Dec 05, 2005
Welcome to the Land of the Living! Now Pick Up A Shovel And Start Digging

So, against all the odds, known laws of taste, and my own obvious negative inertia, I managed to sell The Electric Church for real cash money. I was brought, unconscious, into the lavatory where I was scrubbed and shaved. Makeup was applied subtly to conceal the bags under my eyes, and I was pressed into a crisp new suit. Then I was led out to the balcony, below which teeming hordes of my fans had gathered to celebrate the news. I managed one mighty wave of my hand before collapsing into the arms of my retainers. There followed several days of games and feasting, while I recovered sufficiently to actually sign the contracts and to start the lengthy process of building up my strength in order to promote the book.

Ah, promotion. The worst part of this moderately disappointing life of letters. Writing the book is fun. Editing the book can sometimes be fun, and is usually challenging if not actually entertaining. Selling the book is usually dreary stuff, but at least has that exciting bit at the end where someone tosses a spot of cash your way and grunts something praiseful at you. Now, if I were allowed to take my ill-gotten gains and go on a terrific bender for a few months, emerging shaky and yellowed just in time to see my book on the shelves and collect my first massive royalty check, that would be fantastic. Sadly, this isn't possible, as I am expected to promote my ass off.

I am told that some time in the murky past—and even in the glorious present if you sell in the millions—publishers would actually spend their own money to promote a book due to a belief that promotion equaled sales. This has apparently been proven wrong, and now almost every contract negotiation with a publisher includes a warning that the author will be expected to do a lot of promotion his- or herself, because the huge international corporation (or the tiny run-out-of-the-garage company) publishing the book has no money or resources left over for such things. So now I know that the moment the book comes out I have to start hustling. Promoting this book has suddenly become number one on my list of More Shit I Gotta Do.

I'm not complaining—I'd rather have a book to promote than not. And let's face it, whatever cherished lies I tell myself about my impact on the culture and my genius and my good looks, this book is not going to form the kernel of some new philosophy or religion. It's a good book, but it's just a fun adventure with some neat ideas, some good dialog (or at least I think so) so I guess it's no insult that I have to convince people to read it. But shit, this promoting is a lot of work. Okay, I guess I am complaining. I demand a staff of dozens to do this promotion for me, and a budget of one million dollars. This money will be used for the following:

1. The hiring of an actor to play me at readings, signings, etc, while I lurk in the background signaling him frantically, drinking heavily from my flask, and eventually vomiting over everyone, including the actor. The actor doesn't have to be very convincing, as everyone will simply ascribe any woodenness or flubbed lines as my sad descent into alcoholism.

2. To stage a parade down Times Square which will consist of one float. I will stand on the float (or, more accurately, be supported by several trusted associates) and throw cash out to the good people of New York City. I don't know how this will sell books, but damn, it'll be fun. Of course if I am too dissipated I reserve the right to have the actor do it instead.

3. Naturally, there'll be a big party, with open bar, to which all sorts of media types will be invited. I will also have to hire lots more actors to wander the crowd and discuss the book in breathless hype-y exclamations. I'm not sure this will sell books, either—it probably depends on how many powerful media people I manage to insult, vomit on, or pass out in front of. All I know is there will be an open bar, and I've been dreaming of an open bar ever since the last open bar I attended.

I hate promotion. It's dull, requires far too much energy, and often walks a thin line between triumph and humiliation—readings, for example—the basic staple of any book promotion campaign—can be wonderful if lots of enthusiastic people show up, but can be horrible if no one shows up. And baby, I've done readings where no one—not one person—has shown up. I don't want to do it again. The rest of it is a mystery to me—how in the world do you get people's attention, first of all, and once you have their weary, suspicious attention, how do you convince them to spend money on your book? I have no answers. I'd like to come up with some cheap, national campaign for the book that is a smash success and makes me famous and best-selling. But the reality is I get all sorts of sleepy and agitated whenever I try to think of it. It's very mysterious, this promotion business, and part of the reason I wanted to be published by a for-real publishing company (asides from the cash money) was so they could do all this boring stuff for me. What's next? Will every publishing contract come with a copy of InDesign on DVD so we can typeset the book ourselves?

Complaining again, I see, which is stupid. Such a small number of writer's actually make any money from writing, I should just be happy, I suppose, to have snookered some people into paying me. Now if I could just snooker some more people into promoting it for me, I'd be delirious with joy. As a matter of fact, forget the actor: If you have a passable physical resemblance to me (read: out-of-shape, Irish-German, wears glasses, looks devastatingly handsome in tight trousers) I will gladly make you the Fake Me, to give interviews, readings, and hand out autographs and cash like candy. I will sit at home and drink the profits—it's perfect!

Sigh, I guess that won't work. So it's back to basics: Readings in the future, scrabbling for whatever minor media coverage I can manage, and in the mean time, a stealth web site for the fictitious religion in the novel, which hopefully will get found and noticed. But probably won't. Feel free to link to that site, and talk about it as it The Electric Church actually existed, that would be great. And, of course, an endless house ad in The Inner Swine. And that about exhausts my bag of tricks when it comes to book promotion. Underwhelmed? So am I. That is why I drink.