Sometimes we have to get out there and move books! In other words, promotion. Most of us have a cordial dislike of promotion, but we know it's a necessity if we want our efforts to put any bacon on the table. I don't mean to make this sound onerous, exactly. Well, okay, I do. But sometimes it's fun, such as when we get to go out and meet our fans. In the spirit of the occasion, I append here a brief diary of one such recent expedition . . .
Briefcase full of samples in hand, Willie Loman-like, I head on down, an hour's drive. Turns out I'm one of four, no five, authors here--along with about the same number of readers. No, I exaggerate; surely there are at least a dozen people at the convention interested in SF in books. Please?
First panel: when science and fantasy collide. Bam! We knock 'em dead. (Or at least into a stupor.) Afterward, almost as one, the other writers and I get up and move into the next room, where we have a panel on science in science fiction. Oddly enough, we find ourselves talking to the same small but loyal audience. And then the third panel . . . wait, time to move to another room. Can we keep doing this forever, I wonder, or at least until we run out of rooms?
During a break, I get to talking to a media fan--a pleasantly chatty gentleman who works hard at his job and saves his money to spend on his great love, science fiction. Great! Books? Well . . . actually it's the shopping channels that get his business. Star Trek uniforms, badges, phasers, Klingon weapons, you name it. Anything Star Trek, he owns it. His friends, he tells me cheerfully, think he's crazy. I sign his program book and go into the ballroom to hear the tail end of a speech by one of the starring actors of B5. It's pretty entertaining. But . . . I have another panel to get to. This one on writing and publishing.
Joining my fellow authors, we take a quick tally--do the panelists outnumber the audience? Yes, for the moment. But surely more people will come in. Surely there are more aspiring writers than that at this convention. On the other hand, who needs the extra competition? I flirt briefly with the idea of giving out bad advice; too many damn writers out there already. Conscience wins out, though, and we plug away at improving the state of the art of writing to be.
Finally the autograph session for all the authors. We're not talking lines of people out the hall or around the corner. We're talking small. Intimate. We're talking . . . hey, where is everybody? We're talking the occasional person drifting up, perusing the books some of us have laid out to sell, or even bringing copies of books they already own. (Hey! Someone actually thought to bring a copy of my book to have me sign it! [Bells of triumph.])
But you know what, this is a pleasant time. Because of those folk out there who do want to talk to you, and those people who decide on the spot that yes, it's about time they quit thinking about it and tried one of your books. It's a nice feeling. Maybe they'll turn into regular readers. Maybe they'll tell their friends, their loved ones, their in-laws . . .
And so we notch up another one and head on home.