-hour early, and discovered, to my discomfort, that the librarian responsible for the author series was someone I had dated years ago, and the relationship did not end well. She spent the half-hour showing me photos of her husband and kids, and telling me how wonderful her life was, in an effort to demonstrate that she had done much, much better than me.
The time came for us to go to the room where I was to give my talk. I stacked my books neatly on a table, I arranged my notes on the lectern, I tested the sound system, and I waited for the audience to arrive. And waited. And waited.
Eventually it became clear that not one single person was going to come for my talk. My ex-girlfriend assured me that she had publicized my talk just as she publicized the other talks in the up-to-now successful series, but I can't help wondering whether she "forgot" one or two crucial steps.
Moral: A spurned librarian never forgets.
When my first book came out, my publisher's tiny publicity department arranged a series of talks at libraries and community centers around Southern California. Most of these events went very well, and I was particularly looking forward to the final talk, which was at the library in a community where I used to live.
I showed up about a half-hour early, and discovered, to my discomfort, that the librarian responsible for the author series was someone I had dated years ago, and the relationship did not end well. She spent the half-hour showing me photos of her husband and kids, and telling me how wonderful her life was, in an effort to demonstrate that she had done much, much better than me.
The time came for us to go to the room where I was to give my talk. I stacked my books neatly on a table, I arranged my notes on the lectern, I tested the sound system, and I waited for the audience to arrive. And waited. And waited.
Eventually it became clear that not one single person was going to come for my talk. My ex-girlfriend assured me that she had publicized my talk just as she publicized the other talks in the up-to-now successful series, but I can't help wondering whether she "forgot" one or two crucial steps.
Moral: A spurned librarian never forgets.
Publicity Terror Tale #5: Stupid Author Tricks
Be afraid...be very afraid. A publicist at a large New York house writes, "I don't know if I dare share these."
- The author who called me late at night, at home, while she was in a hotel in the Midwest, to complain that she didn't like her pillow.
- The author who cursed me (and the other publicist) with major F words, out in front of an audience AND the media at a midtown B&N.
- The author who was arrested on an outstanding warrant during an event in Texas.
- The author who contacted the event host to cancel an event, but didn't tell us, citing that he was sick, but all the time he was in his hotel room, and hadn't even bothered to fly to the event city. And he double billed us, claiming that he HAD gone to the other city (when hotel bills confirmed he hadn't). He's the same one who wouldn't shake hands with anyone, and insisted that nobody make eye contact with him. [Darling Husband asks: Who is this guy--the Emperor of Bookistan?]
Publicity Terror Tale #4: Another Ghastly Event
Children's and YA author Sally Keehn writes:
I was invited to speak and sign books at a well-known chain bookstore. It was part of a citywide, month-long literacy festival. I was told there'd be TV coverage, pamphlets handed out, middle schools contacted. Scores of kids and teachers would attend the program. Two weeks before the festival, I called and found out that I'd be one of FIVE authors who wrote middle-grade fiction who'd be presenting that day. Got there and was ushered back to the children's corner. There, two preschoolers sat in tiny chairs facing a tiny stage with four middle-grade authors hovering nearby, looking worried. Where was their age-appropriate audience?
Those middle-graders never appeared. Neither did the assistant book manager who'd roped all of us into coming; he was "off for the weekend." Neither did the students he'd told me he'd round up to be a part of my "Gnat Stokes Reader's Theatre." So I used my fellow authors, their relatives, my friends, the two little girls and their parents. We put on a loud show that drew the few people in the store over to our corner. At which point, the head of the citywide festival happened to come into the bookstore and wanted to find out what all the racket was about. When she saw us carrying on and making the most of our situation, she said, "Oh what fun! We plan to put on a festival next year. You must come again!"
I was invited to speak and sign books at a well-known chain bookstore. It was part of a citywide, month-long literacy festival. I was told there'd be TV coverage, pamphlets handed out, middle schools contacted. Scores of kids and teachers would attend the program. Two weeks before the festival, I called and found out that I'd be one of FIVE authors who wrote middle-grade fiction who'd be presenting that day. Got there and was ushered back to the children's corner. There, two preschoolers sat in tiny chairs facing a tiny stage with four middle-grade authors hovering nearby, looking worried. Where was their age-appropriate audience?
Those middle-graders never appeared. Neither did the assistant book manager who'd roped all of us into coming; he was "off for the weekend." Neither did the students he'd told me he'd round up to be a part of my "Gnat Stokes Reader's Theatre." So I used my fellow authors, their relatives, my friends, the two little girls and their parents. We put on a loud show that drew the few people in the store over to our corner. At which point, the head of the citywide festival happened to come into the bookstore and wanted to find out what all the racket was about. When she saw us carrying on and making the most of our situation, she said, "Oh what fun! We plan to put on a festival next year. You must come again!"
