Chapter Fifteen

What are the odds?

I don’t think anyone realizes how many books are published until they have their own little book out there in the pond-- struggling for air, panicked, and eager to grab a hold of anything offering buoyancy-- even a foundering old lady.

Pre-publication, you enter a bookstore unknowingly fitted with “intellectual blinders” that keep you from actually seeing those thousands of titles—it’s an instinctual defense mechanism, lest the depth of what you don’t know-- on hundreds of subjects-- cause your frontal lobe to implode.

Post-publication, however— you see them all… and every book in a bookstore takes on the face of the enemy, poised as both seductress and highwayman, ready to intercept any buyers wandering in the direction of your book.

Even the experience of innocently entering a bookstore changes once your first published book hits the shelves.

What was once an exciting experience (What new books will I discover?) becomes, well, an embarrassing experience (What if someone who knows me sees me, and thinks I’m here lurking and hard selling my book to lonely souls wandering towards the self-help section?)

Like Billy Pilgrim in Vonnegut’s Zoo, entering a bookstore began to feel like entering a display case, where curious onlookers could watch and wonder about my single-dimensional view of my surroundings—a place where I was no longer able to experience the holistic joy of shared ideas, but was doomed to peer down the six-foot peephole at my book alone, wondering if in fact, “That’s life.”

Field Trip.

Thinking about the bookstore has inspired a field trip to my town’s Barnes & Noble bookstore, because part of the store is a coffee house. The venture is based on my reading about all the successful writers who claim to have written their first book in a coffee house, not the least of which is J.K. Rowling, who is now the single richest woman in the United Kingdom, Her Majesty included.

Coffee shops and places like them must be inspiring and motivational, because on the very rare occasions when I’ve splurged on burnt, over-brewed coffee myself, it seems the joint is brimming with people hammering away on their laptops.

Are these great writers writing great books? Maybe. Today will perhaps tell the tale.

This outing feels right to me—at the very least I can drink coffee, write a little, and hard-sell my book to people on the way to the self-help section.

But what should I wear?

The words “what should I wear” have never passed through my mind before, but this seems important. Surely black is the correct color, but the only black I own is my funeral suit and a USMC t-shirt that says “Don’t bother running. You’ll just die tired.”

Maybe a bohemian look?

Or, is bohemian a smell?

Don’t have any tie-dye… no crunchy t-shirts lamenting the lack of Air Force bake sales… no retro plaid trousers, or tight silk shirts. Oh well-- guess I’ll just have to hearken back to the words of my dear, old Grandmother.

One small step for man.

I’m in the bookstore/coffee shop.

The first thing that lands in my field of vision is a sign stating the café section is for paying customers only, so I make my move to the counter. It is vital to avoid drawing attention to myself. (Attention, Security-- we have a one-book author loitering in the café, trying to look aloof and superior and pathetically hoping one of his readers will recognize him-- which isn’t mathematically possible unless his Mom or his wife walks in. Security, please respond—Code Taser.)

Eye-contact occurs with the counter girl.

Me: Do you have ice coffee?

Gal: You bet. What would you like?

Me: I was down in Florida with a buddy and he turned me on to this really tasty ice coffee. Do they come in flavors?

Gal: Sure: Vanilla, Hazelnut, Chocolate, Carmel, Strawberry—

Me: You have strawberry coffee?

Gal: Oh, yes—it’s yummy.

Me: Sounds weird-- like salsa ice cream.

Gal: Lots of people love it.

Me: I think I’d like carmel ice coffee, please. Large.

Gal: Very good. One vinti frappa-schwappa-latte-half-caf-de-caf-no-foam-ice, coming up. Hey, I see you have your laptop. You going to do some writing?

Me: No! I mean, what makes you think that?

Gal: It’s what some people do when they bring a laptop with them.

Me: God, no. I’m gonna use the wireless internet.

Gal: (winking) It’s always so sad when people write in a coffee shop, isn’t it? Just to be seen? Like they’re doing something personal and secretive, but want to be seen in public doing it?

Me: Ha! No lie-- No lie. So, uh, thanks-- I’ll be over here doing a little web surfing. Maybe some research on bearing hunting naked armed only with a knife.

Gal: Okay.

Me: Maybe bomb defusing, too…

Feel the flow.

I’m looking around. To my left there’s a large guy, writing. He’s kind of got the Nelson DeMille thing going on. I suspect he’s writing a thriller based in Implodestan with CIA operatives named Colt Leisure and Russian KGB guys with names like Khrzxstlmsnbg Zxgrhxztr. Maybe not.

