Author Question: "Which way is the restroom?"

By Chester Campbell

We did a book signing last Saturday at a library in a small town south of Nashville where they had a large group of authors from the area. Last year at the same event, I sold enough books to make it well worth the trip. For some reason, that didn't happen this time. I didn't see a lot of signing going on anywhere around me. Not all that many people showed up. My single sale came when another author bought my latest book.

That's me and colleague Beth Terrell at the library.

Signings are funny that way. You never know when one will knock your socks off and another will make you wish you had put on two pairs because the reception is so cold. But invariably you get to meet a number of nice people who make the experience worth experiencing.

When I'm doing a solo signing at a bookstore, my wife, Sarah, plays the role of a warm-up act at a night club. She stands at the entrance and greets people, handing out my small promo folders and telling them the author is signing  at the table "over there." Sometimes, a customer will stop and chat with her about the books. That frequently results in a sale.

She gets most of the questions from people wanting to know the location of the restrooms, where to find the magazines, and who knows what else. I get the ones who want to talk about the book they'd like to write. If somebody is actually working on a book, I'm happy to give my advice on whatever they need to know. It's usually about finding a publisher or an agent. The only problem comes when I get a talkative person who stands there forever, blocking the way for people who might want a book signed.

When Sarah takes a break, I stand at the door and greet the customers. I ask, "Do you read mysteries?" and it's appalling how many come back with, "I don't read books." Makes you want to say, "What the hell are you doing in a bookstore?" Of course, some will tell you they just came for the coffee.

It's interesting to watch people's reactions. Some appear intimidated by the appearance of an author and shy away from the table. Others zip right by as if you weren't there. I used to set up an easel near the table with a large blow-up of the cover of my latest book. However, watching people's eyes, I rarely saw anybody notice the poster.

Invariably, someone will stop at the table, take a book, turn it to the back cover, look at the photo, then up at me. "That's you," they say with a look of surprise. "You wrote this." Duh, if I didn't, why would I be sitting here?

Those you never see enough of are the ones who charge up to the table, grab a book and say, "I want this one. Will you sign it for me?"  Occasionally, at a signing like the Kentucky Book Fair, where I have all my backlist available, a reader will look them over and say, "I want one of each. I can start with the first and go right through them."

On the few occasions where sales have been almost non-existent, I found the person who invited me more distressed than I was. I've been around long enough to know these things happen. But the store manager will apologize profusely. I had one small independent owner who was almost in tears. Heck, everybody has a bad night once in awhile. You move on to the next one and hope for the best.

What's Up, Let's Argue About It

By Chester Campbell

Last week my colleague Beth Terrell mentioned the challenges involved in the care and feeding of mystery writers. No one knows that better than my wife, Sarah. We always travel together. At our age, you never know how many trips remain in your life's itinerary. But it does make for interesting travels.

Last weekend we drove to Frankfort, KY for the annual Kentucky Book Fair. We alternate driving about 100 miles at a time. Sarah decided to take the first turn, which was a good thing, since that avoided an early argument. I had set up the destination in our Magellan GPS, but it required a few screen taps to get what I wanted it to show--miles to destination. She objects when I start tapping while I'm driving. Really! It's not like I'm texting.

We usually start a trip with a large cup of our favorite beverage, cappuccino. Not the noisy machine-made stuff you get at a coffee shop but the powder and hot water variety that comes from pushing a button at a convenience market. We make it at home using a large container from Sam's. At any rate, we found a Love's up in southern Kentucky and took a pit stop/cappuccino break. I've had a tooth that's been giving me a fit lately (and is scheduled for a root canal tomorrow), so she had to find me a straw, which I used to keep the hot stuff directed away from the recalcitrant molar. I'm not much of a talker normally, even less with dental dynamite going off in my mouth.

I took the wheel at a rest stop shortly before we turned off I-65 on a segment of the Kentucky Turnpike. When we got back on the interstate, Miss Floosie, the GPS lady, didn't come on so I started punching the screen.

"You drive, I'll do that," Sarah said with her best frown.