Monday, October 30, 2006
Publicity Terror Tale #3
From author Marta Randall:
One of the darker and more amusing moments in my putative career came at a large book-signing where I was seated next to Stephen King. This seating arrangement is not good for a writer's ego, but King was charming and funny and did what he could to minimize the fact that perhaps 10 people, through the course of the evening, asked for my autograph, while his line stretched out the door, around the block, and into the neighboring state. After quite a while he started suggesting to the assembled fans that things would go a good deal faster if he let me sign some of his books for him. The expressions on the faces before us were pure gold, and if I ever doubted King's ability to horrify with a few well-chosen words, those doubts were put to rest forever.
One of the darker and more amusing moments in my putative career came at a large book-signing where I was seated next to Stephen King. This seating arrangement is not good for a writer's ego, but King was charming and funny and did what he could to minimize the fact that perhaps 10 people, through the course of the evening, asked for my autograph, while his line stretched out the door, around the block, and into the neighboring state. After quite a while he started suggesting to the assembled fans that things would go a good deal faster if he let me sign some of his books for him. The expressions on the faces before us were pure gold, and if I ever doubted King's ability to horrify with a few well-chosen words, those doubts were put to rest forever.
Publicity Terror Tale #2
From an independent publicist, who notes, "I have too many of these stories in the past few years":
On the morning of BEA's opening day, I'm standing in the office of a producer at NPR in Washington, whom I know quite well. Also in the office is a client. He had been in Washington a couple weeks earlier and I had set up a lunch meeting with him and the producer. Although his book wasn't going to be featured on NPR, he was; he'd written an offbeat essay that worked perfectly as a weekend feature. So while he can't plug his book, per se, he still gets on the national airwaves.
So there we all are: He's all wound up and ready to tape his piece, and I'm standing there complaining that I wasn't really excited about BEA, and how I'd have to be perky and upbeat and get in there and sell myself--and I just wasn't looking forward to it.
Author pipes up and says: "Maybe you don't have the right personality for this job."
The producer and I stare at each other. I was so taken aback, I can't quite remember if I said what I was thinking: If I didn't have the right personality for the job, you wouldn't be standing here in this office, you jerk.
The producer says something about how she'd rather hear from me than most people from the houses in New York, and she walks me down the stairs to the door.
I say to her, "I can't believe he said that." She says, "Yes, his arrogance knows no bounds."
And I have never spoken to him since.
On the morning of BEA's opening day, I'm standing in the office of a producer at NPR in Washington, whom I know quite well. Also in the office is a client. He had been in Washington a couple weeks earlier and I had set up a lunch meeting with him and the producer. Although his book wasn't going to be featured on NPR, he was; he'd written an offbeat essay that worked perfectly as a weekend feature. So while he can't plug his book, per se, he still gets on the national airwaves.
So there we all are: He's all wound up and ready to tape his piece, and I'm standing there complaining that I wasn't really excited about BEA, and how I'd have to be perky and upbeat and get in there and sell myself--and I just wasn't looking forward to it.
Author pipes up and says: "Maybe you don't have the right personality for this job."
The producer and I stare at each other. I was so taken aback, I can't quite remember if I said what I was thinking: If I didn't have the right personality for the job, you wouldn't be standing here in this office, you jerk.
The producer says something about how she'd rather hear from me than most people from the houses in New York, and she walks me down the stairs to the door.
I say to her, "I can't believe he said that." She says, "Yes, his arrogance knows no bounds."
And I have never spoken to him since.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Publicity Terror Tale #1
For Halloween every year, I send around true book publicity horror stories that I collect from authors, publicists and booksellers. Here is the first, by the self-proclaimed Queen of Bad Signings. Feel free to email me your scary (scarring) story: {bella at bookpromotion101 dot com}.
My Anonymous, Harrowing Horror Story About Booksignings
Once upon a time, a long time ago, an author traveled many, many miles to read and sign books at a bookstore that had called her up and asked her to be the guest of honor at the Saturday morning story hour. When the author arrived, there was no sign announcing her appearance in the window, or on the door, or by the cash register. The author's books were not in the front window. Instead, they were stacked on a tiny table at the back of the store, behind a bookcase, adjacent to the bathroom.
After settling in, the author went to the kiddie korner, where she read to a small group of cavorting kids and caffeine-swilling parents. The author sat, waiting for someone to announce the store's super-duper special guest. But eventually, she gave up and began reading on her own. The owner, of course, wasn't there to do it, and the employees up front were busy with whatever they were busy with... Anyway, after a breathtaking performance of all the book titles on said signing table, the story-hour crowd was so enthralled they immediately went over to the media tie-in titles and stuffed animals and comic books, and bought those instead of the author's books.
