Selling books and other adventure stories

The London Book Fair is one of the world’s largest gatherings in the publishing industry. 25,000 literary wheeler-dealers looking to maximize the impact of every type of book you could conceive of. But as we shall discover, impact is particularly subjective when it comes to the business of selling books.

I’m hit by the jamboree of noise, harsh lighting, terrible acoustics and the stilted expressions of faces with purpose. Agents, lawyers, printers, publishers and marketeers coming together to trade books, licenses, rights, translations and campaign strategies. Far removed from the quiet, private inner world that is reading, this setting seems primed as an opportunity to let loose and make a noise. Don’t take my word for it, experience the jamboree for yourself.

Standing with gargantuan conference hall before me I recall my lacklustre experiences contacting publishers in the past online. You can recreate this experience by going to any publisher’s website and click on the ‘submit your book proposal’ link. Enjoy the feeling of whittling your life away jumping through the hoops of submitting said proposal. Bask in the purgatory that is the non-committal, undefined timeframe while your proposal is being considered.  

A great book idea is simply not enough. You’ll need to be equipped with a marketing plan, knowledge of competing titles, target audiences. On occasion you’ll want to be near or at completion with the book, on any other given day any further than an early draft is a big no, no. Certainly you’ll need to be familiar with the publisher’s catalogue as well as sales data of comparable titles and be ready to argue how your book fits into their catalogue.  

I walk past the stands, trying to discern meaning in the snippets of dialogue sifting around my ears. What are they talking about? I rehearse the pitch in my head of the product I was here to discuss.  

My project?
A photographic coffee table book on newsrooms around the world. Like a cookery book featuring photographs of kitchens.  It’s called Requiem For a Newsroom. A book resulting from a year-long exercise photographing newsrooms around the world. From international titles such as the New York Times as well as crisis and temporary newsrooms in disaster zones and war zones. The book examines the role these physical spaces play in the production of journalism and their ultimate influence on public opinion. The book comes at a moment when newsrooms are closing or changing beyond recognition due to pressures from new business models, technology and existential scrutiny.  

I consider the talented people behind the project.  Whether Floor designing leaflet and business cards. Danielle’s optimism and striving to pushing for the best with all the ideas on the table. Jesse and Thijs and their enthusiasm, ideas and in-depth interviews with several chief editors who invited us to document their spaces. With all of these things tucked under my arm I felt confident I would leave with something. But what would that thing be? 

My first pitch is with Anne, editor of Princeton University Press. I’m relieved she is open to a conversation, which was a complete unknown until this point. She’s bringing out a notepad, makes a scribble and asks me, ‘what discipline does this fall under? Is it anthropology? I tell her more about our approach and goals, ‘it sounds interesting,’ she says. Offer me her card and requests a digital PDF. 

I walk away absolutely delighted with this endorsement however low-level it may turn out to be. 

Maybe due to the bounce I’ve gained in my step I almost trip over the stage of my absolute favourite, top-of-my-list publisher and into the arms of their head of communications.  I’ll refrain from divulging the name of the publisher since conversations with them are ongoing. Which is to say that first conversation went rather well. 

Maybe it’s because the British like queuing but I met an inordinate number of connections just bumping into people while waiting for things. The agent I met in the queue for a sandwich, the publisher I met queueing for coffee. The security guard who upgraded my ticket while taking a breather. And, last but by no means least, the grumpy New Yorker who avoided me for three days but ended up being the most connected conversationalistof all. 

I don’t know where any of these conversations will ultimately lead – do we ever? But here are my takeaways.

1. There is no digital analogy for real life.  The incidental interactions, off the cuff jokes, the nuanced emotions only exist face to face (for now). 

2. Embrace the queue (and the people standing next to you in them). There is a lot to this one, standing still, observing. If you’re always pro-actively selling, you miss things. Also: you never know what expertise the person next to you can bring into your world. 

3. Persistence pays. Rejections are also lessons; learning how to shoulder them can lead to the greatest successes.  

4. And finally: impact isn’t measured in monetary terms. It is born of the stories we tell one another. Speak clear and listen well!