I'd almost forgotten to tell you this:
A couple of weekends ago (that is, July 15-16), I spent some very special time in the hands of two great professionals. And between the two of them, they reminded me what it means to be so good at what you do that you can convince people it isn't that hard.
The first one was Paul McCartney.
(Hang in there, publishing/crime fiction readers--there will be a point here.)
I'd never seen Sir Paul in concert before, but when tickets became available to his first of two (sold-out) shows at Yankee Stadium--my home court, in a way--I had to jump. And at the age of 69, without having had a hit record in... a long time, he showed off exactly what it means to be one of the best in the business. And check out this set list.
For more than two and a half hours, on a hot July night in the Bronx, he took no breaks. Didn't so much as sip a bottle of water. Just hit after hit, and to an audience that had to be close to if not more than 50,000 people, it seemed like he was performing an intimate show just for each of us.
I should be so good when I'm 69. (A song cue if ever I heard one...)
Here's what it looked like from my seat:
I know. Not exactly up close and personal. But the giant video screens made it feel more direct, which sounds contradictory, but isn't. And what a show: 35 songs from all eras, with a healthy Beatles bias, which the crowd adored and one Fab Four classic ("The Night Before") which Mr. McC insisted had never been played live before.
Hang on, crime fiction aficianados. I'm getting there.
The evening began with the band--only four other musicians, a tight group--playing an intro that was energetic, but not familiar. And you could see the Beatles fans getting nervous: "Is he going to promote some new stuff when I want to hear the classics?"
Then Paul stepped to the microphone, and the unfamiliar intro became "Hello Goodbye." And the audience was in thrall for the rest of the evening. It happened quickly, without obvious effort, and worked like a charm.
That went on for some time. Show (slated for 8 p.m.) started promptly at 8:30, and wasn't over until easily after 11.
It was hard to top that evening, but the next day gave it a run for its money.
I had agreed to do a signing/talk at the Mechanicsburg Mystery Bookshop (in, of all places, Mechanicsburg, PA) on a Saturday because I'd been there once before, quite unplanned, and knew Debbie Beamer, who owns the place, was a terrific bookseller. So now in my E.J. Copperman disguise, I headed out with my extremely patient wife on the 3.5-hour drive to, as my brother would say, the border of Pennsyl and Vania.
Once at the Holly Inn in Mt. Holly Springs (where the event was to take place), I was never in doubt about the success of the event. Debbie had planned everything within an inch of its life, and had made sure her many loyal customers knew about it well in advance. I'd brought some copies of titles Debbie couldn't get her hands on, and added them to the Copperman stock she'd brought along.
We sold out. Every copy, every title. The only books I brought home were a few of the Asperger's non-fiction, and even a few of those had sold. I signed enough books to ensure my signature will easily survive me, and talked to a number of the lovely people who buy books from Debbie. Many of them were actually more knowledgeable about my books than I am, which isn't easy to do.
Through it all, Debbie was gracious and calm, friendly and uninsistent. She never let the readers (or me, for that matter) see the effort. It was all about connecting an author with readers, and that was done beautifully and seamlessly.
A really good independent bookseller is a professional, and Debbie is that (as are you, Robin--I'm hoping to get out there when OLD HAUNTS hits next year!). And while some might complain that being a "professional" is impersonal and implies a lack of inspiration and creativity, I heartily disagree.
I got to see two great pros at work that weekend, and it made me hope that I am even close to being as professional when you crack the cover on one of my books. Because there is nothing more comforting and satisfying as being tended to by a pro.