Because the story hour was early in the morning, the bookstore owner had asked the author to stay longer than her standard two-hour signing time, so the author did. The next two-and-a-half hours consisted of meeting folks who were intrigued by the author's books, asking all sorts of questions about them, and paging through all the cute illustrations, and then declining to buy one because: "Oh? This is for a child up to 8 years old? My nephew is 7 already, and I can't buy a book that will be no good in just one year." Or, "My niece just LOVES books about kitties. But, she has too many. Don't want to buy her any more!"
After three hours and three books sold, it was time to call it a day. The author said her goodbyes and thank-you's, and went out the door to the parking lot where she'd been told to park her trusty van upon arrival. And...HORRORS! EEK! What was there on the windshield but...a PARKING TICKET?
The author rushed back inside, in tears, certain that the store would make things right. The employees were already loading the author's books into boxes for return to some warehouse Never-Neverland. When asked about the parking ticket, said employees didn't really seem surprised, having apparently watched the ticket being placed there earlier in the day. As they informed the author, people get tickets there all the time. It's only 90-minute parking and very strictly enforced. "No kidding!" the author exclaimed.
The author asked if they were going to reimburse her for the ticket, since the owner had instructed her to park in that very spot, while fully aware that the author would be there for three-plus hours. "No way!" they replied. A phone call to the owner seconded their opinion. In fact, she said, the author should have known better.
And that, dear reader, is how one struggling author managed to spend a tank of gas AND a hefty parking fine in order to earn royalties on three hardcover picture books one fine spring day!
My Anonymous, Harrowing Horror Story About Booksignings
Once upon a time, a long time ago, an author traveled many, many miles to read and sign books at a bookstore that had called her up and asked her to be the guest of honor at the Saturday morning story hour. When the author arrived, there was no sign announcing her appearance in the window, or on the door, or by the cash register. The author's books were not in the front window. Instead, they were stacked on a tiny table at the back of the store, behind a bookcase, adjacent to the bathroom.
After settling in, the author went to the kiddie korner, where she read to a small group of cavorting kids and caffeine-swilling parents. The author sat, waiting for someone to announce the store's super-duper special guest. But eventually, she gave up and began reading on her own. The owner, of course, wasn't there to do it, and the employees up front were busy with whatever they were busy with... Anyway, after a breathtaking performance of all the book titles on said signing table, the story-hour crowd was so enthralled they immediately went over to the media tie-in titles and stuffed animals and comic books, and bought those instead of the author's books.
Because the story hour was early in the morning, the bookstore owner had asked the author to stay longer than her standard two-hour signing time, so the author did. The next two-and-a-half hours consisted of meeting folks who were intrigued by the author's books, asking all sorts of questions about them, and paging through all the cute illustrations, and then declining to buy one because: "Oh? This is for a child up to 8 years old? My nephew is 7 already, and I can't buy a book that will be no good in just one year." Or, "My niece just LOVES books about kitties. But, she has too many. Don't want to buy her any more!"
After three hours and three books sold, it was time to call it a day. The author said her goodbyes and thank-you's, and went out the door to the parking lot where she'd been told to park her trusty van upon arrival. And...HORRORS! EEK! What was there on the windshield but...a PARKING TICKET?
The author rushed back inside, in tears, certain that the store would make things right. The employees were already loading the author's books into boxes for return to some warehouse Never-Neverland. When asked about the parking ticket, said employees didn't really seem surprised, having apparently watched the ticket being placed there earlier in the day. As they informed the author, people get tickets there all the time. It's only 90-minute parking and very strictly enforced. "No kidding!" the author exclaimed.
The author asked if they were going to reimburse her for the ticket, since the owner had instructed her to park in that very spot, while fully aware that the author would be there for three-plus hours. "No way!" they replied. A phone call to the owner seconded their opinion. In fact, she said, the author should have known better.
And that, dear reader, is how one struggling author managed to spend a tank of gas AND a hefty parking fine in order to earn royalties on three hardcover picture books one fine spring day!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Wisdom from the Front Lines
Micah Nathan's Tour Blog, cited yesterday, includes this gem from June 9, 2005:
What a refreshing counterbalance to all those articles by newbie authors whingeing about their rotten book tours, which are constantly cropping up on Slate and elsewhere. Yay, Micah!
Strange how art—even a solitary art like writing—creates human connection. I am continuously amazed that more authors don't talk about the profundity of connecting with one's audience at these readings. Most of what I read from various authors is melancholic, bitter complaint. "Only two people showed up...when they introduced me they botched my name...nobody bought the book..."Count yourself fortunate those two people cared enough about your art to donate their time. It's your book. You're the expert on it. Act like one and don't be ashamed to show your love.
