As an independent book publisher for the past 30+ years, I’m often asked to participate in things like Small Business Saturday, a counterpart to Black Friday and Cyber Monday that encourage holiday shoppers to patronize small and local stores (don’t get me started on the fact that American Express sponsors something they call Shop Small.)
When I agreed a couple of years ago to set up at an author fair in a local shopping mall, it seemed like a good idea. What could be better than putting a table of books out for sale inside a full-size shopping arena? I told one person a few days ahead of time about the event, and he said, “Good luck; that mall’s empty.” Huh, I thought. This is the U.S. of A., where shopping is a way of life, practically a spiritual journey for many. As necessary as salt is to pepper.
Upon arrival, I was slightly surprised to find an empty parking spot directly in front of the main entrance. I noted that no banners were displaying the Small Business Saturday Book Fair. Oh well. On I went. I found the group of participating authors and publishers huddled quietly at their tables, each of them with nice displays. Everyone was full of smiles, their books ready to be sold. Everyone, but me, sitting like statues behind their tables. Immovable forces if I ever saw them. Cell phones charged and ready to stare at.
At 1 p.m., our official start time, nothing happened. Perhaps, I philosophized, our event didn’t actually exist? At the very least, it didn’t exist much. No one was at my booth ready to see, purchase, or ask about good reading ideas.
My booth was across from a jewelry store. Thinking of a well-crafted novel with smooth chapter transitions I raised my voice and announced, to no one in particular, “Buy a book and get a free diamond ring.” Two authors heard me and chuckled. The jewelry store clerk did not laugh.
I stood out in front of my booth. Ready to help. Still, no one in the mall approached. Oh, wait, someone was walking by; I jovially said to the well-dressed woman, “You might not have heard, but for the next five seconds, if you buy a book, you get a free diamond ring.” Puzzlement. I start counting down: “Four.”
“Huh?”
“Three.”
“A what?”
“Two.”
“A book. One.”
Silence. No comment from the woman. I said, “Well, the sale is over now. Sorry.” She walked off, staring straight ahead, no smile, no scorn, nothing. I smiled to myself. Honestly, I thought it was a clever conversation starter.
Never fear, I told myself. Another person was walking by: “Hello, what do you like to read?” I ask.
“What?”
“What do you like to read?”
“I don’t.”
With the next person, I tried something different. I asked, “Have you ever thought of writing a book?”
“Writing a book?”
“Yes,” I hold up a book. Perhaps a visual aid is needed. “Oh, no,” he says.
And that was the end of that. A few more minutes pass, and another person comes by. “Hello,” I say. “Do you...”
“Not today.”
“...like to read?”
“Not today.”
This person didn’t even break stride. I was impressed.
Next up, two mall security guards appear. Perfect. I just released a crime fiction murder mystery. “It’s your lucky day,” I tell them. Stares. “I have just the book for you guys, a novel about a private detective solving a murder right here in the Quad Cities.” One of them maintains his silence. The other: “Uh... we’re... not... into... that... sort... of... thing.”
“What do you mean you aren’t into this sort of thing?” I ask. “You’re both practically in the detective business.” They smile and move along. I look around: the other authors are still sitting at their booths, politely maintaining civilization and all its discontents, their books well organized and in clean formations. They say nothing to me, or any of the maybe, twenty people I could see in the entire mall.
I notice two kids waiting for their mother by the jewelry store. I ask, “You two like books?” Their reply, “Our mom’s buying a $1,000 ring right now.”
“Wow, think she’d buy each of you a book?” They laugh as though I’m a stand-up comedian. “Why?”
Things continue like this for the next three hours. Somehow, I do sell five books. You could say I never fully lose hope.
At 4 p.m., everyone packs up. I only made a handful of sales, but I guess I enjoyed being out in public and engaging people. Many of us in the publishing industry know the feeling of being isolated—working day after day on submitted writing, designing covers, editing, mailing out orders, and contacting media. Some conversation does me good. Of the five people who purchased books, who knows, maybe they belong to book groups or will suggest the book they purchased to their friends who might purchase a copy, too.
At the very least, I can dream these things. And honestly, that’s one of the requirements of small indie publishing: the ability to have hope, to be an optimist, even on a Small Business Saturday.
I’m a member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Please support our work by sharing and subscribing to the authors found at that link. Please consider a paid subscription.