I Can Lead a Reader to My Book, but I Can't Make Him Read It
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Well, I got a new one. I can lead a reader to my book, but I can't make him read it. I'd like to, though. I want to be there on his doorstep when he comes home with my book under his arm (or stuffed in his pants) and follow him in, tell him to sit down, remind him he's had a rough day, offer to make dinner, and tell him to open Worlds Apart and start reading.
Of course that isn't going to happen. Let me explain why this has become an issue for me. It's simple, really. There are some folks who have bought my book and have yet to read it.
My book is self-published. I bought 25 at a discount. So I'm selling them for less than the retail price listed on the back of the book. Most of the family and friends who have either bought a book or have received a free copy (I only gave away eight copies) have read it. But here's what's happened:
The director of the after-school program my daughter attends--let's call him Chris (because THAT'S HIS NAME!)--was sitting at his desk about three months ago and I told him about my book. He acted interested. I asked if he wanted to buy one at a discounted price of $18. He said, "Yes," but added that he couldn't pay me until the next pay day, which was March 5 (yes, I remember the exact, friggin' date!). I said, "No problem," and ran out to my Dodge Durango, grabbed a fresh copy, and ran it into him. He thanked me. And asked me to sign it. So I did. While I'm signing the book, for some dumb reason I said, "Now, Chris, if you don't like it, you don't have to pay me; if you do like it, it's eighteen bucks." He said, "That sounds like a good deal."
For weeks, I've come to pick up my youngest daughter after school. Chris says, "Hi," but never a word about the book. Finally, a month ago, I said, "So, where are you in the book?" He said, "I haven't started it yet. I've been busy." I said, "Heck, you can tear the pages out and put them in the bottom of your bird cage." He knew I was being just a tad facetious and smiled. He said, "I'm going to read it. I promise." It's been another month. Out of principle, I want my eighteen bucks. But I made that stupid agreement. And I don't want to look pathetic. I'll make three bucks on the stupid book. I want to go in and say, "Look, Chris, how 'bout you pay me the eighteen bucks and if you finish the book by the end of Obama's term, I'll give you back the money if you don't like the book. But I just can't. So I wait.
The husband of my daughter's Brownie troupe leader--let's call him Kevin (because THAT'S HIS NAME!)--was sitting beside me at an awards ceremony at her school one evening. I told him about my book. He seemed interested, so I ran out, got a copy from my Dodge Durango, handed it to him and asked for eighteen bucks. He paid me twenty. I see him regularly as we both drop off our daughters at school. After about three months, I asked him how he liked the book. I actually saw him about forty or fifty times between him getting it and me asking this question. He said, "It's somewhere in my closet in the office at home. I haven't read it yet." And then: "I don't really read books." I said, "Oh. So you paid me twenty bucks for a door stop that you aren't even using to hold open a door." He laughed. I said, "I'd take it back, but you asked me to sign it, so I can't." He said, "Oh, I don't want to give it back." I said, "Well, do me a favor, will you? Will you drag it out of your closet and find a door that won't stay open and stuff it under it? Will you do that for me, Kevin? Just so I feel like I didn't get your money for nothing?" He laughed.
Yeah, I'm real funny. Inside, though, I'm pissed off that people I know would take my book and never read it.
On January 1, 2010, a friend of mine who owns a shop that sells art, books and crafts made by local artists and authors asked for a couple copies of my book to put in her shop on consignment. When I didn't hear anything, I went by the shop in April. There was a worker there behind the counter and I looked around the whole shop for my books. I found a dozen or so books right on a shelf at eye-level as I walked into the shop, but not mine. After a couple minutes of some real gumshoe work, I found my two copies on the floor under a shelf with some other stuff. So I picked them up and told the girl at the counter I was a friend of the owner and that my books weren't in the right place. She said, "Where do you want them?" I said, "Right there with these other books on this shelf as you walk in the door. In fact, my book is timely--what with it being about Haiti and all--so it should really be on this shelf here--yeah, that's the one--we'll have to move those other books. Yeah, that's great. Thank you!" And I got my books where they could be seen. I went back three weeks later and they'd been moved to the floor--but near the door. Yeah. Folks will see them as they LEAVE THE FRIGGIN' STORE!
Another friend--let's call him Rich (because THAT'S HIS NAME!)--got a free book, because he's one of my best friends. He started reading it, but after about five or six weeks, he'd only gotten to the sixth chapter. (When I mentioned Evelyn Wood, he said, "Evelyn would what?") And then he "loaned" the book to the man who runs my father's nursing home, a man we'll call Claude (because THAT'S HIS NAME!). Claude wanted to read it, but I guess he didn't want to buy a copy--I don't know--but he had the book for weeks and weeks. I kept asking Rich if he got the book back, and he said that Claude still had it. Finally, after about two months, I drove up to the nursing home, walked into Claude's office and asked him if he'd finished the book. He said, "No, I've been real busy, but I'll finish it." I said, "Look, I really want Rich to read it, so if you could finish it up and get it back to him, that would be great." I didn't even leave any marks on his throat, but in three days, he apparently got very unbusy and finished my book and gave it back to Rich.
I feel desperate. I feel pathetic. I'm going to lose every friend I ever had. I'll walk down the corridors of my daughter's school and people will dart away, mumbling, "There's that crazy writer!" I don't know how long I can keep this up. I just want to write.
Yes. I'm a writer. With a book. So watch out.
Posted by Tom Eubanks at 5/26/2010 1:32 PM 
Categories: Rants and Raves, It's Published--Period
Tags: Huh Essay
Categories: Rants and Raves, It's Published--Period
Tags: Huh Essay
Oh man, this one hit home, and I have so many feelings about it, I don't know where to begin. I'm also pissed that I haven't had a quiet time to finish your play (irony), and having loved the dialogue in the first two parts, am dying to sit down - family asleep and everything quiet - and wrap it up. But concerning the people who got your book but aren't reading it, I think of my father who wrote a little book called "Mulligan's Name was Ambrose". He paid the Martha Mary House shelter for battered women in Florida to publish it, then gave all the sales money back, plus the profits, so it was a win-win. The book is available on Amazon (used). I think he printed and sold 3,000 copies. But here's the deal: He's retired, and spent all his time arranging book signings and networking etc., etc. He never once asked me what I thought of the book (I think it's cute cuz it's dad. Good reading? If it wasn't dad, I wouldn't touch it). So you may have this thing where it's YOU, and they know you and like you, but showing interest and actually reading it? That may be two different things. I'm just guessing here and using my own personal experience, and could be wrong. It could be a great book, but if they're not into it or it's not their cup of tea, then they put it down. I don't get the ones who at least don't start the book. That's just sleazy. And not paying? Bastards. The title says it all, I guess.
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It's good to know I'm not in the same leaky boat. Not that I enjoy watching everyone drown with me. It's encouraging to know that I'm not the only one experiencing this.
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I don't know if my comment went through for last night. If not . . . all you can do is just write. You can't control the rest, so don't worry about what you can't control. Better said than done, though. I'm just as guilty.
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It came through. I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but it still does.
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