Rambling

I've been busier than normal at work the last week, and it's eating into my blogging time. 

Anyway, looks like I'll be in Europe on business the second week of October, and I've been thinking of book publicity related things I can do while there.  Sure, there's a lot of work to be done, and I'll do it, but the writer part of my brain is always simmering.  You know how it is.  Once you're a writer, you're always a writer.  It's like joining a gang--and they're sticklers about membership.  You can quit, but there's only one way.  You can't get it out of your head; you can't turn it off.  You're a Prisoner of your own obsession--but in a quaint seaside Village sort of way. (Come on, people.  I'm making The Prisoner references here.  You remember Number six?  Don't let the big white beach ball get you?)   

Okay, I'm getting off track.  Writing, that's right, and getting people I don't know to read things I have written.

Giving books away...

I have done the bookcrossing thing before, leaving them at airports, park benches, passing them on to friends, and even pushing them on the occasional stranger.  (I've only done this once, at the Newark airport because I thought if I left the book somewhere it would just go out with the trash).

Salesmanship is an art that I have not developed sufficiently.  Replace 'Salesmanship' with publicity, and repeat.  (I read JA Konrath's book publicity adventures in stunned admiration ).

If you know me, you'd know I'm not a pushy sort of person--even when I know I should be pushy.  Here's an example of non-pushiness:  I once had a perfect opportunity to give The Wreath away on a plane ride back from Philadelphia--to someone who read books, but I missed the opportunity because I was too. . .shy, bashful?  I'll use the word reticent because it has a more sophisticated ring.  I was in the window seat.  There was no one in the middle, and the woman on the aisle was halfway through Memoirs of a Geisha.  I don't normally speak to people on planes, other than a hello, but I saw the book when she put it down in the middle seat.  I asked her what she thought of it so far.  (I've lived in Japan and love Japanese culture--fictional or not.  I enjoyed the book). 

Let me back up and say that I possess a reasonable amount of paranoia. (Alice wouldn't agree, but that's another matter).

I've worked on Internet security applications.  I've done my share of hacking, reverse engineering, cracking.  I have a certain level of paranoia going all the time, sort of an ambient suspicion.  I am also sensitive to the fact that other people may have this, and so I tend to tread carefully.

Sometimes I regret being careful.

The woman sitting in the aisle seat, the reader, the book buyer, thought Geisha was a wonderful, poignant story so far, and couldn't wait to finish it, but her answers were not sufficiently long to warrant further discussion.  It could have been that she was simply enjoying the story and didn't appreciate some stranger interrupting her.  That's the vibe I got, and so being...uh...reticent, I let the opportunity for a book give-away go by. 

So, what's the message here?  It's pretty clear.  Don't be careful, of course.  Careful = bad.  Other people have cares.  You don't need them anymore.  Empty that bucket full of cares.  Keep one or two as souvenirs, but roll down the window on the way home tonight and dump the others on the interstate--and in your rearview watch the cars swerve to avoid them, plowing through guard rails, rolling, tumbling, ramming into Jersey barriers, or, if you're in California, going through the oleanders.  Then drive on, carefree.

Now that you've done your part to promote chaos, panic, mayhem, it's time to read JA Konrath's post on  The Five Habits of Highly Neurotic Authors