The Google Alert: An Author's Friend? Or Frenemy?

Meg Mitchell Moore's second novel comes out in a week. So Far Away combines the lives of a wayward teenage victim of cyberbullying and a lonely archivist. Given that a terrific set-up for a novel, it only makes sense that Meg would have such insight about a cyber quandary that many authors experience at launch time. Thank you, Meg!  --Sarah P. 

Before my first novel, The Arrivals, was about to published—this was a little over a year ago—a fellow author told me about Google alerts. “It’s great!” this author told me. “You put in your name and the name of your book and you get an email every day telling you where your book has been mentioned.”

As a debut author I thought that sounded pretty great. (“What? People talking about my book? Sign me up!”) Over to Google I headed, and it was with the pride of a mother enrolling her firstborn for kindergarten that I registered my name and that of my book.

Things went along swimmingly for a little while. It was through Google alerts that I found out about my first Publisher’s Weekly review, which was very positive. A couple of blog posts popped up too, and those were fun to see. Then, one day, something less nice came up. I don’t even remember exactly what it was but I think most authors can identify with the feeling that accompanied it: the hollow stomach, the shortness of breath. The flushed cheeks, even though I was the only one in the room. (Maybe that last one is just me: Irish skin.)     

A week or so went by, and every day at 2:20 (which is when my alerts came in to my email box) I noticed a strange sensation that traveled through my body, finally settling somewhere in my midsection. The first day I mistook it for adrenaline or hopefulness. But then I got to know it a little better and I realized it was pure, unadulterated anxiety. Let me say that one more time. These were actual physical sensations that I was experiencing because of something that might happen. Not something that had happened or was happening.  Something that might happen. And I felt it every single day.

I hated it.

Four more days passed, same deal. And then I remembered this: you could un-register for those alerts just as quickly as you could register for them. So I did. And you know what? Immediately I felt better. Two-twenty became a much more peaceful time of day for me, during which I was able to concentrate on my work in progress or walking my dog or making my kids a snack rather than waiting at my computer. Life outside the book went on, as life outside books tends to do.

Did I really miss any good news about my book that way? Maybe. Did I miss any bad? Who knows! My second novel is coming out next week and while I hardly consider myself a seasoned novelist I have learned that positive feedback generally makes its way toward its intended recipient via publicists or agents or readers themselves. Negative feedback: not that helpful anyway, and probably best paid no heed.

Oh, while I was giving up the Google alerts I kicked the Amazon review habit. I got the Goodreads monkey off my back.

My husband has a Google alert on my name. My sister does too. I have forbidden them from telling me when my name pops up. My husband checks my Amazon rankings; I do not. When he calls and says, “I know you say you don’t want to know this but—” I efficiently change the subject. I’m continuing in my state of blissful ignorance just as long as I can. What can I say? I like it here.

You can find Meg at http://megmitchellmoore.com/ or follow her @mmitchmoore.

Bookstore Fashion Crisis?

Dear Sarah,

My publication date is six weeks away, and my best friend just asked me "so, what do you wear to do a bookstore event?" And I realized I have no idea.

Help!

T.

Dear T.

I had the same question this past winter! And now that I live in a part of the country where "dressy" means wearing your newer fleece vest instead of the one in which you split wood, I asked a few friends for help. Here's what they said. –Sarah P.

Brenda Janowitz, author of Scot on the Rocks and Jack with a Twist makes a good point.

I always get dressed up for readings.  We writers have so few excuses to get out of our sweatpants!!  For me, I usually wear a dress.  I think it's nice to dress up for my readers, and you also never who's going to take a photo that will end up on Google images!  So pick something that photographs well from every angle.  But most of all, have fun with it.  Writing is a solitary art.  Readings and book events are the rare occasions when we get to leave the computer and socialize- enjoy it!

Poet and memoirist Sandra Beasley, author most recently of Don’t Kill the Birthday Girl and I Was the Jukebox knows of what she speaks. Beasley tours for months at a time:

I would recommend that authors get an advance sense of the position in which they'll be speaking at the bookstore. If you're going to be seated, don't wear a short skirt. If you're going to be at a podium, don't put all your visual interest below the waist. It feels dirty to say it that way, but you know what I mean.

If there is the slightest chance you'll be raising an arm to emphasize a point--or call on a question--choose a fabric where you're not introducing the audience to your utter excitement over this event, a.k.a. your pit sweat.
 

