In olden times they had simpler methods. They tied one end of a rope to each of your limbs and then attached the other end to four individual horses pointed in different directions and made the horses giddyup all at once. Today they make you stand in front of a gathering of potential readers and explain why the hell you asked them to show up at their local independent bookshop instead of staying home to watch Jeopardy.
I’ve noticed I am not the only reader who watches Jeopardy.
I have done three readings now (not counting the short spiel I gave during a ‘speed dating’ event to eleven tables filled with mystery lovers during the Bouchercon in Indianapolis). To my great regret and perhaps that of most of those who attended, I don’t think I am improving enough with each ordeal. I have difficulty modulating my voice. My tongue and teeth have arguments over using the same space at the same time. My eyes suddenly lose focus on a line of words. I am self-conscious to a degree that is debilitating.
But this must be done. Many hundreds of new fiction titles have been published this season, and many dozens of those are mysteries. As a first novelist, it is my responsibility to get out there and let people know what I have done. If a writer doesn’t believe it’s worth the trouble, then they are probably right—at least about what they have written.
Of course I would like what I have written to speak for itself. But that voice will be difficult to hear beneath a pile of remainders.
I must remind myself of all the readings I went to through the years and why I went. There is some ineluctable fascination to finally meeting someone with whom you have already spent many hours in bed.
But then, I am a first novelist and very few of those who attend my reading have taken my work to bed with them yet. Perhaps it’s just the prospect then?
Nah.
In fact it is the brave little bookshops that have put my book on their shelves.
River Run Bookshop in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, the scene of my latest effort at reading, is a fine example. They choose what they buy title by title and not by the season load. They take care. You know right off that you have entered a great bookshop by what they have featured face-out for your eyes to feast upon. The shelves are designed for books, and not just merchandise. The lighting encourages browsing and dipping into the random page. And River Run is in the very middle of a uniquely beautiful city which has made a successful effort to be both livable and cosmopolitan.
My first reading was at the wonderful and justly praised Brookline Booksmith. This shop has survived the onslaught of the biggest of chain stores, the bloodletting of on-line discounting, the burden of high rents and has thrived by pure effort making the best intentions a reality. I lived in Brookline for twenty-five years and went into the Booksmith at least once a week, even though I had my own bookshop, just to see what they were up to and often came away with a book we did not have on our own shelves that I had to read.
Jamaicaway books, in Jamaica Plain, Boston, where my second reading took place, is a neighborhood store fashioned by the owner with the kind of care and attention few businesses ever bother with. Somehow, it still finds the resources to appeal to its community, and the love for books is obvious.
This Sunday I will be reading in New York at the Mysterious Bookshop. This is an honor. The Mysterious Bookshop is iconic not only in its specialty among mystery readers but among fellow booksellers as well. I have not been there since they moved some years ago and look forward to seeing what Mr. Penzler has done—the old shop was a great jewel.
And of course there is that wonderful bunch of booklovers who attend the readings those shops conduct so that writers can find their audience. These are people who are entertained by words and imagination, appreciate the need to keep the book alive, and perhaps even enjoy the old fashioned gnashing of a good horsepull. As I have delivered my short preambles before reading from HOUND each time, I have seen the smile of recognition on the faces of strangers.
I must work harder at my presentation. I want those folks to give HOUND a chance amidst all the glitter, noise and promotion for the next big thing. Besides, I’ve had all the pleasure of writing it. I should have to pay my dues.
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