Happy launch day, The Melting Season. Please buy my book. Thank you so much.
When I think about book launches in the past, I have always woken up happy. Just as stressed as I am now, sure. (I haven’t slept through the night or past 7 AM for a while. I feel like I will not rest for months, and that actually might be true.) But today I woke up and I felt like my brain was on fire. It may have something to do with all the interviews I have been doing, interviews where I have been asked fairly intense questions. It may have something to do with the mixed reviews I’ve been receiving (I’ll get to that in a moment) for the past few months. Whatever the case, I feel like there’s a few things I’d like to talk about now and then hopefully never speak of again, at least not in this space.
The first thing I want to talk about is self-promotion, and how difficult that process is. Late last summer I had a meeting with my amazing publicist and editor about ways I could promote myself. There are some pretty basic (but mostly impossible) strategies that I think many publicity departments share, so I don’t think I’m really revealing any trade secrets here. They are:
Get on “This American Life.” Write an essay for the “Lives” section of the New York Times Magazine. Write a “Modern Love” column for the Times Style section. Get a regular column for a women’s magazine, either in print or online. Get on any of the shows hosted by Oprah, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, or Meredith Vieira.
Etc.
We all rightfully concluded that my best bet was probably to write an essay or two and see where I could sell them. We came up with a list of topics connected to my book, which included plastic surgery and my new-found patriotism and I think there were a few others. I honestly sat down and tried to write about these things. I submitted to lots and lots of different publications. I have, no joke, ten versions of a plastic surgery essay sitting on my desk top. I even sent one around to a few places and my kind editor at Salon replied, “It looks like you’re trying to write three essays at once here.” Which I very obviously was.
In the end I ended up selling one essay, which was about birthday cake. Now that’s a good little essay I wrote, but it so has nothing to do with my book at all, and it also came out two months before the book was published.
You guys, I am TERRIBLE at this game.
The main problem is that while I have a lot to say it doesn’t always fit into a neat story arc, and that’s what all these places want. And I’m not complaining about these editors, because it’s their magazine, and they can do whatever they want. And it’s what people expect from these kinds of publications. And we do not want to confound expectations.
I think that’s why a blog is a perfect venue for me and why I’ve enjoyed it for so long. Because I’m in control of what should be published here. I can think of only one other place where I can pretty much publish whatever I like, and that’s because the editor trusts me and respects me and because we collaborate together so beautifully (even though we have never even met in person) that sometimes it gives me chills. And that’s Largehearted Boy, where I have a new piece up today, that is sort of essay-ish, and sort of blog post-ish. It felt perfectly right to me, anyway.
So please read it now. Because after months of trying to play the essay game, it’s only the second point I scored.
On the Men We Meet, and What Their Music Means to Us
Now, the second thing I want to talk about is reviews. I have been doing a lot of interviews for this book, which is good. It has made me nervous though because I have not received a lot of reviews, and, frankly, the reviews I’ve gotten so far have been pretty up and down. You either get the book, or you don’t. If you do, you really do. And if you don’t, you really don’t.
Yesterday I did a thoughtful interview with a Chicago-based publication. The editor seemed to have sincerely understood and considered the book. I knew he wouldn’t be interviewing me in the first place if he didn’t like it. He didn’t interview me for my last book, and I remember wondering at the time if he had liked that one. I think my reading for that tour got a mention in the magazine, and that was about it.
This morning I woke up to a review from the New York-based branch of this very same magazine. I was excited to read it because they had really liked my last book. It was actually one of my favorite reviews at the time. Bad news, my friends. The review was TERRIBLE. Terrible, terrible, terrible. Boy, did this critic hate the book. I sure hope I never meet this reviewer at a party or anything. That would be super uncomfortable.
People are either going to love this book or hate it, just like people have loved or hated all of my books, just like people have loved or hated me my entire goddamn life. There is just nothing I can do about it. I’m not taking it personally. But I am taking it.
All of this is to say: I have a feeling I’m going on a really strange ride with this one. Why don’t you join me?
