A book making its way
My Unorthodox Journey to the Published Land: 5
The Best Laid Plans entered the real world in September 2007 when my “author package”—a box holding 10 printed copies of my book—arrived in my office. That’s when I started living the glamorous high life of the self-published author.
I immediately ordered a box of 24 (at least I think it was 24) and stowed it in the trunk of my car. In between client meetings for my day job—back in 1995, I cofounded Thornley Fallis, a communications consulting agency—I’d drive to local independent bookstores in Toronto. I’d pull five copies of The Best Laid Plans from the trunk, steel myself, and walk into the bookstore. I’d politely (if somewhat sheepishly) ask the proprietor if she might be interested in stocking my satirical novel of Canadian politics, on consignment. Invariably this wave of pain and angst would wash across her face as she reached for a copy of my book. She’d read the back cover and flip through a chapter, checking for page numbers and that the text was level. Then she’d scrutinize the front cover. Her eyes moved to the blurb at the top provided by the Honourable Allan Rock, our former Justice Minister and UN Ambassador (I knew him from our days working in politics).
“Um, does Allan Rock know about this?” she’d ask.
As if I’d manufacture an endorsement from a famous Canadian to emblazon on the front cover of my self-published novel (though perhaps not a bad idea). Finally, when I’d convince her that the blurb was legit, she’d say something like: “Let’s start with two copies.” I was thrilled and put them on the Fiction shelves.
If I were feeling particularly ambitious and was in the same area later the same day, I’d sometimes pop back in to the same bookstore, after shift change when the proprietor was off and the afternoon/evening staff was on duty. I’d walk up to the counter and ask: “Yes, do you have that great new political satire by Terry Fallis?”
Okay, I didn’t do that (though it’s also not a bad idea for buzz-building). But I would simply walk to the Fiction section and look at my own novel on the shelf. Margaret Atwood, Douglas Coupland, and Roberston Davies above me, Will Ferguson, Alice Munro, Paul Quarrington and Mordecai Richler below me on the shelves. I just stood there taking in the view—a scene that miraculously included my novel. If the store wasn’t too crowded, I’d often pull out my Blackberry (yes, I had not yet moved to the new and revolutionary iPhone) and snap a photo of my novel in the wild. (I mean, I had to move quickly. Who knew how long they’d be there.)
My first book launch
Later in September, my phone rang and Mark Lefebvre, the manager of McMaster University’s bookstore was calling. He’d stumbled on the online listing for my new novel while scanning for new books for the store. He’d remembered my name from my student union years at Mac. He then took it upon himself to listen to the TBLP podcast. He seemed to enjoy the story and invited me down to the Mac bookstore in Hamilton for a proper launch of the novel. What an honour. Real authors have launches. Now it seems, I will, too. (It was very kind of Mark to make that call. We’ve remained good friends ever since and he’s gone on to be one of our leading author advocates and a great writer, too.)
I drove down to McMaster on the appointed day and was a little intimidated by the posters I saw around campus promoting the launch event. In the bookstore a table had been set up with a massive display of my books. Well, there were about a dozen of my books. But for a self-published writer, that really does constitute a “massive” display. There were also three pens on the table. If I were to exhaust the ink in one pen from all the signing I was going to do, I had two extras. Good planning.
When the festivities got underway, Mark introduced me. I spoke about my formative time at Mac. I then talked about the novel, read a section, and then responded to questions. Both people who attended the launch bought books. To be clear, the guy in the background of the photo below was not there for my debut novel. He was shopping for printer cartridges, I believe.
And yes, I wore a suit and tie to my first book launch. I’d never been to one before so I didn’t really know how novelists dress for such occasions. I look more like a funeral director, but as I’ve said more than once in these posts, I really didn’t know what I was doing. But I was having a blast.
The following month, I did organize a Toronto launch just to try to spread the news about the novel. It was mostly my ball hockey buddies who came, but it was a fun evening and quite a few books were sold.
The Leacock Medal
By this stage, I’d placed in various Toronto bookstores all 24 copies from that box I’d ordered. But I still had my original “author package” box of ten copies sitting under my desk at the office. I wondered what to do with them. Perhaps it was the false bravado engendered by my triumphant book signing at McMaster (yeah, right). Or maybe it was just the thrill of having a book (albeit self-published) out there in the world (in minuscule numbers). But just on a lark, I checked out the website of the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour, one of Canada’s oldest literary awards, won over the years by some of my favourite writers including Robertson Davies, Paul Quarrington and Mordecai Richler. I check the eligibility requirements as almost all mainstream literary awards specifically exclude self-published works from consideration. You can’t submit your self-published novel for the Giller Prize or the Governor General’s Award, it would not be eligible. But there was no such restriction on the Leacock Medal, clearly an oversight on their part.
