If I ever launch a digital self-pub venture, I will choose a name for it that cannot at first glance be mistaken for the word pubic.
When I visit a chain bookstore, I don't mind walking around an enormous ugly kiosk pimping said chain's e-reader. Nor do I mind being asked if I'm interested in seeing a demo. But you e-reader sales people need to learn the definition of the phrase "No thank you." It does not mean keep talking to me while I walk away so I feel rude. Nor does it mean talk to me again as I'm trapped beside your booth while standing in line with my print books waiting to check out. It doesn't even mean Tell me while I'm a captive audience how superior you think electronic format is to print, and be sure to insult my generation and my reading preferences while you're at it. I could be wrong, but last time I checked, No thank you actually means no thank you.
Wordless Wednesday. On writers' blogs. No, I think I must be hallucinating this trend. Okay, who slipped the mind-altering drugs into my crystal light when I wasn't looking?
I can't rant about a truly idiotic thing an industry professional said to me this week because a) some friends of mine work with this person, b) you wouldn't believe me unless I posted the evidence -- yes, I have it in writing, no less -- and c) everyone's head would explode as soon as they read it, because mine did. And yes, it's killing me to keep my mouth shut.
If I go to the largest, busiest bookstore in my region a week and a half after my bestselling release, I'd like to see at least one copy of my book in the store. On the back shelves is fine; that's where the rest of them are. I don't want to be told "They haven't arrived yet." Lie to me. Say they sold out in the first hour and they're on reorder. (I admit, I did laugh over this major annoyance as soon as I saw this new release at the front of the store):
*This is Karma, I think, and only funny if you read Rob Thurman's LJ. Or see the irony yourself here.