My phone tells me it will rain this morning at 6 am on Saturday. The probability of rain in LA at the end of April is zero, but not on a day you want and need to be sunny. So, of course, it's going to rain—a deluge, actually.
There goes the elegant blue spring top. Not only is it raining and cold, but we'll be outdoors, covered by a flimsy tent barely protected by the elements. So I wear my clunky black cords, woolen black turtleneck, hoody sweater, black lace-up waterproof shoes, and shabby old rain jacket. To add just one touch of elegance, I put on my dangly pearl-diamond earrings, a 70th birthday gift several years ago.
Picture my husband, Saul, and me wheeling our case full of A Reluctant Spy, my debut novel, in the pouring rain, inadequate umbrellas, carrying bags full of disparate supplies—book stands, clipboard for newsletter signups, string, water, signing pens, and our little Square credit card reader for all these mythical sales I'm going to make.
We are in the WPN (Writers and Publishers Network) booth #200, whose location isn't obvious in the mysterious numbering system. We slosh through with our precious cargo, and finally, we're under the tent, sharing space with all the big signs and tables in a chaos of squeezing in, trying to stay dry. Everyone is being organized by our magnificent Queen Bee, Kathleen Kaiser, who has made this experience happen for all twelve authors in the booth.
Eventually, I'm set up at my table, A Reluctant Spy displayed on artfully arranged signs and in small piles. My clipboard is waiting for signups; the Square gizmo is in Saul's hands, and he will be the cashier.
An astonishing thing happens at about 9:30, before the official start of the festival. A man in a cowboy hat materializes at my table and says he'd like to buy my book. My first sale! It's a joyful moment, and we memorialize it with a photo of Wayne and me holding up the book between us. In a day of magical moments, I will never forget this one, in which a person who is not a family member or a friend stepped up and bought my book in cold blood. What sold it to him? Was it the glorious cover with the bold orange font and a deserted road leading into a mysterious darkness? Or was it the beckoning hint of a thriller suggested by the title A Reluctant Spy?
To our amazement, people seem unfazed by the rain. They stream along the path in their plastic ponchos and colorful umbrellas, full of brio and excitement, some with dogs and many with children. I step out with my umbrella and ask some intrepid people if they like mysteries and thrillers. When someone says yes, I invite her into my tent and tell her to look at my book. She gazes at it on its little stand, and I suddenly have an insight. I lift the book and place it in her hands. "Read the back cover," I say. "And page through." She's careful with her umbrella, but a few wet books will be the price of doing business here. The design of my book is beautiful, and the matte cover is alluring. With 350 pages or so, there's a lovely heft and tactile beauty. I see the book in her hands, the way she strokes the cover and tentatively opens the book. "I'll take it," she says.
This is a lesson for me, a neophyte with a debut novel. Draw the people in from the outside, put a book in their hands, and invite them to read the back cover and page through. When the rain subsides, we put my enormous retractable sign outside. This sign is about 8 feet tall and 3 feet wide and has an enormous blowup of my book and a large glamorous photo of me. Plus, in enlarged yellow writing on a gray background, my hook: A dead husband. A brilliant hacker. A shadowy world of sex and money in a den of academic intrigue. The sign dwarfs me, and I shrink back. It's almost embarrassing to have such a huge sign. "I see she killed you off," a bystander says to Saul.
Kathleen helped design and make this sign for me. It's magnificent. At once, I see that it'll be a game changer, attracting hoards of people. When I say I'm the author, they look at me dubiously. By now, my blonde hair has blown and fluffed up in the wind and rain, and I imagine I must look like an explosion in a dandelion field.
Saul and I fall into a good routine when I'm at the table autographing books. He approaches people walking by and brings them in to meet the author. I stand and greet them and immediately put a book into their hands. They buy the book, and Saul takes cash or credit card payments. I write a nice personal message with my rolling blue gel
pen, underline my name with a flourish, and place a colorful postcard in the book. I chat with my readers and ask them to sign up for my newsletter. "The sequel is coming soon," I say. "You don't want to miss the announcement."
At 11:30, I texted my daughters: Books are selling like hotcakes. I've become good at closing the sale, refining my pitch, and assessing the people. The CS angle intrigued a small group of CS majors and young women. "My protagonist is a brilliant young computer scientist," I say, "routinely underestimated by the men around her." They nod knowingly. All three of them buy the book. A man comes by and tells me he's an engineer, intrigued by the hacker angle. "Lots of CS sprinkled through the book," I tell him. "Encryption, graphics, cracking passwords, and so on." He, too, nods, then buys the book. Two middle-aged women stare at my sign.
I walk out, and as I greet them, the sun comes out and shines on them. They step up to my table, and each picks up a book. They tell me they're looking for a book for their book club, and I'm their first stop. "Look no further," I say, "you've found it! My book has drama, suspense, intrigue…everything you could want for your book club." These are my people, women of a certain age, and we bond as we chat about page-turners and being at the edge of your seat. Both of the women fall in love with the book before they read it. They each buy a book and tell me this is it! They'll recommend it to their book club, which will meet on the third Thursday in May. I offered to Zoom with them during the meeting. It's a date! 7:00 pm on a Thursday. I put it on my calendar as they sign up for my newsletter.
Darn, it's started to rain again. I go outside the booth with my umbrella, and a dear old friend, Sue, a fellow author, is running toward me. Under our big umbrellas, we embrace. We both taught at San Gabriel Mission High School when we were 23. Now in our seventies, a lifetime away, we have brought published novels to this festival. It's a moment of pure joy in the rain, how we've come full circle, blessed to see this day.
A man comes by and stops at my giant sign. When I greet him, he says, "This is weird; I know this book." How is that possible? Obviously, he hasn't bought it. And then he told me that he was the engineer for my audiobook! My audiobook narrator lives in Ithaca, New York, and here is her engineer at the LA Times Festival of Books! "I loved this book so much that I listened to the whole thing," he tells me. This counts as another Moment in my magical day.
It's almost noon when I realize we've taken out all twenty books in the case, and only five are left on the table. I send Saul to the parking garage to get another box. My family arrives after lunch: my daughter, Lauren, and 15-year-old grandson, Noah. They immediately get into the spirit, taking photos and videos and handing out bookmarks to the crowds. They are both in awe of my retractable sign.
Noah bonds with my tablemate in the booth, a retired Secret Service cop, Terry. They talk about football, and Noah helps him sell some books. "My granny doesn't need me," he tells Terry. "She knows how to close the deal."
There's a different vibe in the afternoon. The sun is out, and we all are sluggish. But the people keep coming, and my sales go up. I'm struck by the rainbow of people who have bought my book, a cross-section of the world.
At some point, WPN's Vice President, Jay Hartman, comes to my table and tells me he's in love with me. "Why?" I ask. "Because we've all been watching you sell your book." Who knew? He is a lovely beaming charmer, and I tell him I love him too. We hug.
I seek out Kathleen and envelop her in a long and heartfelt embrace. It's hard to articulate all I want to say. Thank you for everything. Making this all possible. Providing that over-the-top sign that beckoned the buyers. Shlepping it through the rain to my booth. Giving wise counsel about selling books at the festival. Providing the opening gambit that I used all day: "Do you like mysteries and thrillers?" Kathleen told us about the wind, the comfortable shoes, the cold morning temperatures, and talking to the people. "They've come to meet authors and buy books," she had said. "Talk to them, be personable, and draw them in. They're here to speak to authors and buy books."
This day at the festival has been a turning point for me as an author. This was when my book went out into the world, held gently in the hands of strangers—my readers.
