CharlesBook Marks
By Charles Salzberg
It''s not easy to sell books in this flashy era of MTV and blockbuster movies. People seldom read, and when they do their attention span seems barely long enough to focus on mini-books like Robert Waller's Bridges of Madison County, or no-brainers like John Grisham's legal thrillers. So what's a poor publisher to do?
Market, that's what. Only how do you market a book when so few people want to take the trouble to read? You don't believe we're a nation of non-readers? Well, think about it. Most major movies, no matter how rotten they might be, gross several million dollars their opening weekend, A movie that brings in a modest $7 million that first weekend (and believe me, studio execs consider that modest), means a million moviegoers have shelled out seven bucks apiece to sit and stare mindlessly at a flickering screen at their local cineplex for a couple of hours. Even a recent bomb like Stuart Saves His Family (if you don't remember that one, don't feel bad; it came and went faster than a speeding bullet), grossed close to a million which means that upwards of 100,000 Americans actually paid good hard cash to sit through 90 minutes of lame self-help jokes. On the other hand, if a book sells 100,000 copies it's a source of great joy to publishers, not to mention the author who can then actually look forward to a royalty check that's too hefty to be cashed at the local mini-mart.
In fact, those of us who go into writing books as a profession are, quite frankly, fools who don't mind keeping a steady supply of Hamburger Helper in the cupboard, or have been left a great deal of money by a rich maiden aunt.
It's difficult enough to get a book published, but once done, there are all kinds of obstacles to overcome. For one thing, there's the fear that once the book is published it will unceremoniously disappear without anyone the wiser save some relatives and a few close friends.
But even more dreaded is the fear that your publisher will abandon you, letting you, or rather your book (which let's face it is tantamount to the same thing), twist agonizingly in the wind.
Trust me, there are plenty of things for writers to bitch about. No reviews. Bad reviews. Not enough books printed. Books that may be printed, but aren't in the stores (and if they aren't there, where, one might reasonably ask, are they?) No ads. No hype. Editors who don't return phone calls. Agents who don't return phone calls. The list goes on.
One sure sign that your publisher is not tossing you out with yesterday's trash is "the book party." Most of us brought up on a fantasy diet of TV and movies, believe all writers are feted with sparkling literary soirees by their publishers in posh places like The "21" Club or the Four Seasons, with enough celebrity drop-in guests like Bianca Jagger, Cindy Crawford and Hugh Grant to fill Liz Smith's column for a week.
Think again. The truth is, if your publisher thinks celebration at all, it might be to the extent of dipping into the petty cash drawer and ponying up enough cash to pay for a round of drinks for a very select group of friends at the neighborhood watering hole. In my case, for instance, the only book party I ever had was given at my editor's apartment--which she shared with two roommates--while the publisher kicked in barely enough to pay for half a keg of beer and a few bottles of cheap wine.
But if your publisher believes they have a potential hit on their hands, well, that's a different story. The book party becomes yet another tool to help sell the book and often the gala winds up being talked about in newspaper gossip columns and attracts the requisite number of celebrities to make it an event. Take, for instance, the party tossed for Po Bronson's financial satire, Bombardiers. Given at an eatery cleverly located a stone's throw from Wall Street, some canny publicist came up with the novel idea of offering those in attendance "futures" on the book. The bottom line: if the book sold more than 40,000 copies and you held one of those futures, you'd make a couple of bucks (literally, just a couple--after all, publishers aren't crazy).
No doubt in a further effort to hype sales, Bronson, who from his book jacket photo, resembles a young Richard Gere, suddenly appeared in a Saks Fifth Avenue catalogue hawking fine looking men's apparel. What this has to do with writing is beyond me.
Did all this sell any books? Maybe, but it's doubtful. Bombardiers, which is derivative of Joseph Heller's Catch-22, only not anywhere near as powerful, didn't reach any bestseller lists that I ever saw.
The point is, they tried, which is more than any author could hope for.
But an undeniably powerful tool in selling books is TV. An appearance on Good Morning America, The Today Show, Oprah or Donahue or even Geraldo is thought to be worth X number of books sold (and think of X as a pretty hefty figure, considering the number of people who watch these shows each day). And the more photogenic you are, the better your chances of making these shows. A friend, Sharyn Wolf, author of Guerilla Dating Tactics, made a hit out of her first book, Fifty Ways to Find a Lover, which was dead in the water, simply by a single appearance on Oprah.
But the ultimate in hype and the stuff of every author's dream, is what Delacorte recently did for first time screenwriter, Nicholas Evans. They forked over in excess of $3 million bucks for a half-completed novel called, The Horse Whisperer. Never mind that Robert Redford has already optioned the book for a film (reportedly for another $3 million), the fact is Evans is an unproved commodity. No one knew who he was. But they sure do now. The other day, while walking through Central Park I noticed a young woman wearing a baseball cap with The Horse Whisperer stitched on the back while on the front was the word Believe, which, according to the publisher, is meant to have us all "believe" not only in the book, but also the incredible ad campaign being mounted, which includes baseball caps, lapel pins and signed galleys.
Is the book worth $3 million? Probably not. But I'm sure Delacorte believes they got more than $3 million worth of publicity. And who's to say they're wrong? Certainly not Nicholas Evans who can laugh all the way to the bank, knowing that he is the envy of every poor, starving writer in the country.