Author’s agony
A rather worn-out saying in Kannada
suggests building a house and performing a wedding to realise the essence of
agony. I would add one more — write a book and try to sell it! I am, of course,
not referring to word wizards like Sydney Sheldon or Arthur Hailey whose
blurbs claim that millions of copies have been sold: nor do I allude to writers
like Norman Vincent Peale whose books are supposed to change your whole life. I
am talking of struggling authors like me who learn that writing a book is
easier than trying to sell it!
One of the first things that I
learnt after writing a book was, I had a lot of friends. “Oh; I read the review
of your book,” gushed Sushma whom I had met three years ago for the first time.
“It sounds great fun. I’m sure you will give a friend' like me an autographed
copy.”
“Imagine
having an author for a neighbour,” enthused the lady on the 10th floor of our
flat in Bombay. Except for travelling in the elevator occasionally, there was
no neighbourly bonhomie till she
chose to remind me that I should love my neighbour enough to gift her a book.
Our phone kept ringing and each
time, it was either a long lost friend or a newly acquired one, making me feel
absolutely a worm for not being generous enough to distribute autographed free
copies. The bit about autograph is usually thrown in to make me feel great. I’d
rather feel rich than great though!
Letters poured in, reminding me
of my obligation as a friend, to mail complimentary copies to them. They did
not even have the courtesy to enclose stamps for postage. I am supposed to be
so grateful that they want my book and hurry to the nearest post office. The
most amusing letter came from an elderly gentleman (or so it seemed) who poured
out his woes about his wife treating him so badly that he had no money to buy
my book. So would I please mail him a free copy?
If friends want free copies, can
relatives be far behind? Uncles, aunts and
cousins, both close and remotely
connected, laid claim to special treatment and demanded a copy as their birth right. Mary
dropped in to read the book in installments and I had to supply coffee and tea as part of hospitality.
Some blatantly borrowed the book and
circulated it but no one breathed a word about buying it. If I had been
selling home-made pickles or chutneys instead, there would have been a greater
demand and they would not have minded paying for them too!
To rub salt into the wound, there
were those family jesters who said, “You must be real rich with all those
royalties pouring in for your book.” “I
saw your book in the bookshop,”
said another brightly and added “You know, I’m a perennial browser, so I sat and read
your book in the shop in
three sittings.” Is there a law which
prohibits browsers from killing the sale of a book?
Instead of my stock going high as
a writer, my
reputation as a miser seemed to be doing the rounds. “As if she can’t gift
a copy to close friends
and
relatives,” they grumbled behind my back.
“Don’t worry. I’ll buy a copy,” consoled a
cousin who bought it for her circulating library. She appeared to be making more money than me,
lending it to her large clientele!
Wanting
to be the female Dale Carnegie of India, I wrote two “How to” books. After my
experiences as an author, I aim to complete the trilogy and write How
to Write
a Book
and Sell it. Any useful tips please?
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