Duluth Heights Community Club
The crowd was meager from the get go and didn’t change much over the course of time. Seven hours. Six books sold. Not a very productive way to spend a Saturday. I know. Even J.K. Rowling may have had a day, somewhere long ago in her past, where she sat by herself at a book store or a public signing event. Maybe. I know many other nationally known writers, including Jane Hamilton (Map of the World) and Jacquelyn Mitchard (Deep End of the Ocean) have written about such occasions despite their literary success and having large publishing houses behind their work. Still, I am, by nature, an optimistic man and when the Duluth Heights Hockey Association emailed me a notice that they had room for an author at their first ever fundraising carnival and craft show, I looked at the calendar, saw an open date, and jumped at the chance to try to hawk some books.
My Table at Duluth Heights
I was pushing my recovery from shoulder surgery to be lugging around boxes of Laman’s River, Mr. Environment, Suomalaiset, and my novel-in-progress (Sukulaiset, of which I have a few extra review copies I sell at such events) but I figured it was the opening day of Minnesota’s firearms deer hunting season and there would be women (the half of American society that buys and reads fiction) out for a day of shopping and diversion while their menfolk stalked whitetail. I was wrong. Oh, there were indeed a few women about, lugging infants or with toddlers in tow, who came for the carnival in the basement of the community center. And a few of them lingered upstairs to look at the wares of the various vendors. But on this glorious late autumn day, with slight rain giving way to sunshine and balmy temperatures, I saw very few ladies digging for cash in their purses at my booth or any other booth at the event.
My ever diligent wife showed up with lunch for me sometime after tedium turned to boredom. My old man called about a personal problem while I was occupied with selling a book to a young man who had served on a jury a few months back in my courtroom. I had to brush Dad off so I could make the sale, which I did. I returned Dad’s call, gave him the best advice I could, and chatted with Rene’ for a time as I munched on a McDonald’s wrap. Rene’ said adieu and then it was just me and the empty space of the hall, or so it seemed to my now less-than-optimistic eye.
Don’t get me wrong. The exposure was likely a good thing despite the lack of sales. I managed to chat with a few folks who, though they didn’t buy a book directly from me, were interested in the Nook or Kindle version of Laman’s River. And I did other work while I sat in my chair, my left arm immobilized in a sling, Lortab coursing through my veins. I managed to select the textbooks for my environmental law course at UWS next semester. And I finished reading the most recent issue of Poets and Writers Magazine. So, despite the scarcity of sales and the infrequency of patrons, the day was productive.
Mark with His Magazine
Dad wandered in near closing time. We talked a bit and then he waved his hand and went home to watch talking heads on MSNBC. I sold another book: Then it was time to leave. One of the vendors, a nice older woman (who had bought a copy of Sukulaiset) offered her four wheeled dolly and the services of her husband to help me load out. The kindness of strangers, the charitable intent of the show (and the friendliness of the folks who put on it on) might tempt me to come back in spite of disappointing sales. I have a year to think about it.
Peace.
Mark
The Hall Near Closing Time