Monday, October 23, 2006
"What If They Ask Me That Question?"
An author on one of the forums at Readerville.com worried that audiences at her readings would grill her about a particular sex scene in her novel. Katharine Weber (Triangle, The Little Women, etc.) posted the following response, which I think is pertinent to any writer, no matter what genre. The last three sentences are well worth keeping in mind during any interview or public talk.
Sometimes when we go out in the world to talk about our fiction, it is helpful and important to remember that we are not our books. We are going out to talk about the writing, not to talk about ourselves. We are not the characters in our books even if readers think we are, and even if they think our characters have written our books. It is up to us to control how we want to discuss what we have written. If the right questions aren't asked, we can still take the discussion in any direction we choose. There is no question anyone can ask that cannot be answered intelligently with something you want to say about your book or your writing.
Report from the Front Lines II
Today I sent out a call on my newsletter for more book tour tales, along the lines of Sally Nemeth's Virgin Voyage in Book Tour Land. Book Promotion 101 alum Micah Nathan, author of Gods of Aberdeen, immediately obliged with the assessment below.
Overall my tour was a blast. I had a couple very small (4 people) crowds, but even those were fun because I turned them into writing seminars. My Italian publisher flew me to Milan for a whirlwind press junket, and that rocked. The Europeans treat authors like celebs, even no-names like me. I was the David Hasselhoff of Italy...minus the chest hair, of course.
Once my book came off the shelves to make room for the next wave of hopefuls, I decided to start marketing myself to local colleges. (I live in Boston, so the choices are endless.) My approach: contact the college's creative writing club (usually they publish the college literary magazine), flash my credentials as a published author, and offer to speak for free in exchange for being allowed to hawk my books.
Thousands of books sold? Not quite, but a box at every gig, and a chance to remind myself why I got into this crazy career in the first place: connection with one's audience. I'll spend 2 hours lecturing, fielding questions, and riffing on the publishing world, and by the end I'll have sold my product without emphasizing the product itself. Because at those types of events, the author is the product. On the shelves, your book jacket is the voice. In person, it's all you.
I'm really into the public speaking thing so maybe that approach won't work for everyone. But it's so damn fun.
[Note: Micah is such an engaging and funny speaker, he could sell shoes to snakes.]
No horror stories I can think of, but at a signing in Buffalo a gentleman came to my table with a stack of about nine books and asked me to sign them. Great, except not one of the books was mine. Clancy, Grisham, etc.. I pointed this out and he said, "This is an author signing, right?" I couldn't argue with him, so I signed every one.
P.S. A more detailed account can be found at my Tour Blog.
[Ya gotta read about his interview with an Italian teen magazine. The New York Review of Books should ask such trenchant questions.]
Overall my tour was a blast. I had a couple very small (4 people) crowds, but even those were fun because I turned them into writing seminars. My Italian publisher flew me to Milan for a whirlwind press junket, and that rocked. The Europeans treat authors like celebs, even no-names like me. I was the David Hasselhoff of Italy...minus the chest hair, of course.
Once my book came off the shelves to make room for the next wave of hopefuls, I decided to start marketing myself to local colleges. (I live in Boston, so the choices are endless.) My approach: contact the college's creative writing club (usually they publish the college literary magazine), flash my credentials as a published author, and offer to speak for free in exchange for being allowed to hawk my books.
Thousands of books sold? Not quite, but a box at every gig, and a chance to remind myself why I got into this crazy career in the first place: connection with one's audience. I'll spend 2 hours lecturing, fielding questions, and riffing on the publishing world, and by the end I'll have sold my product without emphasizing the product itself. Because at those types of events, the author is the product. On the shelves, your book jacket is the voice. In person, it's all you.
I'm really into the public speaking thing so maybe that approach won't work for everyone. But it's so damn fun.
[Note: Micah is such an engaging and funny speaker, he could sell shoes to snakes.]
No horror stories I can think of, but at a signing in Buffalo a gentleman came to my table with a stack of about nine books and asked me to sign them. Great, except not one of the books was mine. Clancy, Grisham, etc.. I pointed this out and he said, "This is an author signing, right?" I couldn't argue with him, so I signed every one.
P.S. A more detailed account can be found at my Tour Blog.
[Ya gotta read about his interview with an Italian teen magazine. The New York Review of Books should ask such trenchant questions.]
Monday, October 09, 2006
Schadenfreude
According to Wikipedia, the German word meaning "pleasure taken from someone else's misfortune" has no direct English equivalent. Maybe not, but Clive James illustrates it perfectly in his poem, "The Book of my Enemy Has Been Remaindered."
