Eleven years ago I went to my first Book Expo America—that year held in Chicago. Pre-Tyrus, Pre-Bleak House Books, all the way back to the Diversity Incorporated days of poetry and short story collections.
Displaying at Book Expo America was profoundly more difficult than we had anticipated. There was the prohibitive cost, the time spent setting up a booth, putting together a booth with little to no money that didn’t look like a bad home made project, and then the business of standing desperately for two or three days trying to catch the attention of booksellers and librarians who had already been inundated with promotional copies and sales pitches from folks like Random House and Little, Brown.
It was exciting in its way. And I’m glad I paid the dues. But eleven years later I’m very glad I no longer have to set up the booths or hawk wares.
In the early days, we didn’t get invited to parties (because we didn’t know anybody and nobody knew us), but in more recent years, there are usually more invitations than hours to fulfill them. On my first night in the city I went to a party at the Scandinavia House to celebrate the launch of Danish crime writer Sara Blaedel’s new novel Only One Life. Dead Guy’s very own Erin Mitchell sent the invite and I attended the party with book blogger and Twitter friend, @thepickygirl.
Thursday morning I had breakfast with Sean Chercover, then went to the Javits Center for BEA. Had a meeting with my boss and some other folks. Ran into Yishai Seidman, agent for Scott O’Connor’s great novel, Untouchable. Walked around the Javits Center for a long time until I met with the Greenwich Girl.
Hung out a little longer at the show then walked back to my hotel.
Went to a Penguin party with Dana Kaye. Had dinner with Dana Kaye at Do Hwa . During the cab ride back to the hotel, the cabbie randomly asked, “Do you like Journey?”
I told him I did.
He played “Faithfully.” We laughed and sang along. Then there was some Bryan Adams (Dana took over on lead vocals) and we fell out of the cab wondering what the hell had just happened.
Thursday morning I hung out with another Twitter friend, took two more short meetings, and then finished up my time at the Javits Center. Total hours spent on the floor this year? Maybe six or seven. Stress level? Way down. Targeted business accomplished? Plenty.
On Thursday night I attended a party thrown by Soho Press—some of my favorite people in the publishing world—ran into old friends (people I’ve met at Book Expo America over the years), had a few affirming conversations, gave a few high fives, and I was out the door and in bed by 10 pm because I am an old man.
And that was Book Expo America 2012.
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