Selling in the Rain

Last weekend I took part in the Philadelphia Book Festival—an annual literary extravaganza sponsored by The Free Library of Philadelphia. It consisted of renting a tent and trying to hawk my books, clad in many layers of clothing to keep off the rain and swilling down gallons of hot coffee to keep off the chill.

“Do you like mysteries?” I cried out to the occasional passersby. The trick was to make eye contact, which was difficult when he or she was hunkered down under an umbrella, gaze fixed on the ground, trying to avoid lake-sized puddles. If someone did raise their eyes and came within scanning distance of my wares, I would begin to babble about the merits of my sleuths and quote the price, pointing out how much lower it was than the one printed on the cover flap. If my prey gave a flat “No.” to my sale’s pitch I would let them go without flinching. After all, I was a hardened writer/bookseller. Rejection rolled off me like water off a duck’s back. Although, I must admit, when they accompanied their refusals with an ugly facial expression, I experienced a slight twinge in the vicinity of the heart.

Unfortunately, as the rain poured harder, the visitors grew scarcer and they tended to run, rather than saunter past my tent. I had to shout my sales pitch and wave my posters to get their attention. Then a bolt of lightning or a crash of thunder would send them scurrying off. Finally an announcement came over the inter-com that the Festival was closing early. Shortly afterward, a nice man, a member of the Library staff, came by and dropped off a plastic poncho for me to wear while loading my books in my car, and an apology for the weather (as if he was to blame!)

The best part of the day was when a bunch of us soggy vendors from MWA gathered back at my house for warmth, food and drink, and discussed the pros? and cons of selling in the rain.

Robin Hathaway

Kick-Ass Women On the Case

I participated as a panelist at my first ever Book Festival/Conference/Convention two Saturdays ago, and I liked it. It was called the Second Annual Empire State Book Festival and, as you might guess, it was held in Albany, my new hometown. According to the press release, 2,000 people crowded into the underground caverns beneath the Empire Plaza (the space is called ‘the Convention Center, but in no danger of competing for business with the Jacob Javits Center in my former hometown). But enough caviling; I was grateful to be picked as a panelist.

Our subject was “Kick-Ass Women On the Case: Female Detectives in Fiction” and the room was packed. We were: the always-witty, best-selling, globe-trotting S. J. Rozan (just off a plane from Tokyo where she was honored with the Japanese version of our Edgar); popular Chatham novelist, Julia Pomeroy; the well-reviewed Kinderhook author and UAlbany Professor Hollis Seamon; our Moderator, the Woodstock Editor/Anthologist Michele Slung who over the years has handled all the greats in the mystery field; and myself (new to Albany, late of the City). I once told a Judge up here that I was from The City, and you know his next question: what city? Duh!

I had the distinction of being the only male appearing with these estimable women authors. Although, to be candid, that had more to do with my having invented the panel and chosen the panelists and, with the indispensable help of Hollis Seamon, sold the idea to the Librarian-in-Charge. The Festival, like last year’s, was the brainchild of the New York Library Association, and the participants, I assume, selected by librarians.

Now, I love libraries and librarians, but their choice of marquee names as Keynote speakers to draw the crowds left me a bit cold. I don’t doubt that Roseanne Cash (Johnny’s daughter) has written a fine memoir, and Ann M. Martin, best-selling Children’s Book author, is equally good. In fact, Ms. Martin’s recent novel, “A Dog’s Life: The Autobiography of a Stray” won the ASPCA Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award. Last May 2nd, however, the keynoters were the novelist/memoirist Mary Gordon and the fantasy writer Gregory Maguire, the author of ‘Wicked”, the runaway best-seller described by John Updike as ‘an amazing novel’. A bigger crowd as I remember. But maybe the librarians are trying to level the playing field: they don’t advertise in advance of the Event . . . ever.

Yet, I really have no cause to complain. I sold books. My friends at Blackwood & Brouwer Booksellers, Kinderhook, had brought along the twelve hardcover copies of my out-of-print novel that had been a drug on their market.

Robert Knightly