Sock Puppets, Scandals and Stars, Oh My!

My first one-star review appeared on Amazon today. The author, called “tealover,” took exception to many things. You can read the review easily on Amazon, so I won’t repost it here.

The point to me is, I’m now OFFICIALLY AN AUTHOR because somebody hates me, hates my work, can’t understand why I ever got published in the first place, and has taken the time to try and find really insightful ways of saying so.

Which means I have Made It. In with the bricks, me. I am someone other people actually care to spend their time trying to grab by the ankles and pull down.

WHOOHOO!

Seriously, of course it’s annoying when people don’t get you, and it sucks when people really write bad reviews to try and take the wind out of a new author’s sales (check out tealover’s other reviews and you might see a pattern emerging) but c’est la modern vie. We can say what we think–or what we want other people to think–and take no responsibility for it. And bless his/her heart, maybe it’s making tealover feel better about life. I hope so.

Besides, in these modern times a bad review means you can prove you aren’t paying anyone to write good reviews for you, or writing them yourself as a “sock puppet.” If you don’t know about the recently-exposed scandal then Google sock puppet reviews, but in a nutshell authors sometimes create fake accounts and diss rivals’ books or five-star their own works. Yeah, it’s as ugly as it sounds, and unfortunately rather rampant. Sock puppets are part of the side effect of a review’s power on Amazon. One of the nicest things that can happen to a new author is to get a lot of reviews right after a book’s published. It means people are noticing you–for good or ill.

Remember that old chestnut that there is no such thing as bad publicity? Yeah, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but it’s true.

So, like the first grey hair; the first flight of a child from the nest; the first realization that, dammit, yes you do need bifocals, the one-star review notifies neophyte authors that we have Arrived. Or, more accurately perhaps, Launched.

Fasten your seat belts; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.  :]

Malaprop’s Sweet Malaprop’s

One of the fun things about running around touring a book is all the great bookslingers you meet in shops you’ve not seen before: Ann at Spiral Bookcase, Ruth of Book People.

Then there are the old familiars, like Malaprop’s.

I’ve been going to Malaprop’s since college, when I discovered the South’s San Francisco in Asheville, North Carolina. For those who haven’t been, Asheville is a city full of hats, dogs and same sex couples. It’s one of the best places to eat for 400 miles. And it’s got Malaprop’s.

Thirty years old this year, Malaprop’s is one of those Dr. Who bookstores that’s bigger inside than out. It’s got a cafe that serves things with long names ending in “o” made by guys who take their work waaaay too seriously. It’s got floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves in old dark wood, and cool staff. You can buy just about any snarky magnet or bumper sticker you ever imagined.

It’s got style.

Malaprop’s was a book talk I really looked forward to giving, and it did not disappoint–not even when I arrived to find myself advertised (next to Barbara Kingsolver and Ron Rash) for NOVEMBER 28th. See the woman between Jack and me? That’s Elizabeth. She runs events at Malaprop’s. That’s why she’s grinning like that.

Elizabeth was lovely, and that one piece of card had the only errant date. Their copious mailing list, the flyers on the windows, even the one on the back of the toilet stall door, gave the correct date, and I am pleased to say we had a capacity crowd: a new author whose book debuts in February, an Atlanta businessman retiring to the mountains, two couples from the town, some bookstore lovers, and–wonder of wonders–our dear friends the Volks from Big Stone Gap! They’d decided to surprise us and make a weekend of it in Asheville.

Jack and I talked about the world we live in now, full of convenience over community, one-click shopping and easy choices whose consequences lay buried behind time and media messages. I repeated my mantra that I don’t object to Amazon wanting to be the biggest, but to their wanting to be the only. We talked about Malaprop’s online service–one click, but still part of the big picture, not its whole. And we reminded ourselves, as an audience in the Q&A afterward, that what Malaprop’s and the other independents offer is a sense of place, an anchor for the place to go and enjoy oneself on a Saturday. Take away Malaprop’s and the yarn store next door, the chocolate shop across the street, the Himalayan Imports store will lose business, and wither. Malaprop’s is big and strong. It pulls customers up the street past other enticing store windows, creating commerce: commerce that sustains the heart of a downtown community.

Convenience is nice, the assembly agreed, but it’s a commodity, not a virtue. It behooves us as American bibliophiles to remember that.

Thanks, Malaprop’s (and Elizabeth) for having me there, and for being there.