Willkommen, Bienvenue
So instead of reading about pre-WWI smalltown France, I'm now reading about pre-WWII urban Germany. THE BERLIN STORIES by Christopher Isherwood, to be exact. And as I discovered this evening, a marvelous accompaniment is Ute Lemper singing Kurt Weill. I hardly ever read with the TV on, but this time I put on the DVD of Lemper (courtesy of Netflix) and happily immersed myself in Isherwood's world. Even the weather is Berlin-ish: chilly, overcast and damp. Maybe tomorrow I'll read to "The Threepenny Opera"-- or if I start feeling too cheerful, to Lou Reed's "Berlin."
Proust v. Stander
Marcel wins by a knockout. In fact, several of them. I tried, I really really tried. But day or night, SWANN'S WAY put me to sleep. Its torrential verbiage wore me out and left me hungry--not for a tea-soaked madeleine, but for the lean clarity of THE GREAT GATSBY or the finely wrought sensuality of Colette. The ultimate sign of my defeat is that I moved the two copies of the book (I thought I'd do better with the new translation after the Dover edition proved unreadable) from my bedside pile to an upper shelf in the living room. Onward and upward...literally.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Report from the Front Lines
Author, playwright and screenwriter Sally Nemeth took my Book Promotion 101 workshop in Los Angeles, her current hometown, this past January. She just returned from her first book tour, and offered to share her marvelous account of it here.
My Virgin Voyage into Book Tour Land
by Sally Nemeth
My book, The Heights, the Depths and Everything in Between, (Knopf), came out this past July. I had a great local launch party and signing here at Skylight Books in LA, and sold lots of books to my friends. And then what? OF COURSE my friends are going to buy my book. They're my FRIENDS. How do I get perfect strangers to do the same? Well, tour the damn thing, I guess. But where to begin?
Even though the book is set in Delaware, and that great small state will be next on the itinerary, my fabulous publicist, Paula Singer, and I had decided that we'd begin my book tour in Birmingham, Alabama, since it is a) where my family lives, so I can not only visit with them, but I can STAY with them; b) a smallish market, so getting press shouldn't be too difficult; c) a place where I have an existing relationship with schools so I can easily arrange school visits; and d) a destination to which I can use my boyfriend's frequent flier miles. So aside from the petsitter and the airport parking, the trip would be, miraculously, FREE.
I arrived in Birmingham on a Tuesday night after rising at 4AM to catch a 7AM flight. This is the problem with living in Los Angeles: unless you're flying WEST, to say, HAWAII (dream on), you're losing time, so a travel day east is a lost day. Paula had managed to get me an interview with the local NPR affiliate, WBHM, but the only time they could talk to me was at 8:30 AM Wednesday; so, sleep deprived and gravel voiced, I did my interview. I'm not sure what I said, but I'm sure it can be artfully edited. It hasn't aired yet, but will eventually on their arts magazine show, Tapestry. Tune in online, if you so desire. I make no promises as to my coherence.
By the way, the theory that since Birmingham is such a small market that press should be easy to get -- not true. Birmingham, for all its charms, has pretentions of being Atlanta, a cultural bastion and the de facto capital of the Deep South. Not that Birmingham doesn't have culture. It's got a decent symphony, good museums, a nationally recognized high school for the arts (and more on that later). But it ain't Atlanta. Still, the arts reporters couldn't have cared less, even with the home-town-girl-makes-good angle. My mother kept going on and on about how much press John Green -- fellow alum of my high school (though decades after me) and fellow YA writer -- got when HE was in Birmingham flogging his book. I had to point out to her that he SET his book in Birmingham. And then he won every award known to man. Enough said.
Anyway, after my WBHM interview and some down time, it was off to the Alabama School of Fine Arts to talk to the writing students and faculty there, about 100 folks in all. I had gone to ASFA for a blessed year in '74 when I first moved to Alabama, and it is a phenomenal school. Since that time, it has added a math and science wing, and those brainiac students win national awards with alarming regularity. I told the writing students about the old days at ASFA when we went to class in the semi-demolished dorm of a local college campus and were roundly despised by the college students, and the kids pored over my old '74-'75 annual, wisely supplied by my sister Carolyn -- a BIG hit. The clothes, the hair. They couldn't get enough of it.