Because I often travel for extended stints, packing a suitcase with black and red clothes makes it easy to mix and match efficiently. Downside: seeing yourself in a dozen snapshots, each taken in a different town, each wearing approximately the same outfit. I love that red t-shirt with the ballet cap sleeves, but I swear to god I'm burning it before my next poetry collection comes out.

Mollie Cox Bryan, author of the new mystery Scrapbook of Secrets:

You want to look professional, with little hints of creativity. One item that stands out if sufficient, like big jewelry, or red shoes, but the rest of the outfit is subdued, but not boring.
Watch the sexy factor— cleavage, short skirts, and so on.
Wear something you are comfortable in and that travels well.

Nichole Bernier, author of the upcoming novel The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D:

YES: Something that is flattering and comfortable and projects the you you’d like to present.
NO: Bathing suit, unless you’ve written a book about wearing bathing suits. Lingerie, unless you’re EL James. Eveningwear, unless you’re on the dias accepting the Pulitzer or Nobel.

Sandra Neil Wallace is a children’s author of the middle-grade novel Little Joe, and an historical novel Muckers, forthcoming from Knopf in 2013:

DO: wear a signature accessory like a chunky turquoise necklace with a crisp dark denim dress.
DO: test an outfit first. I packed a newly-altered pair of slacks for hubbie Rich Wallace when he was about to do an out-of-town signing, but they actually got lengthened instead of shortened by mistake. It made for a funny conversation as he still had to wear them!
DON'T: wear bright, long-sleeved shirts that show sweaty armpits, wrinkly linen, or bangles that get in the way of signing.

Thriller writer and HuffPo blogger Karen Dionne, whose latest book is Boiling Point, had this to add:

My suggestion is to wear the tallest shoes possible to your book event. You'll be on your feet for a couple of hours, mingling and speaking, so you want your footwear to be reasonably comfortable, but don't sacrifice comfort for height. Platforms are great. You want to create the most commanding presence possible because you're the star!

Thank you to Brenda, Sandra, Mollie, Nichole, Sandra and Karen!

An Evening in the Life of a Debut Novelist

6:17 P.M.
This is going to be a great bookstore visit. I know this because they set me up with a local newspaper interview the same week, to help promote the event. And they sent me detailed instructions about where to park my car. With that sort of planning, this is going to be just the sort of place to beat the odds, right? They'll have a bunch of readers who show up for an author they've never heard of. They'll reach out to a secret stash of people who have nothing better to do on a Thursday night, and 15 spare dollars, and an interest in comedy, motherhood and organic food.

6:44 P.M.
I find the parking garage with no trouble. That's an omen! And parking is free after 5pm. I love this town. The bookstore looks cute. There's a big EAT. SLEEP. READ. poster in the front window.

6:44 P.M. + 1 second
Because I am a debut novelist at the tail end of her regional book tour, by the time I push open the door, I have already counted the number of people in the store. There are two, a man and a woman. He is behind the counter. She is replacing a book on the shelf. And because I am a vulnerable debut novelist who does this often, I can tell just from the incline of her head that she too works in the store.

I am the only person here who is not on the payroll. My event is scheduled for 16 minutes from now. There is an armchair at the front of the store, and twenty or so perfectly empty folding chairs set up in front of it.

I keep my cool, though. He comes out from behind the counter and we exchange warm pleasantries. "We have you set up in the front," he says.

"Great!" I say, as though I hadn't spotted that little ghost town already. We continue the charade, including the part where he brings me a bottle of water to soothe my throat as I address the crowd, and I thank him.

The bell on the door tinkles, and a young woman walks in. Too young, probably. My eyes go back to the New Fiction table. I'm not going to stare at her. Sure enough, while I'm pondering cover art as if I'd driven seventy miles to do exactly that, I hear her ask about a book. She's taking a course on Science Fiction, and there is a title she can't find in the library.

6:50 P.M.
As the minutes tick by, they chat about the Martian Chronicles.

6:53 P.M.
I'm doing a pantomime entitled Uninterested Shopper. There are authors who might reach for a copy of their own novel, stop the young lady, and engage her in conversation. But I am not one of those people. So she slips by me, toward the cookbooks.

And then... she drops her jacket onto one of the empty folding chairs.

When I have run out of New Fiction to examine, I walk over to the comfy armchair that this bookstore has provided in lieu of a podium. And when she tires of cookery, I ask her what else she's reading for the Sci-Fic course. And it turns out that we both like William Gibson! No way!

