Wildflowers Press

Selling books is tough.  In the beginning, I got cocky.  People were buying my book left and right.  Most were friends…. Good friends.  They came to my book launch events and some even bought more than one to give as gifts.  I assumed each book event would be the same… lots of sales… lots of meaningful conversations… lots of green or at least added cash to my Venmo or Zelle accounts.  The only green I’m seeing these days is the inexperience of a first-time author.  

How do newly published authors – authors without a massive publishing house making rain for them, do this?  I am hybrid published – kinda like a Suburu Forester that’s part gas, part electric.  I paid for the gas up front for editing, marketing and publicity and Atmosphere Press did their plugged-in part promoting The Call on their website, Amazon and Good Reads.  I assumed with its entrance to the largest book vendor’s site, I’d be golden.  Instead, my book is one of a gazillion others.  Hard to hear amidst the noise of all those competing engines.

I wasn’t a passive participant in my work with my publisher.  I created a website – gave it a cool name – Wildflowers Press where I feature more of my writing… short stories, story contest submissions, essays, micro-fiction, and a blog…. Like this one you’re reading or not reading now.

I’ve had humbling experiences at book events as I‘ve watched people skirt my table, afraid to make eye contact. As I ponder this conundrum of reaching out to complete strangers, I think about those times when the stars aligned and someone expressed real interest in what I’d written. It’s a rarity.  Even when these events happen in a bookstore – a place presumably where people buy books.  Maybe I’m the odd one.  When I see someone selling books, I seek them out.  Is that weird?   During the last few book events at bookstores, lots of people skittered by.  No longing looks my way.  Some even appeared fearful of my table, my books – even me. 

This weekend I participated in my first Farmer’s Market in Folsom.  I set up my little table – and little is no joke.  I didn’t realize I could adjust the leg length of my newly purchased Home Depot fold-up table.  Looked like I was setting up a kiddy book nook.  In fact, lots of kids wandered by, curious by my set-up. Their parents… not so much.  I remember the days when the luxury of curling up with a book was something unimaginable, while wrangling kids.  Part of me wanted to call out to the kids to see if I could entice any to create a story with me.  But the look in some of those mother’s eyes, told me to keep a lid on it.

I came up with an idea – Stories on the Fly as a way to get more interaction with folks who might not be readers. Most people I know, like a good story.  Movies and podcasts are alternative ways to consume stories.  Audio books too.  I’ve had lots of requests to put my book into an audio format. Maybe one day… when I’m a little more flush.      

That’s what prompted my Stories on the Fly – a way to engage potential readers with the opportunity to create a story – one where the customer chooses certain elements of their story: genre, character or setting.  This could be great with kids.  Adults might not be so enthralled – feeling it juvenile.  In the end, I chickened out, worried I’d scare away potential customers.  There’s a delicate balance in salesmanship tactics.  How to come off genuine and interesting, not creepy and desperate.

I spoke with one of my fellow vendors, Ned who sells custom woodwork. I’ve bought items from him over the years.  Ned smiled as we packed up for the day.  After four hours, he hadn’t made a single sale.  “That’s just how it goes some weeks.  Other weeks, I make up for it with lots of business.  The point is to keep showing up.”  Boy, he’s right about that.  By the end of the market day, I‘d sold two books.  That might seem paltry for four hours sitting in the blazing sun.  (Need to purchase a canopy tent to make the process less of a hardship.)  But those two book sales made it worth my while.

My first was to Dave and Marcie.  Dave was chatty, wanting to know about the book’s premise – what prompted it… how long it took to write… the details. He was genuinely interested but told me I had to pass a test first, before he’d agree to buy the book.  He wanted me to play a word game.  He gave me a word and I had to tell him the first word that came to mind.  If I answered correctly, he’d buy it.  He was like an aging professor.  I was game.  The word he gave was ‘social.’  I nodded, glancing at his wife who was quiet during this entire exchange.  “Justice” I returned.  He slapped his leg, laughing.  “That’s it, I should buy two.”  He dug out cash and I signed their book with a grin on my face.  As they turned to walk away, still chuckling, he stopped to ask one more thing.  “Any good sex scenes in this book?”  

I laughed, “You bet there are.  Can’t have a medical mystery wrapped up in a slow burn romance without a few spicy interactions.”  They laughed as they made their way to the pickle guy next door.  (Note: the pickle guy does bumper business every time I see him.)

My second sale was an older gentleman with white hair (in other words, a few years older than me) who came to the table and asked if I wrote the book.  He went on to tell me he was a technical reader – and because of that, couldn’t read anything for fun.  He seemed sad about it.  We chatted a bit about the struggle of writing and reading things that aren’t for pleasure.  I talked about my husband’s work and his grant-writing efforts – not so different in their technical components.   The man’s wife popped up. We chatted about the book.  She asked a few questions, wanting to know where it took place and I told her my writing origin story.  She also expressed interest in writing a book one day.  I gave her my business card and told her to reach out anytime.  She turned to her husband and said she wanted to buy my book.  He chuckled as I wrote out the inscription to them both – even knowing he’d never read it.  She said she might call me one day with questions.  I told her – please do.  Happy to chat about writing, books, editing, publishing, any of it.  

So only two books, but I came away from the hot afternoon with my little table and realized it didn’t matter if I sold lots of books.  What was fun was interacting with people – even those who didn’t necessarily want to buy my book.  But it got me thinking about all the people I saw at the market – those who didn’t stop by – who avoided the unusually short table, covered in Kenyan cotton cloth, piles of books and a sweaty, middle-aged woman, trying hard to seem interesting, but not too interesting.  

Next time I’m gonna bring crayons and drawing paper and some small chairs.  I’ll keep my table low.  I’ll have a jar of words – some might be characters like cowboy or alien. Others might be places like tropical island or kitchen.  And I’ll see if I can entice unsuspecting kids to write their own story – for free.  I don’t think this will bump up my book sales by any stretch. But it will make for a far more interesting four hours at the market.  

A maybe one of those kids will decide they want to write a book too.  

That’s a win.