So you want to give a reading

advice (!) from a bookstore owner

Recently I had a nightmare in which I showed up to the store to prepare for an event, and fifty or more people were already there. I was sweating, hauling in chairs from the back room, trying to set up the space while also greeting guests and running through my intro in my head, cursing myself for somehow getting the timing wrong. The author arrived and I asked their pronouns, to which they replied curtly, “Guess.” I asked them to pronounce their Gaelic name for me (yes we just watched The Banshees of Inisherin), so that I wouldn’t screw it up, and their response was “You know Ctrl+6+u+o+v on the keyboard? It’s that.” By the time my parents showed up (why were they there?) I was in a full panic. The author wore a pink speedo and a guitar with strap and nothing else. They hurled insults and mumbled into the mic. My parents left, and other people started leaving, too. I heaved awake as though I’d been kicked in the solar plexus and decided to share a few things I’ve observed and learned in my three years of planning and hosting events at Thank You Books. This is meant to be helpful, not snarky or dismissive or bossy or whatever. I know I have a lot yet to learn.

1. A bookstore is a business. We can’t put a price tag on the community we’ve built and continue to build, but we also need to keep the lights on and pay our staff. Two things can and must be true. We leave a little room in our hearts and on our calendars for non-profitable events of our design and choosing, but when we agree to host an author, our goal is to sell books. Yes, to make money! The horror.

   1. A bookstore is not a library. I adore the library. I visit the library often. I marvel every day that spaces exist where books can be read for free, where civic groups can meet to work on making the world better and improving people’s lives, where an array of programming can happen for its own sake, and not for profit. Everyone should support their libraries! Libraries can also be incredible sites for author events. But a bookstore is not a library. We have to sell the books on our shelves in order to continue existing. We have to be strategic with our resources—time, bandwidth, money. We have to say no to a lot of things in order to say yes to what aligns with our imaginations and our core values and our budget.

2. A bookstore does not necessarily/automatically generate its own crowd. As a consumer/customer/reader/person in the world, you know what it takes to leave the house on a weeknight. Maybe it’s raining. Maybe you’ve had the worst day of your life. Maybe you have no excuse and you simply don’t wanna, even though a week before, you really, really did wanna. Part of my job is to promote events, and I take it seriously. But the author (and I’m primarily directing this to first-time or emerging authors) needs to promote their events, too. An author needs to text and call their good friends and say, you must show up for me, and bring somebody if you can. It’s tough to read to empty seats. Our most successful events, hands down, have been the ones that the author publicized via their own channels, and where the connection to this city, whether because it’s home or the setting of the book or some other powerful third thing, is strong.

   1. Along these lines: don’t try to book an event in a place where you don’t know anyone, or have any connections—it’s a fool’s errand. A bookstore is paying employees to be there, to set up and clean up, and it’s not fair to anyone, in the end, if no one shows up. Yes, that one author went viral for complaining about how nobody showed up to her reading, but I don’t think that’s a tactic to be relied on. Another author went viral for revealing a bookstore’s terms/contract for holding an event there, terms that were, I’ll admit, stringent, but that probably were developed in response to a need or a debacle or most likely several needs and debacles. An author must protect their energy and their dignity, and a bookstore has the right to do the same.

3. Be self-aware. My god, this is the #1 hottest, best, most attractive quality any human being (and any writer) can have. Congrats, you’re publishing a book! In the ramp-up before publicity begins, or in the quiet during the many spells of waiting between editorial/production, take a careful inventory of what you want, how you think you might get it, and what you might reasonably expect upon the book’s release. Be strategic about how you promote. Cut your publicist some slack—chances are, they’re overworked, and they don’t deserve to have the weight of your literary future pinned to their backs. If you have a hundred friends and connections in major cities who are willing to spread the word and help you plan and get a good turnout, that’s incredible, and you’re very lucky. If you can have one great hometown reading with your nearest and dearest, that’s amazing, too. If you get invited to an unfamiliar place but sense that there will be some real assistance with promotion, or if you are brought in by a certain group (academic, religious, civic, etc) with a built-in audience, it’s generally wise to accept. Having been on both sides of it I can say: book promo is nerve-wracking and depleting. It can be expensive, if your travel isn’t covered (most travel isn’t). It can also be fun and rewarding and really feel like a dream come true. But I think the outcome depends, first and foremost, on a healthy sense of oneself and one’s place in the overcrowded literary ecosystem. Your book might do gangbusters, but it probably, unless you’re super lucky or super rich, won’t be because of your book tour. Make sure you leave some gas in the tank to, you know, be a writer.

4. When you read at a bookstore (or anywhere, really), remember: leave them wanting more. If you can’t decide between which two excerpts to read, choose the shorter one. If you have the opportunity to read something funny and punchy, take it. I know it’s not stand-up comedy, and writers shouldn’t be tasked with being wildly entertaining. If your work is heartbreakingly sad, then read the saddest part of the whole book. I cried at a Valzhyna Mort reading. And at an Alice Notley reading. I was struck dumb at a Lydia Davis reading. The point is to locate the central charge of the work, and hook people up to it. Be merciless, then wrap it up. Why buy the cow, etc.

   1. Similarly: if you do a Q&A, answer the question you’re being asked, or say, “I don’t know, I haven’t considered that before.” Listening to the average writer deliver nine straight minutes of unrelated anecdotes is, for most people, tedious. Try not to get into a back-and-forth with the person asking—it’s dreadful to witness. Be kind, be brief. And remember you don’t ever have to answer anything you don’t want to answer (“is that part about hating your mother, like, true?”)

5. Keep the signing line moving! Many people will want to chat. If they’re good friends, say, let’s head to the bar after this. If they’re strangers, thank them for being there, and tell them you want to make sure you get a chance to sign everyone’s book before you turn into a pumpkin. Be cute, be nice, it’s FINE. Booksellers have tasks to do when the event is over, so we always appreciate an author who helps keep tabs on the clock.

6. Some authors have gone the distance following an event, gracious beyond our wildest dreams (Casey Cep, you’re an angel), sending cards, gifts, etc. It’s so lovely, and I can’t overstate how much it means. But it’s certainly not necessary. The best thing an author can do for a bookstore who hosts an event for them is, to misquote Hilary Mantel, bring in the bodies. That’s number one. And also, to be punctual, and prepared, and nice.

I hope this helps someone? I love events. I love how different each is from each, and I love what I’m learning along the way. I’m getting more comfortable simply saying, no, I’m sorry, we can’t accommodate your request at this time. Every no leaves room for a yes. I’m eager to meet them all.