Ah, July. Okay, so it’s been July for 13 days already, but not all things co-ordinate perfectly with the common calender.
My June book release is now no longer a “New Release.” This is a sad passing. In publishing, the typical and wished-for chronology is to be a “new release” at least three times: In hardcover, then again in the major book clubs, and then finally in paperback. Three chances to feel like the new kid in town.
THE FOURTH HOUSE, like most everything I do, is breaking the rules by doing the book clubs first, a point I’ve blathered on about to death.
It is sad, though, to watch a whole slew of other books now being called “New Releases” in the clubs, while my little book is relegated to the “Fiction” section. Sales continue to look good (thank you one and all). Of course, I now get to experience that strange sensation of “newness” versus “relative newness.”
Think for a moment about the pop music charts. Check the feeling in your gut when you read that Justin Timberlake has outsold the Beatles’ White Album — THIS WEEK.
I am now Justin Timberlake (sorta, but only in a pathetic attempt to make a weak analogy).
I watch as I outsell Stephen King’s “The Green Mile” … THIS WEEK. Mitch Albom’s “The Five People You Meet in Heaven”, Alice Sebold’s “The Lovely Bones”, Lauren Weisberger’s “The Devil Wears Prada”. I’ve gotten them all beat … THIS WEEK. Hell, I’m even outselling J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit.” The fact that it was released in January of 1956 is nothing but a whiny-voiced excuse.
So while it is sad to no longer be “new,” I suppose it is still good to not yet be too old.