Across from me are some kids. To my right is a yummy mummy, reading an Elle magazine with an intensity normally reserved for politicians looking for loopholes in ethic laws.

I ponder the women’s magazine phenomenon for a bit. How many are there? How many are sold every month? How many billions of dollars change hands? How many recipes can be developed? If Princess Diana were still alive, would she be duty-bound to engage in mortal combat with Oprah for the title of Alpha female? Which stars are now too fat, which are too skinny, and which are getting repeat customer discounts at rehab?

With well over 45 women’s magazines on the shelves of this bookstore alone, and every one proclaiming (on the cover) a pathway to multiple orgasms, and all those magazines coming out with the same orgasmic promise every month… that’s 45 times 12, which equals 540 multiple orgasm solutions a year.

Multiply that by five years, and—hell, I’m surprised they aren’t writing about ways to avoid multiple orgasms at this point. How can you get anything done?

But. But… am I really different from the writer’s for Elle magazine? If so, can I really point to how we are different?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Their writing is read by hundreds of thousands, while mine is read by hundreds. They are writing to the largest reading and book-buying demographic in America (women), and I write to a smaller group (me, my publisher, and the people I promise to mention by name in the acknowledgements).

They cover topics that they know, for a fact, that people are interested in, and I serial type for months at a time on topics that refuse to leave me alone.

Quite simply, I have to write. But I sure as hell wouldn’t mind a few hundred thousand people buying my book.

But how does one generate sales?

What do I know… for a fact… that readers actually want to read about?

Recipes, obviously. Star gossip. Multiple orgasms are extremely popular. And to attract a few male readers, it’s important to remember the thriller and mystery genre. Aha! It’s so clear now! The key is to expand past my target audience of struggling authors and reach out to the book-buying public at large.

And based on the reaction I received from the book-buying public on a variety of blogs, the title of the book is a hell of a lot more important than the content. This visit to the bookstore may have inspired the perfect book title. Just listen to the flow:

Hollywood’s Cookbook
for Multiple Orgasms
One Man Investigates the Mystery of It All



This could be the secret! The way I bust through!

Think of it: In this bookstore alone, there are 57 placards designating genres of books. Under the genre For Dog Lovers, there are 21 titles alone.

How the hell do you get traction? How do you break through the clutter, and get buyers to at least pick up your book? Hell-- you simply use the title to mark the bookstore territory like a two-year old Lab at a doggie park! This would enable my book to rest comfortably in multiple locations!

Cookbooks- Obviously covered.

Relationships- Covered.

Self Improvement- Based on the promises of the cover, you’ll soon forget about all the little issues troubling you!

Fiction- Well, seeing how the title alone is one big load of crap, I’m thinking we can include this category.

Science Fiction- At least some gals must consider the concept Sci-Fi, or they wouldn’t keep buying the magazines searching for the source, right?

Mystery- See above.

Fantasy- Combine cooking, orgasms, Hollywood gossip, maybe a glass or two of wine? Are you kidding me? Put Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie on the cover, and they’d have to issue a new currency for my quarterly royalties—the gazillion dollar bill.

Romance- Once the word of the title leaks out, sales to men within the Romance genre will dwarf Crime and Mystery.

Crafts- House-bound on a rainy day? That title sounds like it offers a hell of a new hobby.

True Crime- I’m thinking there will be more than a murder or two of insensitive men who forget to have this title wrapped and under the Christmas tree.

Memoir- Heh-- snuck that in with the sub-title.

Literature- After the title tricks enough people into buying enough copies, I’m thinking it will have to be accepted as a de facto classic. Ever finished Anna Karinina? Me neither, but it’s in a ton of libraries.

Investing- The ability to deliver multiple orgasms to their partner would be considered a very wise investment of time and money by even the nerdiest of men.

Humor- Won’t everyone think it’s funny when they find the main title is complete bullcrap?

Puzzles- See Sci-Fi and Mystery

Travel- See fantasy. No one will ever want to leave their house again!

Whether this brilliant title stands or is relegated to a simple chapter will, of course, ultimately rest with the publisher. Rest assured, though, my battle for it long and hard. And I will forever be in debt to this field trip to the bookstore for inspiring it. I will be back.

CSI Miami Moment

Horatio: Publishing may be a business of words, but it’s a numbers game…
(Puts on glasses)

Horatio: So the question is: Do your numbers… add up?

YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWwwwwww!