I am currently living two separate realities: The reality of an author and the reality of a bookseller.
Often these two realities aren’t so separate: For example, the months I spent working on The Confessions with my laptop perched on a pile of boxes in the store. On those days - most of which coincided with the town’s busy season - both jobs were equally rewarding, equally exhilarating, equally stressful but in a good way. I was surrounded by books and book lovers, while writing a book of my own. Bliss.
Now, though, I’m in the final countdown towards publication. In twelve days, The Confessions hits the shelves. My amazing publicist at Atria has arranged interviews with journalists and podcast hosts across the country. The book has been reviewed (positively, so far, thank god) in the trade press and featured in big-deal papers like the LA Times. We have hundreds of pre-orders through the store and folks keep emailing and texting to say how much they’re looking forward to reading the book.
This morning, I had coffee with a producer of very famous films. Maybe one day The Confessions will be a film.
Simply put: I am living the life of a new but, ?I guess?, promising thriller writer. It is everything I hoped it would be.
And then.
After my coffee meeting, I went to work my shift at the bookstore, in 116 degree Palm Springs heat.
That reality, right now, is not so fun.
Because our air conditioner is broken. Dead since 4th July weekend. Burned out, apparently because someone went on to the roof of the store and messed with the power cables. Sabotage? A careless contractor working on the store next door? Our landlord swears they have no idea.
They also say that we need to pay to replace the entire AC unit, never mind what our lease says. Twelve grand. During the dead summer season. A dead summer that, as I’ve written before, the store already might struggle to survive thanks to the sharp drop in tourists and the uncertain national economy.
Never mind that, after two years in business, we are finally profitable and getting more so every month. Never mind that we just have to make it to Labor day for the visitors to start coming back. This AC unit could be the death of us.
Let me tell you: If you ever start to feel your ego getting out of control, or that you might be becoming a diva author, just spend six hours in a sweltering bookstore trying to restock shelves and package books for shipping as the in-store thermometer ticks past 95 degrees. Then go home an hour early (store temp when I closed: 101 degrees) only for your inbox to fill up with folks (quite reasonably, I suppose) complaining that your hours don’t match Yelp.
I write back, apologizing to the frustrated customers. But what can I do? We can’t boil people alive.
Still, now I’ve cooled down, I’m back to being really excited for The Confessions. And really grateful for everyone who has pre-ordered a copy ahead of July 22nd. Every sale strokes my ego, of course, but it also helps to keep the store open during the Summer.
I’m also grateful for all of our amazing customers who have bought gift cards in advance to help with cash flow over the quiet season, and the folks who continue to order via bestbookstore.com. Everyone who has bought an early bird ticket to next years’ Readers Festival. All of you.
On balance, I’m very, very lucky. Even if today I only half felt it.