Books I've Sold and Other Elusive Numbers

By Nicole Seitz
http://www.nicoleseitz.com/

My husband's favorite question for me when I walk in the door from a book event is, "How many books did you sell?" I CAN'T STAND this question. Makes me want to pull my hair out. Or his. Don't get me wrong, I understand that he's a number's guy, he likes statistics, figures and things adding up--but honestly, the numbers DON'T add up. Ever. Rarely have a done an event, whether in a book store or book club or speaking to an organization, where the number of books I sold actually made the event worth it, financially speaking.

It's not about how many books you sell. In fact, if you try to keep count, you'll have a hard time getting the gumption up to do it again the next time. Trust me on this.

You never know what you're going to get when you sign books at a bookstore, school, etc. I've sold over 150 books at one event. I've sold zero at another. You just never know. So why do you do it? you might wonder. I'm glad you asked. Here's what I tell my husband:

I do these events, not only because it's part of the job and good to get your name and face out there, but because there are people involved. Real live human beings. I sit all day long behind my computer, writing, researching, imagining fictitious characters and their worlds... It's a solitary existence. Occasionally I get a lovely note from a reader who enjoyed a book, and he/she tells me why. These notes are pure gold. I save them and stare at them when the going gets tough. But the book events take a lot of effort...traveling, packing up, slogging everything along. As such, they require more preparation.

Here's what I do. First, I pray on my way in the car. Yes, my Southern grandmother always told me to "go first class" when I drive, which, to you Northern folks means, "let Jesus take the wheel." Since he's already in the car, I choose to talk to him on my way to book events. I ask him to bless the people I'm going to meet. To give me the words to say. Occasionally, he really gets creative.

Recently, I was describing my four books to a lady and said of one, "This one deals with suicide. It's a book about learning to live again. A book about healing." Mind you, I NEVER mention that word, s-u-i-c-i-d-e, so as not to scare people off, but for some odd reason, that's the lovely way I described Trouble the Water. The woman looked at me, picked up the book and said, "This is the one I want. I've always been suicidal." Gulp. I signed it for her, and she looked at me hard as she walked away. To this day I pray for her healing. To this day I don't understand fully how I was prompted to say that word that resonated so deeply with her.

Another time I was in a bookstore and a woman walked by. I thought I knew her for some reason, so I said hello. She continued on, so I insisted, "Don't I know you?" We talked it over and no, we'd never met. Then she told me her name. It struck a chord with me. I remembered personalizing a book for that same name the year before. How did I remember that? It turns out, this woman had indeed received a book of mine from a friend. She said it had been especially poignant for her since she's a breast cancer survivor and Trouble the Water also deals with that. We'd never met, yet had some connection forged through a book. As if we knew each other. Goodness. Blows me away.

I could go on with the strange coincidences of book events, but I'll just say this: there are real live people involved. You never know about a word of encouragement you may give, the things people will open up about, the tears they'll shed, the laughs you'll share, the characters you'll see before you that may wind up in a future book...you just never know. It's give and take, this beautiful dance between author and readers, and sometimes, they don't even buy the book! Sometimes, they just talk. Or ask where the bathroom is, or tell you about a loved one. Or just touch you in some amazing way.

When my husband asks me how many books I've sold, I still cringe. I can't help it. "It's not about that," I tell him. Being a numbers guy and all, this book-writing business is all about the number of books I sell. It only makes sense to him. But being an author, I can assure you it's not about that at all. Sure, big numbers would be terrific, I won't lie, but if that's why you do it, you will be sorely disappointed in this profession. Being an author is about people, emotion, connections. It's about intangible things no numbers could ever quantify.

How many books will I sell at my next event? Don't know. Could be 1000. Might be zero. I may be able to count on my fingers, possibly my toes. But how many incredible book event experiences have I had since my first novel, The Spirit of Sweetgrass, came out in 2007? I don't know. Too many to believe. I stopped counting long, long ago.

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Nicole Seitz is the author and cover illustrator of four novels. Saving Cicadas was an Indie NEXT List Notable (Jan 2010), a Pulpwood Queens Book Club Bonus Selection (Feb 2010), and a 2010 SIBA Book Award nominee. A Hundred Years of Happiness was a CBN.com Summer Reading Pick and 2009 SIBA Book Award nominee. Trouble the Water was chosen as one of the Best Books of 2008 by Library Journal and went into a second printing two weeks after release.

Nicole lives in the beautiful lowcountry of South Carolina with her sweet (and good with numbers) husband and two children. When traveling, she always goes first class. Find her at http://www.nicoleseitz.com/.

A Good Branch Is Hard To Find--From The Perch Of Harris Potter

Here’s what I like about you humans.

Every time my hunting partner takes me with him to a library or a bookstore, you not only seem surprised you usually smile and fawn over me like I’m the wild kingdom’s answer to Bono or something. Pretty rich. It sure beats the jack rabbit out of hugging a cold branch and tucking into the trunk of an evergreen—or if I’m at home in my native digs, a desert sororo cactus—after dark.

I’m a four-year-old Harris hawk. If I don’t say so myself, I look pretty cool up close. Sleek profile. Black, brown, and white plumage, tufty soft to the touch. Definitely no vegetarian—not even an omnivore—but I hope you won’t hold it against me.

My hunting partner Andy calls me Harris Potter or HP for short. I’m pretty happy that I ended up with Andy, in spite of the corny name. He flies me all the time and we go hunting together—or rather I do the actual hunting. The best part is I make Andy do the grunt work, beating through the thorns and thickets like some sweaty maniac down below while I soar deftly overhead or move from tree top to tree top keeping an eye on things, waiting for the moment when it’s time to make my move. I pity the poor guy, stuck like that on ground, but at least he always makes sure I don’t go hungry, whether we catch something or not. Then, to top it all off, he sometimes bundles me into my cozy box and whisks me off to play the rock star in front of a bunch of you folks.