We probably have more arguments about my driving than anything. Since I have macular degeneration in my right eye, she thinks I can't see well. I had just been to the ophthalmologist, who said I was doing marvelous, that I was one of two or three patients she had where the AMD apparently was slowed by the effects of severe nearsightedness. So some bad things are good.

But that doesn't give me any free passes with my wife. When I turn too sharply and bump a curb, she says, "Didn't you see that?" Of course, I saw it. I just like to jostle her around a bit.

Eventually we made it to the Frankfort Convention Center and dropped off the books I had brought. I got lots of directions for where I should be turning but didn't.

We stayed at the Capital Plaza Hotel just across from the Convention Center. It was a nice room, and we crashed for a couple of hours before time for the Author Reception at Frankfort Country Club. At this event, we sat at a large round table where more folks gathered. Sarah talked to her neighbor and passed around my promo folders. I mostly nursed my food in an attempt to keep the tooth gremlin at bay. I did talk to a mother-daughter combination on my left, learning the younger one had once lived in Nashville and knew about the Marathon Motor works (subject of The Marathon Murders). Both of them bought books on Saturday.

With my chronic cough affecting my voice and the tooth affecting everything, Sarah came to my rescue during the signing, greeting people who passed the table. When she sold a book, I autographed it with a painted on smile. We wound up selling 33 books, which wasn't bad but under different economic conditions surely would have been better.

The trip back home brought more driving discussions, but we made it safely. I'll have to say my wife is a real trooper. She saves the day when I'm selling books, and she does her best to keep me on my toes. We do a lot of arguing, but it always ends with a laugh. As long as we find our disagreements amusing, I guess we'll be okay. I feel that for a much-traveled mystery writer, I'm well fed and cared for.

Fair Weather

By Chester Campbell

Outside it was cold and rainy, but inside the Frankfort Convention Center warmth and coziness prevailed. Conditions obviously weren’t as favorable as in years past, what with the economy sliding down the tubes.

So the question arises, is it worth an author’s time to weather the storm and trek off to a book fair?

I journeyed to Frankfort the past weekend for the 27th annual running of the Kentucky Book Fair. Despite the weather, a respectable number of buyers showed up for the Saturday event. But as one man told me apologetically, “Last year my wife and I spent $400. With the way the economy is now, we won’t do nearly that much today.”

Everybody came with the idea of buying books, however, and a few toted away bags full of them. Some authors had an inside track by being well known in Kentucky. Others by being well known in their field. A children’s author at the same table with me had a constant stream of kids, parents, and grandparents stopping to get his colorfully illustrated books signed.

Sitting beside me was Judy Moffett, a science fiction writer who lives part-time in Kentucky and the rest in Pennsylvania. Her paperback books sold well, but the hardcovers bombed, which was a sign of the times.

Book fairs like Kentucky’s bring in 200 or more authors, so there’s plenty of competition. You can’t just sit there and smile. Half the people look the other way and many more seem to be hurrying by on their way to catch the next bus.

If you’re not a household name, it can pay off to put in a little extra effort. Following my usual policy of ignoring the chair at a book signing, I stood behind my table from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., except for the time it took to eat my sandwich. Anybody who came within range of my voice, which isn’t all that strong, unfortunately, got the smiling query, “Do you read mysteries?”

I talked to enough of them to sell 39 books. Not a bad day, all things considered. The Wall Street Journal recently quoted Barnes & Noble’s chairman as saying he had never “seen a retail climate as poor as the one we are in.” Simon & Schuster reported store traffic was down and fewer customers were buying more than one title.

I had the luxury of four books in my Greg McKenzie Mystery series lined up on my table at Frankfort. A couple of people bought all four.

You never know what will push someone’s hot button. When I told one man that in Deadly Illiusions the Federal Reserve chairman is murdered at the Opryland Hotel, he grinned and said, “I’ve got to have that one.”

It’s always nice when a reader comes by (in this case a member of the DorothyL listserve) and says, “I’ve read all of your books and really love them.”

But the name of the game at a book fair is to sell books. It can be done if you play your cards right.