On the Road: First Two Weeks of Book Tour
You did this for the first time long ago. You wrote a book and went out to talk about it. It was new and fresh and exciting. You weren’t sure how to do it—any of it, from the book writing to the talking to the logistics—but you figured it out.
It was also grassroots. The publisher helped very little, if at all. You went anywhere and everywhere: to independent bookstores, Barnes & Noble, Borders (RIP), co-working spaces, startups, yoga studios—wherever the people were.
Lots of things went wrong along the way, but most of the time you figured them out. The mishaps made for good stories: the time you did an event in a Minneapolis grocery store, with shoppers weaving through the crowd with carts. The time you unexpectedly had to buy $800 in drinks for an afterparty at a Pasadena restaurant. The times (more than one of them!) when the book talk venue forgot to order the books.
You learned to give talks and got somewhat good at it. You did embarrassingly bad radio interviews and slowly improved at those too.
But mostly it was about the people. The people that came to the events were special.
Sometimes it was a lot of people! Sometimes it wasn’t. But the people were always special, and they often came with a story. They drove for hours, they brought friends, they arrived with cupcakes for the group. It was special for them, and it was special for you, too.
Now, years later, you go back out on the road. In some ways it feels closer to the earlier years than it did to the middle ones.
You write a new talk and practice it every day, making small changes to improve it each night. You go back to your favorite stops: Book People, Powell’s, Changing Hands, Seattle Town Hall (et al). You encounter the joys and frustrations of author life. You eat dinner late and sometimes not at all.
Mostly what matters is this: The people who come out are still special. Sometimes it’s a lot of people, sometimes it isn’t. But the people are always special, and they often come with a story. Among many others:
- The Vietnamese reader who read your early books in translation while living in Saigon, and now reads in English while living in Nevada
- The person who came to your stop at Book Soup in West Hollywood twelve years ago and is back once again, sitting in the same seat (“How have you been for the past twelve years?” you ask)
- The guy who was featured on episode 150 of your podcast, six years and 2,350 episodes ago
- The people who tell you about the businesses they’ve started, the changes they’ve made, the travel they’ve taken
Some things are easier now. Some things are harder. Some things are the same. Lots of people have books out these days, everyone has a thing, it’s more difficult to “break through.” The social media algorithm is never your friend. But sometimes, something works.
You have media interviews in most cities, where you try to share your message and be somewhat interesting for viewers or listeners. Some of them are amusing, others are surreal. Sometimes you’re disappointed in your performance; once in a while you feel like you crushed it.
People who don’t know how book tour works ask about the travel: What do you do in each city? You answer: Nothing. Or maybe the best answer is the same thing as every other city.
You’re not there to be a tourist, though you do run every day and try to find new routes in each spot. But the point is, you’re there for the event. Not the nice restaurant, the cool coffee shop, the seven natural wonders of Omaha or Burlington.
No! You are there for one specific reason. You’re there for the two hours every evening when you get to visit with the special people.
In the end, you feel nervous before every talk, but only a little. Mostly you hope to do a good job for everyone who shows up.
You want to help them learn something, to laugh, and to meet someone. After all, as you say each time, the best part of the experience is everyone else who shows up.
That’s what matters, so that’s what you do. Five cities down, eleven more to go this time. But you won’t be done after the sixteen. You know you’ll be doing this for as long as you can.
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