The entry rules required me to send a cheque for $100 from the publisher, a headshot of the author, and ten copies of the book. I was the publisher and I had a blank cheque in my wallet for just such an occasion. I also had the author headshot on my computer that my twin brother Tim had taken for the book the previous spring. And, I just happened to have exactly ten copies of my novel already residing in a cardboard box suitable for mailing. I’m not kidding in the least when I say that had they asked for eleven or twelve copies, my writing life may well have ended with my self-published debut. I would not have had the gumption to order the additional copies just so I could enter my novel for the Leacock Medal. But the stars aligned and it seemed I had everything I needed for a complete submission. Before I lost my nerve, I packaged up the box, applied the appropriate postage, and left it on our reception desk for Canada Post to pick up.
Twenty minutes later, I did in fact get cold feet. As I walked back out to our reception area to reclaim my box, I remember saying to myself: “You can’t submit your own self-published novel for the Leacock medal, what are you thinking?” But when I made it out to the front, our receptionist reported that the letter carrier had just taken the box a few minutes earlier. Maybe I could catch him. And were it not for our notoriously balky elevators, I may well have caught him and retrieved my box. When I finally made it down to the front lobby of our building, I dashed outside in time to see the Canada Post truck pull a U-turn on Yonge Street and head north. It was done.
TBLP in the world
In the meantime, some of my social media friends had kindly initiated a global photo challenge to encourage readers to take a picture of TBLP where ever they happened to be in the world, and then post it, usually on Facebook and Twitter. It was exciting to see where copies of The Best Laid Plans ended up. It felt to me like the novel was gathering some modest momentum in the weeks after it entered the public realm.
And now, back to the Leacock Medal
Entries for the 2008 Leacock Medal closed on December 31, 2007. You could follow the entries on the website as they came in. So from the day I submitted TBLP (or failed to stop it, as it were) until the end of the year, I’d visit the Leacock website every, well, I don’t know, say 20 minutes or so, just to see what other books were in the running. By the time December 31 rolled around, there were just shy of 50 entries. Wow. That seemed like a lot, including offerings from three-time medal winner Arthur Black and two-time winner Will Ferguson (who has since won it a third time), Scott Gardiner, Douglas Coupland, and many other well known and respected writers.
“Well, that was fun while it lasted,” I said to myself when I’d reviewed the entry list. Then I went ahead and chose my own shortlist of five (of course, not including my own novel). I didn’t give it much thought again until March 27, 2008 at approximately 12:23:45 in the afternoon. That was the day the Leacock shortlist was to be unveiled in Orillia, Ontario, home of Stephen Leacock. I was in Montreal on business delivering a couple of presentations in a boardroom at one of our pharmaceutical clients. I knew the shortlist was being released that morning. So in our lunch break, with just my colleague and I munching on sandwiches at the boardroom table, I did a Google search for the Leacock shortlist and turned up one lonely little story from the Orillia Packet & Times. There was a photo in the story featuring two Leacock Medal officials (President Wayne Scott and Jury Chair Judith Rapson) and a board displaying the five shortlisted authors and their books. I started at the wrong end of the board and was quite chuffed when three of the five writers I’d predicted would be shortlisted appeared (Douglas Coupland, Will Ferguson, and Scott Gardiner). I didn’t recognize the fourth finalist, an Alberta writer. And then my eyes fell to the writer in the bottom left hand corner of the photo. That’s when I had a stroke.
There was my ugly mug and the cover of The Best Laid Plans. I actually thought a stroke was a reasonable diagnosis for I was paralyzed and could not speak. I have no memory of the client presentation I gave about ten minutes later, but it apparently proceeded satisfactorily. I flew home later that evening, though I didn't really need the plane. It was surely the shock of my life.
More to come including landing a literary agent, announcing the 2008 Leacock Medal winner, and leaving the ranks of the self-published after a very short stay.
Ah, Terry, you just know how to write, my friend!
Terry, I've heard you talk about this journey to the Leacock medal a couple of times now, and it still gives me chills. It's SUCH a great story!