Just over a month ago I wrote about a book I had been sent out of the blue by the author, David Silverman.

I raved about it and so have a few others. As a result I've been in e-mail correspondence with the author and he has kindly agreed to write a guest blog about the contemporary American author tour. Here it is and very grateful I am.

“Are you going on a book tour?” friends asked me, and I’m sure, being nice.

“Why yes, I am going to the Midwest.”

“Don’t you live in New York City?” they asked, eyeing my newly purchased corduroy jacket querulously.

Kansas City, Kansas

My first bookstore. Since my book takes place in the bordering state of Iowa, I expect a band, or maybe a microphone, or at least a couple chairs.

The store manager says she will “set up the table” and offers me “something from the café.” I’ve already eaten, and by her reaction when I say “no thanks,” I sense that more experienced authors know to make the most of the café.

I sit in the middle of the store. I have a small pile of books and a pen. You can’t miss me.

But the store’s few patrons and the local knitting group avoid me. They dodge to the left through the dollar books. They shoot to the right, wedging between mysteries and large-eyed puppy calendars.

No one makes eye contact—as if I were a wolverine. Are they afraid I will lacerate their jugulars with a book? After four hours of reshuffling my pile of books, I wonder if I that might improve sales. Perhaps the transformation of writer to wolverine occurs regularly at book signings. 

Ultimately, three high school students befriend me. They smile, but don’t buy. It hits me, they can’t afford it. I slide a $10 bill under the cover and make my first sale. Since I earn a $1 per book, I’ve just lost $9.

Omaha, Nebraska

I take photos of the behinds of people who exit without looking at me. The store manager tells me the last author only had a couple of dozen people come. His name was Newt Gingrich.

Later, I sell three books to three drunk men in the Holiday Inn bar. This triples my sales.

Des Moines, Iowa

I worry that my ex-employees will show up with sharp sticks and poke me for writing “snarkily” about them. No one shows up. I get an organic turkey melt and caramel mocha latte from the cafe.

At the Holiday Inn, the angry clerk assures me, “All the rooms are booked. You have no room. This desk is closed.” I sleep in the parking lot, hiding under my corduroy jacket to avoid the security guard.

In Sum

I drove over a thousand miles in three days, spent several hundred dollars, and slept in a Chevy.

Let’s face it, the world has gone online, and, unlike the book tour, my online publicity has led to sales everywhere from California to Scotland. It’s also been free.

So does any hope remain for old school feet on the ground? The answer came a few weeks later, at the B&N in my hometown of Kingston, NY.

I shook out my corduroy and worried the store manager would resent having put out so many chairs. But then people started to show up: high school classmates, parents of a college friend, other friends, and some guy—at random!

I am given a microphone. They laugh. I sell some books. And I remember that any publicity is good publicity.

A sample of my book Typo: The Last American Typesetter or How I Made and Lost $4 Million is here.

Or just buy it here.

And lastly, my website.

David Silverman

August 12, 2007