I talked about my career as a writer, did a seventies trivia quiz (the book is set in the 70's, all trivia questions relate to the book, and I award correct answers with sallynemeth.com pencils, not found in any store), read from the book, and then opened it up for questions. It was a complete barrage. I hadn't expected it. Not only did they want to know about the writing of the book, and -- yup -- what the school was REALLY like in the 70's (even though they had photographic evidence), they also wanted to know about the writing life, and how I've managed to make a living at it for 15 years. I'm not even sure myself how I've managed, but I faked it good. They were great. Afterward, the owner of the Little Professor Bookstore in Homewood was there to sell books, and sold all of ONE. It seems the ASFA folks didn't tell the kids she'd be there, so none of them had a dime. But a faculty member bailed me out and bought a book so I didn't feel so very lost and lonely.
The next morning was Indian Springs School, my alma mater, and the campus immortalized in John Green's Printz Award-winning novel, Looking for Alaska. There, I spoke to the entire student body -- about 300 high schoolers. After an embarassing intro by my old English and drama teacher, Mr. Ellis, where he READ FROM ONE OF MY OLD PAPERS (God, do teachers save EVERYTHING?), I again talked, did the 70's trivia quiz (it goes over BIG every time), read and answered questions. This time, aside from wanting to know about the book and about my stint writing for "Law & Order," the kids wanted to know about -- yup - ISS back in the 70's. And, again, they were great. And THESE kids had credit cards. The woman from Little Professor was there again, and sold out two cases of books. I felt much better for her, after having schlepped the books to TWO event, that she sold 'em out.
That afternoon was my public signing at a local indie bookstore, Milestone Books, that was lovely, but the owner, Linda, a really wonderful woman, was a tad overworked and scattered. In fact, she had ENTIRELY FORGOTTEN I was doing a reading there until Paula -- who had booked the reading in July -- called her a week before to confirm. Oops. Still, she rallied, and sent out letters and e-mails to her teen reading group. Bless, her, she even got phone orders for the book and ended up having to reorder, since we sold her out of two cases as well. So, aside from family and friends, I did have some complete strangers there -- book lovin' teens -- who not only bought the book, but one of them read it THAT VERY NIGHT. And how do I know this?
Well, the next day, I visited my niece Lily and nephew Carter's middle school, and talked to the 100 or so students in their 7th grade "pod". Which I guess makes them pod people. But that same girl was there, and told me she'd devoured the book overnight -- probably reading under the covers, right? And haven't we all, when riveted to a book? I was totally flattered. The kids were amazing, through the talk, the trivia quiz and the reading. And then they asked incredibly insightful questions -- stunning from 7th graders. And I do know the level of 7th grade discourse. (In fact, Lily & Carter, who are cousins, have a movie posted right now on YouTube called "Things that Hurt Carter." Look it up if you want a good dose of 7th grade humor.) The leader of their pod, Mrs. Montgomery, was even surprised by the depth of their questions. Though there was no bookseller there, I did donate a copy to the school library and hand out book cards, so I'm sure I'll get a reader or two. Eventually.
I had a weekend with family -- nieces, nephews, sisters, parents, dogs, cats -- then on Monday I went to Atlanta to what is probably the best children's bookstore I've ever visited: Little Shop of Stories in Decatur. Amazing store. The manager, Terra McVoy, had her teen reading group read the book, so we sat on a sofa while the kids had some after-school ice cream from the lunch counter in the store, and I finally got to discuss the book with kids who had actually read it. It was wonderful. Prior to this, it had all been about introducing the book and getting people to buy it. Now I was talking with actual readers, and they had some interesting thing to say.
And here's what all kids want to know: Who am I in the book? And I have to tell them the truth: I'm every character. I have to be. If I can't get inside every character and inhabit them, they aren't real for me. So there's something of me in every character.
Before I left Atlanta, I signed some stock for Terra and we talked about the possibility of having me participate in next year's Decatur Book Festival, sponsored by the Atlanta Journal Constitution, which would be great if it could happen. I returned to LA the next morning, tired, entirely out of book cards and sallynemeth.com pencils, and happy for the experience.
And what has it taught me, my Virgin Voyage in Book Tour Land? Next time, more lead time -- Paula and I are now working toward having me tour Delaware and Chicago, but are planning for the spring. It gives bookstores more time to hook into schools, a YA writer's bread and butter.
But the biggest thing it has taught me is that no matter how great the internet is and how many venues and avenues there are for getting yourself and your book out there via the ether, there is nothing like doing it face to face. Not only did I need to get really clear about my book and how to present it to a living, breathing audience of teens and 'tweens, but then their energy and enthusiasm sent me home with more enthusiasm and energy of my own. And that is the greatest gift of the traditional book tour.
There's no substitute for doing it LIVE.
My Virgin Voyage into Book Tour Land
by Sally Nemeth
My book, The Heights, the Depths and Everything in Between, (Knopf), came out this past July. I had a great local launch party and signing here at Skylight Books in LA, and sold lots of books to my friends. And then what? OF COURSE my friends are going to buy my book. They're my FRIENDS. How do I get perfect strangers to do the same? Well, tour the damn thing, I guess. But where to begin?
