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(A guest editorial in Shadowkeep Ezine in November 2001)
I’ve been told I’ve made it. I’ve sold
two novels to a print publisher. My book is going to be at
Amazon, B&N, Borders, etc. I’ve done it. I’ve
blown through publishers’ defenses and I’ve burst
into the end zone. Touchdown! Everyone cheers. But it doesn’t
mean I’ve won the game. I’ve not made it to my
final destination. It’s not over yet—it’s
only just beginning.
My wife said, “I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied.”
And she was right. I’m not. And not because I’m
some brooding bohemian saying the world isn’t ready to
understand my art. No, it’s because I’ve sold the
book to the publisher, which is a hard enough task in itself,
but now I’ve got to sell the book to the public.
An unsuspecting public doesn’t know what carnage I can
inflict on their world and they might not want to. To make
my publisher and other publishers want to repeat their act
and offer another book contract, I have to sell me as well
as my work—not just once, but over and over again.
Barclay Books is going to print thousands of copies of my
books. That’s thousands of people I have to sell to. Let’s
say my first print run is five thousand. Doesn’t sound
like a lot, does it? But name five thousand people you know
who would buy your book. I can’t. So this means selling
to strangers. And we all know what our mums told us about talking
to those kinds of people.
To put it in more frightening terms, I’ve always thought
about volumes of sales in stadium seating capacities. Five
thousand copies means everyone going to a medium sized college
ball game would be carrying a copy of my book. That’s
a lot. Just try leaving the parking lot after the fourth quarter.
Suddenly, five thousand doesn’t seem so small anymore.
But let’s turn the volume up a bit and say fifty thousand
copies. That means everyone at the average NFL Sunday game
is carrying a copy of my book. This is getting scary. But that’s
what the average mid-list author is selling. When you get to
the Stephen King and Dean Koontz end of the scale, not only
does every person with an NFL season ticket have a copy of
my books, but everyone in the USA has at least one. Case in
point, between these two guys they’ve sold nearly a billion
books. Oh dear, I think my brain is bleeding.
My task is mammoth. I’m not there yet. I have to convince
the people of America that I’m here, I can write, I can
entertain and I’m sorely in need of your $15.95 + tax.
And I have to do it over and over again. Or else you might
come across this sad little guy weeping in the book aisle of
a Dollar Tree store.
I hear you say, “So what are you going to do about
it, Simon? Gonna give up? Gonna bitch and whine about it?”
My answer is no. I will be astounded if I can get everyone
at the next UC Davis Aggies’ game to have a copy of Accidents
Waiting To Happen or We All Fall Down in their back pocket.
But I what I really want is for everyone at the next 49ers
game to have my books busting out of their back pockets.
I’m going to sell my work and myself. I think I have
tales to tell…not ones that people will remember in
a thousand years time, but ones everyone can relate to and
enjoy. I will be appearing at book signings, conventions, giving
interviews, getting reviews, writing guest editorials for internet
magazines and reminding all those people who’ve ever
published or read me to tell other people about me.
So, if you see me at bookstore, for goodness sake do the
right thing, pick up a copy of something with my name and
buy it. There’s a free hug with every purchase.
No, I’m not there yet. I’ve not reached my scheduled
destination yet, but with your help, I might just do it. I
know I can’t without you. Now excuse me, I must dash,
I have a dream to catch.
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