And just like that I relax. She sits on her chair and I'm in mine, and we're talking about an author we've both read. I've stopped panicking, so I don't notice right away that a couple has entered the store. They sit down too. And then another couple, and then a woman about my age. And then a few more.

7:00 P.M.
There is a small audience of ten. And what an audience! They are all interested in the topic of my book, and surprisingly not a single one is A) a blood relative B) someone I have ever met before or C) expecting to discuss Julia Child. (Catchy titles have their perils. Trust me here.)

I give my stump speech, and read a very short passage, and loop a quirky news story from last week into my presentation. Everyone in the small group nods along with me about the peculiarities of food advertising. Actually, there's one woman that doesn't make good eye contact at all, and I entertain the thought that she's wandered into the wrong event by accident, but is too shy to leave. But overall, it's a great discussion. One of the men has only eaten organic his whole life, and then he tells us he's over 80, and it's kind of a shock. We all stare admiringly. I should hire this guy to promote my book.

And during the Q&A, someone even asks me to talk about my cookbook. And when it's over, two of the women find the cookbook on the shelves and buy it, as well as buying the novel. I fight off the urge to hug them.

8:00 P.M.
I sign books, I thank people for coming. That silent woman? When the others leave, she comes to sit on a chair in the little front row. In a low voice, she very carefully asks me some questions about how long it took me to write the book, and about my process. She isn't in the wrong place at all--she's just too shy to ask her questions in front of others.

8:20 P.M.
They've gone now. The population of the store is down to two again, just the bookseller and me. There are two big piles of books left over, and he puts half of them down in front of me to sign. We both pretend that we don't know the other half will go into a box and go back to the publisher within weeks if not days.

"I always tell authors about the time Dan Brown came here."

"Oh?" I ask, signing another copy with my lucky green pen.

"We only got one customer."

I hand back the last signed copy. "Really? Why?"

"This was before Da Vinci Code." He winks. "See, you had ten times his audience."

The Box of Books in My Trunk

I am thrilled to be appearing at Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord, NH tomorrow night! There is nothing more gratifying than an invitation to share your work with warm blooded readers. And places like Gibson’s, with its enthusiastic events team, just warm my heart.

I’m quite certain things will go smoothly. But it never hurts to be prepared. I thought I’d share this silly little incident that I witnessed years ago while doing an internship at a Big 6 publishing house. It was a Summer Friday.  I don’t mean it was merely a Friday which occurred in the summer. In publishing, a Summer Friday was a mini holiday. All the important people left at noon, if they bothered to come in at all. The pavement was hot outside, but the air conditioning was on full blast, which was one of the reasons that I was still at work at 4pm.

The phone rang, and it wasn’t good news.

The caller was a frazzled editor. Her author, a prominent New York Times editor, was at a midtown bookstore for his scheduled event. Unfortunately, there weren’t any of his books at the store. Wires had been crossed, balls had been dropped. In fact, it didn’t actually matter which cliché was most apt, because that author had no books, in spite of the fact that there were customers there to meet him, who wanted to buy them.

We did our best. A couple of assistants went down to the desk in the lobby which served as a conduit to the book storage in the basement. We pulled the very few copies of that author’s work which were on the premises, and somebody ran them over to the store.

They were, unfortunately, backlist titles by that author.

Everyone ended up feeling stupid: the author, the store, the editor. Even me, and I just happened to answer the phone. The moral of this story is to always bring some copies of your book. These days, I keep a dozen of mine in a box in my trunk.

Because you never know. What could be worse than having a willing customer, and no copies on hand? You don’t even need to be at a bookstore to sell them. I sold one to another hockey mom at the rink this winter. Bonus!

Cool Facebook App for Random House Authors

If you have published a book with any Random House imprint (even several years ago) and you have not logged into their new author portal, what are you waiting for?

In addition to the sales data, on the new site you will find a Facebook app which takes less than one minute to install. (And installation is idiot proof. Trust me on this one.) Facebook prompts you to indicate which of your "pages" the app should link to. (That means your book or your author persona must already exist in Facebook before you install the app. It cannot link to your personal profile.)

The result is the appearance of an "Author Bookshelf" choice to your Facebook tabs, like so:

And when visitors click on "Author Bookshelf," they are brought to a Facebook screen which automatically displays your cover art, a scrolling bar featuring your other titles at Random House (if you have any) and a "buy" menu with multiple vendor choices, including Indie Bound. Like this:

Thanks, Random House. I'm kind of impressed.