reading
I’ve mentioned it before, but it bears repeating, one of the great things about working in a bookstore is getting to meet authors of the books you enjoy reading.
In the spring of 2003, I was walking by the biography section when I spotted a book with an amazing cover. You can’t judge a book by its cover, but you can certainly stop someone dead in their tracks if you get it right. I brought it into the employee lounge and did what I’ve done a thousand times before; I read the first two chapters to see whether the book had any merit and to see who the book would appeal to.
A few pages into it and I knew who it would be perfect for ... me. I read a few more chapters and knew I was buying this book at the end of the day (as opposed to borrowing it and returning it to the shelves when I was done). Working in a bookstore has to have some lame ass perks.
Later that morning, I was working at the information desk where a man walked up and said he’s a newly published author and would I mind if he signed the copies on the shelf. This happens almost everyday and, for the most part, it is fairly inconsequential, but sometimes we only have one or two copies and the author starts whining about why we have so few or even worst, they want to know why it isn’t in the main window or front table. This gets tired, real quick.
This khaki clad man was very cool and laidback and he scored major points by asking politely. I asked him for his name so I could look up the title. I pulled up the title list on the screen and then slowly turned to him and said, “This is so weird, I was just reading your book about an hour ago.”
I grabbed all the copies off the shelf, had him sign them, and then brought them down to the front table and placed them in a prominent spot. Then I ran to my office and got my copy of the book and asked him to personalize it to me. He talked for about half an hour about his story depicted in the book, the screenplays he’d written, his writing of the book, and his subsequent move to NYCity. I hand sold almost every copy of his book in the two next weeks and convinced several associates to read it as well.
I spoke with a friend who worked at the home office and told her of the experience. She was elated because she read the galley of his book a few months before and recommened its inclusion in the program where noteworthy first-time writers are featured. Having also met him, she echoed my sentiments about his demeanor.
Today we got our super secret shipment of Oprah’s next Book Club pick. I peeked in the box to see who “won the lottery.” As I lifted the flap, I saw a vivid color that immediately reminded me of the above mentioned book. I got all giddy as I lifted the other flap and found that it was indeed that book. Woo Hoo! I shouted. The receivers looked at me like I’m an idiot. I told them the story and now they think I’m an idiot and an uber geek. I needed validation, so I knew what to do. I called my friend who read the galley. As I told her who was selected, I had to pull the phone away from my ear because she was yelling with glee (then I knew for sure that I wasn’t an idiot, however, the jury's still out on the geek thing).
This laidback, cool author’s life is going to change in a major way on Thursday when the title is released. I met Jacquelyn Mitchard a year after being chosen as Oprah’s first book club selection and I asked her how her life changed since then (I, of course, lacked imagination, and asked her something that she was asked everyday). Her response was something like, “My great, great grandchildren never have to work.” That’s hard for me to comprehend (but I petitioned the courts to have her adopt me).
I’ll post the book jacket on Thursday ... got to respect Oprah (and what she has done for many authors’ careers and lives)...
In the spring of 2003, I was walking by the biography section when I spotted a book with an amazing cover. You can’t judge a book by its cover, but you can certainly stop someone dead in their tracks if you get it right. I brought it into the employee lounge and did what I’ve done a thousand times before; I read the first two chapters to see whether the book had any merit and to see who the book would appeal to.
A few pages into it and I knew who it would be perfect for ... me. I read a few more chapters and knew I was buying this book at the end of the day (as opposed to borrowing it and returning it to the shelves when I was done). Working in a bookstore has to have some lame ass perks.
Later that morning, I was working at the information desk where a man walked up and said he’s a newly published author and would I mind if he signed the copies on the shelf. This happens almost everyday and, for the most part, it is fairly inconsequential, but sometimes we only have one or two copies and the author starts whining about why we have so few or even worst, they want to know why it isn’t in the main window or front table. This gets tired, real quick.
This khaki clad man was very cool and laidback and he scored major points by asking politely. I asked him for his name so I could look up the title. I pulled up the title list on the screen and then slowly turned to him and said, “This is so weird, I was just reading your book about an hour ago.”
I grabbed all the copies off the shelf, had him sign them, and then brought them down to the front table and placed them in a prominent spot. Then I ran to my office and got my copy of the book and asked him to personalize it to me. He talked for about half an hour about his story depicted in the book, the screenplays he’d written, his writing of the book, and his subsequent move to NYCity. I hand sold almost every copy of his book in the two next weeks and convinced several associates to read it as well.
I spoke with a friend who worked at the home office and told her of the experience. She was elated because she read the galley of his book a few months before and recommened its inclusion in the program where noteworthy first-time writers are featured. Having also met him, she echoed my sentiments about his demeanor.
Today we got our super secret shipment of Oprah’s next Book Club pick. I peeked in the box to see who “won the lottery.” As I lifted the flap, I saw a vivid color that immediately reminded me of the above mentioned book. I got all giddy as I lifted the other flap and found that it was indeed that book. Woo Hoo! I shouted. The receivers looked at me like I’m an idiot. I told them the story and now they think I’m an idiot and an uber geek. I needed validation, so I knew what to do. I called my friend who read the galley. As I told her who was selected, I had to pull the phone away from my ear because she was yelling with glee (then I knew for sure that I wasn’t an idiot, however, the jury's still out on the geek thing).
This laidback, cool author’s life is going to change in a major way on Thursday when the title is released. I met Jacquelyn Mitchard a year after being chosen as Oprah’s first book club selection and I asked her how her life changed since then (I, of course, lacked imagination, and asked her something that she was asked everyday). Her response was something like, “My great, great grandchildren never have to work.” That’s hard for me to comprehend (but I petitioned the courts to have her adopt me).
I’ll post the book jacket on Thursday ... got to respect Oprah (and what she has done for many authors’ careers and lives)...
but the content inside is more compelling.
At the age of twenty-three, James Frey woke up on a plane to find his four front teeth had been knocked out. His nose was broken and there was a hole through his cheek. He had no idea where the plane was headed or what had happened over the preceding two weeks. He had been an alcoholic for ten years and a crack addict for three. When he checked into a treatment facility shortly thereafter, he was told he could either stop using or die before he reached twenty-four.
A Million Little Pieces is Frey’s acclaimed account of his six weeks in rehab; fiercely honest and deeply affecting, it is one of the most graphic and immediate books ever to be written about addiction and recovery.
A picture of the lottery winner.
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