Even though the book is set in Delaware, and that great small state will be next on the itinerary, my fabulous publicist, Paula Singer, and I had decided that we'd begin my book tour in Birmingham, Alabama, since it is a) where my family lives, so I can not only visit with them, but I can STAY with them; b) a smallish market, so getting press shouldn't be too difficult; c) a place where I have an existing relationship with schools so I can easily arrange school visits; and d) a destination to which I can use my boyfriend's frequent flier miles. So aside from the petsitter and the airport parking, the trip would be, miraculously, FREE.
I arrived in Birmingham on a Tuesday night after rising at 4AM to catch a 7AM flight. This is the problem with living in Los Angeles: unless you're flying WEST, to say, HAWAII (dream on), you're losing time, so a travel day east is a lost day. Paula had managed to get me an interview with the local NPR affiliate, WBHM, but the only time they could talk to me was at 8:30 AM Wednesday; so, sleep deprived and gravel voiced, I did my interview. I'm not sure what I said, but I'm sure it can be artfully edited. It hasn't aired yet, but will eventually on their arts magazine show, Tapestry. Tune in online, if you so desire. I make no promises as to my coherence.
By the way, the theory that since Birmingham is such a small market that press should be easy to get -- not true. Birmingham, for all its charms, has pretentions of being Atlanta, a cultural bastion and the de facto capital of the Deep South. Not that Birmingham doesn't have culture. It's got a decent symphony, good museums, a nationally recognized high school for the arts (and more on that later). But it ain't Atlanta. Still, the arts reporters couldn't have cared less, even with the home-town-girl-makes-good angle. My mother kept going on and on about how much press John Green -- fellow alum of my high school (though decades after me) and fellow YA writer -- got when HE was in Birmingham flogging his book. I had to point out to her that he SET his book in Birmingham. And then he won every award known to man. Enough said.
Anyway, after my WBHM interview and some down time, it was off to the Alabama School of Fine Arts to talk to the writing students and faculty there, about 100 folks in all. I had gone to ASFA for a blessed year in '74 when I first moved to Alabama, and it is a phenomenal school. Since that time, it has added a math and science wing, and those brainiac students win national awards with alarming regularity. I told the writing students about the old days at ASFA when we went to class in the semi-demolished dorm of a local college campus and were roundly despised by the college students, and the kids pored over my old '74-'75 annual, wisely supplied by my sister Carolyn -- a BIG hit. The clothes, the hair. They couldn't get enough of it.
I talked about my career as a writer, did a seventies trivia quiz (the book is set in the 70's, all trivia questions relate to the book, and I award correct answers with sallynemeth.com pencils, not found in any store), read from the book, and then opened it up for questions. It was a complete barrage. I hadn't expected it. Not only did they want to know about the writing of the book, and -- yup -- what the school was REALLY like in the 70's (even though they had photographic evidence), they also wanted to know about the writing life, and how I've managed to make a living at it for 15 years. I'm not even sure myself how I've managed, but I faked it good. They were great. Afterward, the owner of the Little Professor Bookstore in Homewood was there to sell books, and sold all of ONE. It seems the ASFA folks didn't tell the kids she'd be there, so none of them had a dime. But a faculty member bailed me out and bought a book so I didn't feel so very lost and lonely.
The next morning was Indian Springs School, my alma mater, and the campus immortalized in John Green's Printz Award-winning novel, Looking for Alaska. There, I spoke to the entire student body -- about 300 high schoolers. After an embarassing intro by my old English and drama teacher, Mr. Ellis, where he READ FROM ONE OF MY OLD PAPERS (God, do teachers save EVERYTHING?), I again talked, did the 70's trivia quiz (it goes over BIG every time), read and answered questions. This time, aside from wanting to know about the book and about my stint writing for "Law & Order," the kids wanted to know about -- yup - ISS back in the 70's. And, again, they were great. And THESE kids had credit cards. The woman from Little Professor was there again, and sold out two cases of books. I felt much better for her, after having schlepped the books to TWO event, that she sold 'em out.
That afternoon was my public signing at a local indie bookstore, Milestone Books, that was lovely, but the owner, Linda, a really wonderful woman, was a tad overworked and scattered. In fact, she had ENTIRELY FORGOTTEN I was doing a reading there until Paula -- who had booked the reading in July -- called her a week before to confirm. Oops. Still, she rallied, and sent out letters and e-mails to her teen reading group. Bless, her, she even got phone orders for the book and ended up having to reorder, since we sold her out of two cases as well. So, aside from family and friends, I did have some complete strangers there -- book lovin' teens -- who not only bought the book, but one of them read it THAT VERY NIGHT. And how do I know this?
