When the invitation was extended months ago it seemed a good idea to have a table at the local Book Fair. By last Monday and even more so on Friday I was regretting my decision. I lacked enthusiasm, energy, and expectation. If I hadn't stocked up on books to sell I would have made an excuse and not gone.
And so it was, on a beautiful though breezy autumnal day, I was to be found sitting in a small hall with a group of hopeful authors touting their wares.
10.15 I arrived early to set up and take a little walk outside. There are a number of events this weekend as part of the Swansea Fringe including a late-announced, already-sold-out interview with Michael Sheen. That's in the Dylan Thomas Theatre as opposed to the Dylan Thomas Centre - where the Book Fair is - but as soon as I heard about his event I tweeted Michael Sheen to invite him along. One of my books even has his name in the title. How could he resist? (Spoiler alert: he didn't come.)
10.40 The hall is filling up with authors setting out stalls. Most know each other from the local writing group, organisers of the Fair. Some, most, look very professional.
11.00 Opening time. Chatting to my neighbour. He is a prolific author producing poetry and thrillers as well as books on cycling, and even some for children.
Other neighbour looks very artistic. She is also v. chatty. She and first neighbour get into conversation. I try not to listen but hear her say that her child has just been sectioned again, which he counteracts with, "My daughter's been diagnosed with cancer."
Another stall-holder recognises me as woman who writes for Gower Community magazine. She says she always reads my articles. (Doesn't say if she likes them but I guess/hope that is inferred.) She also recommends whippets as good dogs to have because they only need 2 x 20 minutes walks a day and they sleep the rest of the day.
11.09 Two authors haven't turned up so those on tables in the middle of the room are moved to the sides. Neighbour is pleased as it makes more space for browsing. I regret the change, which leaves me feeling more exposed. Try to tell myself I should be happy, this is good.
11.22 Lovely buzz in the room. Sadly it's all authors catching up and promoting themselves. If asked I shrug and say, "It's just romantic fiction." Need to take lessons in self-promotion. I am, however, only writer of what could be loosely termed Women's Fiction. Lots of sci-fi, steampunk, historic, crime, poetry, and literary fiction.
Is it too early for lunch?
12.03 Every table has people except for me and lady with chunky necklace. Get excited when a couple stop in front of my display, glance at it . . . and move on. They look too intellectual for my writing.
Woman comes in. Looks like the type who might like my books but she's only handing out leaflets advertising a free writing workshop.
12.19 Eating lunch. Crisps and an apple. Feel vaguely guilty and expect to be told off. "You'll get greasy fingermarks on all the books." Starting to feel cold.
12.58 Have bought two Christmas presents. Books sold so far = 0.
13.08 That moment when potential* customers stand in front of your stall? I hate it. Feel embarrassed as if I'm putting pressure on them simply by being there. Fear they can hear the desperate psychic pleas emanating from my brain. "Please buy my book, please buy my book."
Notice other stall-holders engage their customers in conversation.
*Not that anyone has yet.
Sudden influx of people bringing browsers up to five.
13.43 Freezing now. One man picks up This Time Next Year and reads the back; the closest I've got to a sale.
I pick up and start reading The Tree, Granny, and Me (not forgetting Michael Sheen.) Think it's good. I would buy it.
Wonder if women who buy my sort of book don't go to Book Fairs, or perhaps people who go to Book Fairs don't buy my sort of book.
14.18 Reading book on my tablet about alternative Christian take on homosexuality. Struggling to concentrate because everyone keeps talking. Wander around DT Centre but cold everywhere.
15.00 Two women slowly making their way around the room, and actually buying books. Will wait until they've passed my table and then go home. Shivering visibly now.
15.10 Women turn around and leave just before they reach my table.
Books sold = 0
Christmas presents bought = 2, plus one from the Centre shop, where I also purchased an adult Welsh learner story book. (When I say adult I don't mean 'Adult'.)
Net loss = Don't want to think about it. No, really I suppose only the £10 it cost to book the table; Christmas present costs don't count.
So that was my day.
The Fair wasn't well attended but I think I was the only person not to sell anything. Do I get a gold star for best loser?
6 comments:
Were the others doing anything different on their tables? Free glass of wine, or buttonhole? Disappointing for you - not nice sitting in a cold hall all day.
What a bummer for you!
Well, all I can say is that Michael Sheen has certainly fallen low in my estimation for not coming by and buying a copy of your book with his name in the title.
I hate events like this. They make money for the organizers. Why don't they just take up a collection and save you the time and effort.
I always feel a bit embarrassed at any sort or craft or art fair. As a guest, I mean, sort of embarrassed for people who want to sell their wares, it I never buy.
how disappointing.
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