It was a beautiful day. It was warm. The sun was shining. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. There was a gentle breeze that cooled the skin. And, there was...umm...there was...did I mention the sun was shining?
Okay. It's true. I didn't sell a single book at Word on the Street. (WotS it to you?) There may as well have been police tape around my table, with a man in uniform going "Keep moving, people. Walk on by. Nothing to see here..."
People passing by would take one look at my booth and avert their eyes and quickly move on. I felt like I was back at my junior prom. After a couple of hours, pity started creeping into their eyes. I felt like I was at my senior prom. Without the punch and 70s hair bands.
I knew something was amiss the moment I got on site and realized that my table was set up next to Burke's, a bookstore specializing in children's literature. There were good people at their table, fine people, but my enthusiasm for doing an impromptu reading of "If We Took Vaginas Seriously" went right out the window when I saw parents wheeling their kids in strollers past my table. (Towards the end of the day, though, I saw kids in strollers holding on to balloons from Harlequin, publisher of fine romance novels, so I may have been a little too quick to judge that one.)
It took me a while, but I also realized that my table had been put in the French Quarter of WotS, around the corner from Le Salon du Livres. And, much hilarity ensued, if, by hilarity, you mean pointless confusion. It probably would have been funnier on TV.
The WotS organizers likely put me there because the name of the project, Les Pages aux Folles, is French, even though the publisher is actually Aardvarks Eyes Press (and I actually write in English...more or less...most of the time). This was clearly a case where they didn't ask and I didn't tell (and who was the moron who first developed that policy?).
My table was opposite the Stage and Screen tent, where, as part of the festivities, original five minute operas were performed. It was a reminder to me that the only thing worse than bad opera is good opera. (On the other hand, it attracted a larger crowd than my table, so what do I know?)
How sad was my experience? A friend was supposed to come and help me, but she couldn't make it, so I personned my table alone. A couple of times during the afternoon, I left the table unpersonned to get myself a reasonably priced beverage from a friendly street vendor. And, nobody stole any of the books off the table. How humiliating!
Later in the afternoon, I explained to one very nice lady that she could go to the Web site to read the material that had been collected in the books I displayed.
"My computer's broken," she told me.
"Then, you can always buy a paper copy," I explained. "That's what they're here for."
She responded: "I'd rather get it fixed."
When I packed up, I found that everything displayed on my table was covered in dust. When I got home, I found that my hands were black from it. I realized that smoke had been wafting past our corner of Word on the Street for much of the afternoon. It was from somebody burning hot dogs on a grill - at least, I hope it was hot dogs they were burning.
Looking at my black hands, I understood what it must be like living next to a coal smelter. At least one childhood dream was fulfilled that afternoon.
My main goal at Word on the Street was to publicize the Les Pages aux Folles Web site, and, to that end, I gave out hundreds of cards with the URL on them. Everybody assured me that they would check it out, so, given a typical attrition rate of 90 per cent, perhaps 20 or 30 people actually will. In one sense, this made the afternoon a great success, since I'm still building Les Pages aux Folles on reader at a time. In another sense, WotS was an expensive way to build readership. Given what I paid for the booth, I figure that, to have a bestseller, I'll have to pay roughly $12 million. On the upside, this would keep Word on the Street going until 2117.
I can't wait until next year!