Shouts From Down Under

Shake their heads, click their tongues, move on, and forget.

Writing a book sometimes feels like preparing to open a business.

And I suppose if selling is on our minds that is exactly what we are doing.

Preparation, love and desire...



Our words form a product, arranged attractively, (we hope) placed to catch the eye, show off the curves, be perceived as valuable, even before they are seized upon, taken into the buyer's possession, pages turned, breath caught, emotions stoked, egos stroked, fears stimulated, fears allayed, thoughts provoked, anger and arrogance poked at with our broken off literary stick of intention.

We want our bound up copy, sitting with its identical peers on the book store shelf row, to be desired even before the investor physically comes to adopt it from that building, or before they click on Paypal, fill in the Amazon purchase template, (or the other way we'd rather not think about - before they download it for "free" ie. steal our precious, yessssss, precioussss, baby from some sordid-made-look-legitimate piracy web page).

The ideal situation is that they might see the cover, read the title, be enchanted enough to move on to the blurb, be it on the back or on the monitor screen. They would then be willing and trustful enough for the next vital step of the process that shovels money into the gaping maw of our oh so friendly bank account, thank you very, very much.

But it doesn't stop there, does it. And that isn't a question, so no question mark.

Then, instead of the inadmissible placing of said popular, entertaining, excellently researched and enthralling, Nobel prize winning tome on their art deco coffee table, or slid in the spare leaning slot with all the others, in their pigeon-hole, under-stair, custom made book case, NO.

Instead of that we'd be so ecstatic if the astute story lover would sit down with a bottomless caffeinated beverage, and give our blood, sweat and tears costed product a good seeing to.

Yes, like any small business, or large glass paneled, high-rise, tea-lady employing, rappelling window cleaning platformed, photocopying in bulk, staff gossiping around the water fountain encompassing corporation, we want to manufacture, grow, mold, form, 'smith, give birth to, or otherwise bring into being, something that will sell like those proverbial hot cakes, with icing or a nice sifting over of castor sugar.

We want our shop for this book we wrote to be forced to expand, to employ more people to cope with demand, to need a new occupational health and safety policy just for their new palletised receiving and dispatch system.

Enough dreaming!

The reality is, from what I've seen, businesses take a few years, yes YEARS, to get established in the public's eyes and memory. This is even coupled WITH excellent public relations, service, solid value and after sales support. This is WITH individual tailoring, data base driven repeat business encouragement, sales and loyalty bonuses, forecasting and accurate predictions of just what the customer needs, or wants, at any given time in their manipulated and NEEDY domestic future.

Homework has to be done, and difficult questions asked and answered, before even scuffing a steel capped safety boot in the dirt of a new building site.
There has to be market analysis, trend graphs, geographical and population estimates, costings, billings, training, and the list goes on forever.

There are council permits. Enough said.

Sign writing, shop fittings, insurance, fire safety equipment, computers, phones, shelving, cash register, staff amenities, fridge and pie warmer, kettle, toaster, crockery, seats and table, serviettes, toilet paper and tomato sauce. Coffee. Don't forget the coffee. (Ok, or teabags)

Have you ever noticed those businesses that are brand new, and, give the proprietors their due, the whole concept is brilliant, the layout is great, the location just right, the product eye catching, and everything should excel, do well, prosper and propagate. This bloke, that woman, these people, that couple, the family, have done their homework, for sure. There's an opening day, bright lights, sparkly window dressing, pricing guns, EFT and fantastic plastic facilities, special bargain prices all laid on for the discerning buyer who knows just what they want.

But success doesn't happen, or it might happen at first, in a sort of artificial stage, and the product does sell, is good value, and does what it claims, the repairs are economical, the customers are happy.

Still, there are problems. Deals with major companies don't come to fruition, sales die off, competition starts up down the road, political and economical changes or downturns come, and after all the credit is into the red, and the owners working second jobs to cover expenses, then the writing is on the wall. But not in book form. No. People aren't coming in here. They buy the same product on eBay, or from a Facebook group that advertises for free, or from the new weekend farmer's market just started up on the vacant land provided by the council (but charged out at a high rate for the stalls, with vendors having to comply with a strict, dictatorial set of guidelines to cover OH&S).

Or perhaps the product is first rate, is what the customer wants, is competitively priced, and weathers the ups and downs very well. But costs that were manageable when the shop opened, are now outweighed by the downturn, and no one will listen. The rent kills, the debt doubles, and the owners dream slowly withers away until they sadly accept closure. The end. Tears, fears of the phone, debt collectors, lies about invoicing and bills (No, we mustn't have received any phone bill in the mail. Could you please send another. Yes I know it's the third copy to go missing. Once we get it we'll pay, for sure).

Some businesses are like books you look at, and there is something about the whole thing, though it looks ok, you just know it won't do any good. You know in your heart it is destined for failure. You are not surprised, one day, to drive past and see the place empty, signs half removed, windows papered over and a huge FOR LEASE sign shouting out someones overdraft woes that moved to their personal debt account, and will take a lifetime to pay back, unless they took the other sickening way out...bankruptcy.

One clue that the business was never going to last beyond a year or two, is the name. Yes, just the NAME. The business handle. That simple statement of what they did, sold or otherwise traded there. You see the empty shop, or even another business that moved in, but the old faded sign is still up in a corner above the shop front facade.

The name is...ok. That's all. Its just ok. Damned by faint praise, is the red-faced statement of mediocrity. The name was a failure to start with, and there was something amateurish, or second rate, about it. You can tell straight away the people meant well, but they didn't think it through, and they settled for average.
The name almost does it, but sounds like just what it is- a pipe-dream name that is unprofessional, cheap, comical, someone else's reject, and at the least, misleading. Sometimes you think to yourself, what on earth were they selling? What was the business all about? Because the name gives no clue.

The title of our book must be first class. No cutting corners or like us Australian's say, "She'll be right, mate".
You have to be prepared to say, No. That's not good enough. It has to be just right, and must sound exactly what the book should be called. It should bring to the potential reader's (and buyer's) mind a flavour of the story contained within, and make them shift in their thinking.

We don't want them shaking their heads, and seeing in our fantastic title a glimpse of a drab, boring story, or a disappointing waste of their time and money. Their microsecond assessment of our title may not be an accurate judgement of the story at all, but its too late now. Our failed business will be forgotten in days, and the most we'll get is a click of faux concern and then they'll move on to the other billion books available.

Then we'll sadly claim that we were "just writing for our own entertainment, our love of the craft, that's all".
We didn't want to sell one book, really. But the bank and our accountant will know otherwise.

Sparky