Is that a sweet deal or what?

Andy likes to prattle on about birds of prey and conservation and the important role I and my compadres play in the environment, but I know that you’ve really showed up just to see how cool I am. Andy’s written this awesome series of private eye novels with hawks and falcons in them too—at least that’s what most of you say when you talk with us. He’s even figured out how he can sign one of his books for someone while he keeps control of me on his other gloved hand.

That’s the only part that’s bugging me really. When does yours truly get to start signing books?

If we could only figure out how to keep the ink from gumming up my talons………

Predatorily yours,

Harris Potter

www.andystraka.com

Book Signings Are Boring And Stuff

One of the topics Karin suggested for this go-round is "Book Signings: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly". My thoughts? Really, how UGLY can a book signing get? There was an episode of the beloved MTV high school drama My So-Called Life where the character of Claire Danes makes the statement “asking ‘how was school?’ is like asking ‘how was the drive-by shooting?’ You don’t really care how it was, you’re just lucky you survived.” (I’m probably misquoting here, but you get the point.) It’s always shocked me how similar an approach many authors I know take to booksignings. The disdain goes beyond fear, beyond hate, to a point of disgust that circles back around to fear and then, ultimately, to some sort of weird fight-or-flight response that causes cold sweats and nausea.

I’ve never understood this. At all. I mean, for every instance like those recounted in Mortification, there’s an instance like the release party for Kate Christensen’s awesome summer read Trouble that I attended a few months back, where it’s basically a drunken love-in. In fact, in this economy (aren’t you tired of hearing that cliché?), in these times (aren’t you tired of that one, too?), it would seem any book store still choosing to be brave enough to host readings and signings will also, in fact, throw their neck/back out in an attempt to create a fun, or at least successful, event.

Because, I mean, let’s get to the real nitty-gritty of it: at the core? Book signings are pretty damn boring, aren’t they? I’m not talking about ye olde sit-and-signs, where an author is plopped at a picnic table and told “SIT!” for 45 min/an hour/e-freaking-ternity and then left to hawk books like they were bootleg tickets outside a concert venue. No, we won’t talk about those because, for the love of god, who still does that? It’s embarrassing for everyone-the author, the staff of the book store, the poor people approached by Lady Jane St Stevens, whose new book Jenny Pink and Her Fabulous Friends is sure to crack the Times, sure it is, and you should just gobble it up and read it right now and won’t you buy two copies to give to a friend and who should she personalize it to?

Yeah. Desperation smells bad, but on an author, all wild-eyed and sell-crazy, it smells worse.

But no, I mean the actual author event, reading/speaking/q&a/signings-they’re all actually sort of boring, sort of self-gratifying, really, when they’re fairly cut and dry. Because, honestly, it’s you, Mr/Ms AuthorPerson, talking for like an hour about “craft” and “meaning” and all the other stuff when actually you want a drink, the audience wants a drink, you want to shut up, and the audience wants you to shut up.

As such, I’ve compiled a brief list of 10 ways to spice up your next book signing. I am also not accountable for anything resulting from trying these:

1)Show up early. Really, really early. Take the stage, if there is one. Take the mic, if there is one. If not, just stand. Begin reading from page one of your book. Don’t stop til you’ve finished. Ignore any and all conversational attempts made during this time period. Should you finish your book, close it, look up, say “thank you “ and leave, regardless of time.

2)Put a live squirrel in a paper bag. Set it next to you as the bookstore’s event coordinator introduces you. Before you begin, say “oh, my squirrel!” Release it from the bag. Don’t acknowledge it again.

3)To every book event you ever do, ever, carry a copy of Apocalypse South, the single worst book ever written. Read from it lieu of anything else.

4)Show up drunk. (I think we’ve all seen this one done. It actually works better if you bring the booze for all to share. I, personally, only do deal with book events drunk. I mean, uh...)

5)(This one requires some pre-arrangement, and honestly, hun, if you’re only famous in your own head it won’t be funny) You introduce the store’s event coordinator. The event coordinator reads from your work, takes your q&a and, if you’re really gutsy? Signs books in your stead. Watch the collectors lose their minds…in a bad way.

6)Call your family during your reading. Like, literally stop everything to do it. I have seen this done ONCE, and by a very, very famous fantasy author, and he was actually charming enough to pull it off.

7)Constantly refer to things your “friend Ernest…oh you know, Hemingway?” would tell you.

8)Constantly refer to things your “friend Ernest…you know, Goes To Camp?” would tell you.

9)Announce on-stage you’re quitting “the literary rat race” to “focus on cooking”. Produce a tube of raw cookie dough. Eat it entirely. Leave the store.

10)Stage a fist-fight with a friend planted in the audience. This actually reminds me of a story Jennifer Finney-Boylan has in Love Is A 4 Letter Word, so obviously it works.

BONUS: 11) Run into the store 25 minutes late, completely naked other than blackberry jam on your chest (regardless of your gender), screaming “SORRY I’M LATE I WAS FIXING MY CAR.”


To any bookstore lit event coordinators out there who take issue with my suggesting authors try these things, please email all complaints to Barbara.Walters@barbarawalters.com. Complaints will be addressed in the order they’re received.

Russ Marshalek is a freelance book publicist and lit event coordinator, operating as RussCommunications, in Astoria, New York. His fledgling personal website is here, and his neglected blog is here. He really likes you!