A Slice of Humble Pie for Poor Me (It's good to be the King)

Last week I thought, "Hey, I'll stop by the cool local independent bookstore, and see if they'd be willing to carry a copy or two of my latest book." I'll admit that putting myself out there in this way is not an easy thing for me to do. It's kind of like asking somebody out on a date.

When I first moved to Vermont I stopped in this particular bookstore to see if they'd carry my kid's book. When I talked to the manager of the children's book section, she seemed more put out by my request than willing to help out a first-time author. She told me she'd get back to me. I waited three months and finally followed up. They said they'd be willing to put one consignment copy on the shelf. I was cool with that and referred people to the bookstore when they expressed interest in buying my kid's book.

I figured that since I had one book on their shelves I might have an "in" for my second book. Last week I ventured into the store and saw that they were probably a little too busy to talk business at that moment. So, to buy some time, I went upstairs to the children's section to see what was up with my kid's book. I looked through the shelves and couldn't find it. Maybe they sold it and forgot to contact me? An employee asked me if she could help me and I told her that I was looking for my book. She looked it up on the computer and said for all to hear, "Oh yeah, we have it. Your book's in a box in the back room. We tried to contact you to see if you wanted it back, but couldn't find you." My heart sank. And when several patrons looked at me with sad eyes, you could hear my ego crack like a Sunday morning egg. The employee invited me into "the back room." I asked why my book was in the back room and was told that it was because it didn't sell. Now, I understand the "out with the old, in with the new" concept from a retail standpoint. It was a business decision. But man, a box in the back room? She showed me the box, and sure enough, at the bottom of a small stack of misfit books was my first born (cue violins . . .). I pulled it out and she asked me, "What would you like to do with it? Do you want us to hold on to it?" I was stumped. "Not if you're going to keep it in a box in the back room," I answered and told her I'd take it. With eyes averted I slinked out of the bookstore.

My kid's book and I have a history of swell times together. My very first booksigning, for example, was an exciting event for me. It was filled with limitless possibilities. Before the event, when I drifted off into candyland, I imagined a long line of excited children and parents waiting to get their copy. It was gonna be great ! I walked into the local Barnes & Noble (this was in central New Jersey), pen in hand, bursting with excitement. My excitement grew immense as the manager took me to the kid's section and I saw a table displaying about 30 copies of my book. In front of the table were 4 rows of folding chairs they had set up just for this event. My event. I would have an audience ! I positioned myself behind the table, pen still in hand - it was almost time. Over the loudspeaker I heard the announcement. "Local author Wendy Halley is in the children's section signing copies of her new book Inside Out." Hooray ! And then . . . crickets.

After 30 or so minutes someone approached my table. The excitement in me welled back up. He came up to me and said, "Do you know where the children's picture books are?" ouch. (cue violins . . . again). I think I may have winced as I said, "No, I'm sorry. I don't work here. But my guess is that they're probably over there." And I pointed to my left. That pretty much sums up how my first book signing went. I ended up signing a few copies that day, but they seemed to be pity purchases. How pathetic the scene must have looked to anyone walking in. yikes.

So the moral of my sad story is this . . . if you're not Stephen King, you're simply not Stephen King.