Category Archives: publishing

Happy to be Here

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We pulled into BOOKSELLERS AT LAURELWOOD just after lunch on Friday. It’s a dignified, orderly store of honey-colored wood and pretty displays.

Don’t let the exterior fool you. Like the class clown in a prom dress, this bookshop’s personality can’t help but shine through.

For the full story of what BaL has endured to stay standing, visit their website or google their press coverage from last year, but the nutshell version is “regional chain liquidation from Davis Kidd, nasty games with head financial officers, corporate shenanigans involving rights to use their name, and the hero of the piece–Neil–hiring back the existing staff when they re-opened as BaL.”

Those who work in animal rescue will understand instantly what I’m going to say next, and I hope the rest of you find it a non-derogatory, non-odd comparison. If you’ve ever fostered a dog rescued from a shelter at the last possible moment, or a momma cat and her kittens sprung on euthanize day, you know that animals–even cats!– show gratitude. Those who came closest to complete loss never forget, and express appreciation even as they revel in snow and grass and water and life; they just plain lick your nose or purr more often, and they’ll do anything for you.

Permit me this metaphor among those who have not shared this experience, because every time I walk into Booksellers at Laurelwood, their joy in being there shines through. Liquidation was 3 days away, and they got rescued. Since then, they’ve been rescuing their community every day.

One of the people who’s worked there longest is Nicole. A more cheerful person you will not meet. The petite blond was described to me by another staff member, JoAnne, as “an artery for this store.” If you’ve read my book, Nicole was the person who stood in the children’s department on Dec. 24, 2011 chatting with us as the place filled up around her, turning amiably to say “top shelf at the back, next to the dragon” or “I’m so sorry; I sold the last copy Monday” as customer asked questions. She is a poster child for why bookshops must remain, because her orderly department is brimfull of happy kids whose parents are buying them the books they read as children, and she knows which ones are for what personalities and ages. The woman is a walking encyclopedia of Curious George trivia; she can tell you things about Pippi Longstocking you didn’t know you didn’t know.

As we stood chatting once again last night before our book talk at BaL, a little girl came whizzing past to play at the cars and roads table behind us. Nicole turned and looked at this child in her bright pink and green dress, a bow the size of a magnolia blossom behind her ear, and smiled.

“See?” she said, indicating the oblivious toddler with an unobtrusive shoulder roll. “Even on bad days, how bad can it be? Look what I get to do for the next generation, surrounded by all that energy and cuteness.”

Go, Nicole – and Carley and Chad and JoAnne and Scott (these last two get their own blog post later this week) and the rest. Bring back the joy in bricks-and-mortar bookshops!

 

Thank you, Mr. S

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The sweetest note arrived at our bookstore late last week. I opened the hand-addressed envelope and a ten-dollar bill fell out.

Good start.

The accompanying letter was from Mike S of Rhode Island, who said he’d come across my book in a used bookstore in Connecticut (Book Barn) and picked it up for a fiver. (Which settles one of the questions that Jack, my agent Pamela, and I have been debating: how long would it take for Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap, a book about a used bookstore, to hit the used books market? 32 days.)

But those of you who have read it know that Chapter 24 (or so) deals with how artists do or don’t get paid for their work, pointing out that resale rarely benefits the creator, etc. etc. Mike said he enjoyed the book so much, he felt he had to send me something as the creator of it, hence the ten-spot. Now isn’t that sweet, kind, genteel?

But Mike also pointed out something that’s been on my mind since my NYC discussion with Nichole (my editor at St. Martin’s Press) last month, when she emphasized that only 5% of all booksales in America are through independent bricks-and-mortar shops. Mike (clearly a man of discerning tastes) likened the rise of little bookshops everywhere to the craft beer industry. A market that used to have just three or four big and basic tastes now has microbreweries everywhere–and those little guys have put the social back into drinking. They’ve returned fun to a business that was sinking under its own weight.

Smallness can revolutionize homogeneous bigness. Etsy is doing so for crafters in other materials besides hops; I have friends selling their gorgeous homemade pottery and knitwear–stuff Walmart will never see and that will outlast anything you buy there–for reasonable prices on that small-creators site. And of course, Jack and I run the classic example of a little bookstore: independent, used, and ours. No corporate manuals, no CEO other than Val-Kyttie (whose every whim is catered to, natch).

So, Mr. Mike, as I said in my return thank you note–a thank you note for a thank you note? Anyway–you have done me three good turns: added an example to the thought path I’m headed down, this juxtaposition of little bigness in the American marketplace; gave Jack, Andrew, and me a laugh when that $10 fell to the floor; and funded kitten kibble for the home team. Staff kitten Owen Meany says, “Thank you, Mr. S.”

So say we all.