The Birth Of A Salesman?

      After my dad left the farm where he grew up in Clinton County, Indiana, he spent the rest of his life as a salesman. I’ve never understood how anyone can do that for a living. I don’t take rejection well and have always thought the first “no” of the day to a sales pitch would send me running home to pout for weeks.

      But guess what? Now that my book has been published, I’ve become a salesman myself, a very mediocre one, pestering people in person and on line to buy “Did I Really Change My Underwear Every Day?” These efforts have left me even more impressed with the good, decent people who lead successful, happy lives selling things.

      A few examples may show how my sales career is going. I have been handing out business cards at the gym and was about to hand one to a guy who once praised a piece of mine in Newsday when I glanced down and noticed it wasn’t my card. It was that of a friend who works at the United Nations for Xinhua, the Chinese news agency. (At least it was in English.) I pulled my hand and the card back, apologized to the guy and moved on, fairly confident I had not improved my chances of earning Salesman of the Week honors. The man is a regular at the gym, and when I saw him again I gave him the right card. Apparently being brought up to respect his elders, he nodded politely, took the card without saying anything and kept pedaling the bike he was on.

      I have also given business cards recently to two bartenders I barely know. I just take a seat at the bar, start blabbing about the book and hand them a card. I also over-tip like mad. It’s pathetic.

      I’ve emailed dozens of independent bookstores asking them to consider stocking “Did I Really Change My Underwear Every Day?” When a bookstore near where I live agreed to take a few copies, I headed to a printing shop to have posters made. 

     The printer and I agreed the poster should have my picture on it, a shot of the book cover, my name and the name of the store. We then had to decide what the copy on the poster would say. “Local author” was a given but what else? There was plenty of room for a sales message. The printer didn’t seem to have any sensational ideas he wanted to share, so I took a piece of paper and printed the words:

                   “Local Author

                   Retired But

                   Needs Some Of

                   Your money”

      Is that gripping ad copy or what? When I turned the paper around so the printer could read it, his face was totally blank. We both knew the copy was awful, but he didn’t give anything away.

      “Too flippant?”,  I asked. He nodded. I told him I would think about it and get back to him.

      Of course, the minute I ran the problem by Irene she had a simple suggestion:

                   “New Book

                   By Local Author

                   Larry McCoy”

 Sold. That’s what’s on the poster now in the window of the local book store.   

      A few of my emails to bookstores have been personalized. A bookseller  in Vermont, who was very helpful last winter when I was looking for a book, got both a sales pitch and a thank you note in his email. A few weeks after sending the note I went to the store’s website and typed “Did I Really Change My Underwear Every Day?” in the search box. The first six items that search produced were “Math You Can Really Use – Every Day,” “Position Of The Day: Sex Every Day In Every Way,” “Will Yoga & Meditation Really Change My Life?”, “Position Of The Day: Expert Edition,” “Orgasm: Every Day Every Way Every Time,” and “Change Your Underwear Twice A Week.” Clearly this personal approach to booksellers was working remarkably well.

      To add to my string of accomplishments, Jack, my son, had a copy of my book before I did. He ordered it from Amazon.com. I would have given him one, but perhaps he wanted to make sure I sold at least one book. While I waited for my copies from the publisher to arrive, I went on Amazon.com and noticed they were selling a USED copy for $21.39. To review: I didn’t have a copy of my own book but a used one was selling for six dollars more than the list price for a new one. While I’ve been directly associated with the publishing business for less than three years, I have absolutely no hesitation in saying it’s stranger than the news business. And that’s pretty damn strange.

      I’ve autographed a book or two for friends who’ve mailed them to me. That has gone about as you would expect. In one inscription, I used the word “language” but mistakenly put a “c” where the first “g” should be and then spent several moments with my ballpoint trying to coax the “c” into looking like a “g.”