Well, the next day, I visited my niece Lily and nephew Carter's middle school, and talked to the 100 or so students in their 7th grade "pod". Which I guess makes them pod people. But that same girl was there, and told me she'd devoured the book overnight -- probably reading under the covers, right? And haven't we all, when riveted to a book? I was totally flattered. The kids were amazing, through the talk, the trivia quiz and the reading. And then they asked incredibly insightful questions -- stunning from 7th graders. And I do know the level of 7th grade discourse. (In fact, Lily & Carter, who are cousins, have a movie posted right now on YouTube called "Things that Hurt Carter." Look it up if you want a good dose of 7th grade humor.) The leader of their pod, Mrs. Montgomery, was even surprised by the depth of their questions. Though there was no bookseller there, I did donate a copy to the school library and hand out book cards, so I'm sure I'll get a reader or two. Eventually.
I had a weekend with family -- nieces, nephews, sisters, parents, dogs, cats -- then on Monday I went to Atlanta to what is probably the best children's bookstore I've ever visited: Little Shop of Stories in Decatur. Amazing store. The manager, Terra McVoy, had her teen reading group read the book, so we sat on a sofa while the kids had some after-school ice cream from the lunch counter in the store, and I finally got to discuss the book with kids who had actually read it. It was wonderful. Prior to this, it had all been about introducing the book and getting people to buy it. Now I was talking with actual readers, and they had some interesting thing to say.
And here's what all kids want to know: Who am I in the book? And I have to tell them the truth: I'm every character. I have to be. If I can't get inside every character and inhabit them, they aren't real for me. So there's something of me in every character.
Before I left Atlanta, I signed some stock for Terra and we talked about the possibility of having me participate in next year's Decatur Book Festival, sponsored by the Atlanta Journal Constitution, which would be great if it could happen. I returned to LA the next morning, tired, entirely out of book cards and sallynemeth.com pencils, and happy for the experience.
And what has it taught me, my Virgin Voyage in Book Tour Land? Next time, more lead time -- Paula and I are now working toward having me tour Delaware and Chicago, but are planning for the spring. It gives bookstores more time to hook into schools, a YA writer's bread and butter.
But the biggest thing it has taught me is that no matter how great the internet is and how many venues and avenues there are for getting yourself and your book out there via the ether, there is nothing like doing it face to face. Not only did I need to get really clear about my book and how to present it to a living, breathing audience of teens and 'tweens, but then their energy and enthusiasm sent me home with more enthusiasm and energy of my own. And that is the greatest gift of the traditional book tour.
There's no substitute for doing it LIVE.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
L'Shana Tovah
No High Holy Days services for me this year. I can't sit for long, nor without major squirming, due to continuing problems with my right arm. (More surgery may be in the offing.)
Still, I got into the New Year mood yesterday morning with the Rocky Mountain News, whose editor offered what may have been the first newspaper mention of Rosh Hashana in Colorado, along with a classic example of half-assed reporting. From the Rocky, Sept. 21, 1865 (all spellings are verbatim):
Still, I got into the New Year mood yesterday morning with the Rocky Mountain News, whose editor offered what may have been the first newspaper mention of Rosh Hashana in Colorado, along with a classic example of half-assed reporting. From the Rocky, Sept. 21, 1865 (all spellings are verbatim):
To day is some sort of holliday for the Jewish persuasion, unknown to us gentiles. Business houses kept by that class in town are closed from 'rosy morn 'till dewey eve.'"Apparently someone of the Jewish persuasion paid a call to Geo. West, author of the above--or maybe to his boss, who I hope chewed him out for his laziness--because the next day this item ran in the Rocky (again verbatim):
Yesterday was the opening of the Jewish year 5626, and consequently was a gal-aday with our Jewish residents. Ten days thereafter comes the day of atonement, which is kept by fasting. This will account for the closing of the business houses of this class yesterday. We hope none of our readers will understand that any disrespect was meant toward our Israelite friends in our local of last evening.In the afternoon I pondered things Jewish by finishing THE RETURN OF THE PLAYER, nicely warmed by Max who cuddled up with his head under my chin. Here's another quote for the ages:
He didn't know much about Judaism, but neither did most of the Jews in Hollywood, and half of them were married to Christians or called themselves Buddhist. He couldn't understand how the Jews could control Hollywood and know so little about themselves. He couldn't understand how the Jews could dominate entertainment when their sacred text told such incomplete stories. Homer made sense as a movie guy. Shakespeare made sense as a movie guy. Moses didn't make sense as a movie guy, because the Jewish stories didn't follow the plot arcs that make money.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
