Aug. 5th, 2010

gillpolack: (Default)
I'm amused. Seriously. I ought not be, but I am.

Early on, the vast majority of local bookshops decided not to stock Life Through Cellophane. It wasn't about my book (well, mostly it wasn't). I think it was a movement away from some small press because of the cost (staff and paperwork and etc) of stocking small press volumes. Some small presses were in a position to change the way they dealt with bookshops and some joined together to make it easier for bookshops and their books can still be found in the shops. Some bookshops are in the same city as the presses and that proximity makes it easier for everyone. Mine was not in a position to do any of these things and the result is that Eneit Press books slowly disappeared from the shelves of most spec fic specialty bookshops in Australia.

Suddenly, new readers are curious about Life Through Cellophane because it's on the Ditmar list. The only places you can buy it at this precise moment are from Smith's Books in Canberra and from the publisher's website: http://www.eneitpress.com/books.php?isbn=9870980691115 (or from me - I keep copies because people complained at me - see later on for why.) Borders South Wharf will have copies for AussieCon, I believe, but not in time for Ditmar voting. I have copies in my handbag for those who need their reading NOW (because people keep asking me).

Why am I amused? Because the companies who refused to stock it are now not able to provide links and sell it the way they do with all the other nominees. Their selectivity is becoming terribly obvious: big press books in the best novel list all linked to sales pages and small press book not.

It looks as if they hate me. They don't. Bookshops have faced a difficult time this last twelve months and made some difficult decisions. They got it wrong with Life Through Cellophane, but if they're still there and selling books they they got it right overall.
The mystery is those shops who refused to get the book in when readers tried to put in an order. I know about the refusal to obtain the book because readers came to me and complained. Which is why I have copies now. I ordered some from my publisher. It was simpler than sulking.

I wonder if the popularity of the book despite its unavailability is related to the number of people who came to the launch? Remember, the queue snaked right round the walls of the room and out the door? My early readers obviously did the word of mouth thing and reviewers have loved it, while bookshops have politely told me and others "Yes, I know, local author. Can't think why we'd stock the book, though. It wasn't even considered for an Aurealis." It wasn't considered for an Aurealis because an Australia Post employee misplaced the parcels, and the books never reached the judges. The copies were later located in rural NSW, which Sharyn and I found very frustrating but rather entertaining.

And you probably know all this. The reason I'm reliving it, though, is because I heard that my book wasn't worth shelfspace/staff time from one bookshop person too many, just the other day. I restrained myself from all evilness (like inventing new cover copy eg "The most exciting moment in this terribly dull book is where someone throws a small glass ornament across the room.") and am now chuckling quietly. In other words, the person who said "No-one's going to want to read it, anyway" is proven wrong.

The book not being in the shops, of course, limits the number of votes Life Through Cellophane can get in the Ditmars. It's hard to read a book that you can't get hold of from your local shop. But I wasn't expecting a Ditmar anyway. Just look at the novels in the list. Kaaron Warren's Slights, Justine Larbalestier's Liar, Richard Harland's Worldshaker, Scott Westerfeld's Leviathan. Wonderful, all four of them. I'm very fortunate to be on that list, in such amazing company.
gillpolack: (Default)
Once a day I make myself a nice cup of tea and then ring my mother. I always mean to ring my mother before having a cuppa, but I usually forget. We get talking and I forget the tea.

My father used to do this. I would make him a nice cup of tea at work. We each did a few hours work a week for him, as part of our socialisation and to get more pocket money - being socialised through calming nervous younger children in a dental surgery has warped my character severely, I suspect. Dad would thank me for the cup of tea and then he would promptly forget about it. The difference is that his tea was loaded with sodium saccharine and mine is unsweetened. I mostly drink the tea, just as Dad did, because I made it and therefore I ought to drink it. Cold tea. Socialisation again.

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