The Perspiring Writer Magazine

So there I was, a brand new author with my beautiful book finally in my hand. It took me less than a year to write “At Home in the World: Memoirs of a Traveling Woman,” which takes readers on some of the off-beat journeys--largely solo--I’ve made these last 20 years. But now I had to morph into a salesperson, and I was feeling more than a little angst.

My publisher’s sole marketing assistance was a couple of pages of suggestions, so I was definitely on my own. First I did some basic things--set up a website and designed a simple descriptive “green sheet” handout. I even got interviewed a few times by the local media. Of course my friends all cooperated by buying copies, and I found local bookstores wonderfully receptive for book signings. But some of my private individual sales came in most unexpected ways.

So there I was, picking up my Saturn Hybrid at the body shop after some minor repairs. Mary had said it would be ready at 1 p.m., but I was doing a radio interview then. So, when I turned up at 4 and explained the delay, she wanted to know why I was being interviewed. I said I had written a book. I had hardly told her the title before she announced that she loved to read and where could she buy it? Almost the first lesson I had been taught when my book saw the light of day, was always to have one or two copies at hand. So it took only a minute to retrieve a book from the car. Mary promptly dug out the proper amount and I signed the front page for her. How I chuckled as I drove away.

So there I was at the Commodity Exchange, talking with Dick about selling some silver. Ned, my late husband, loved to invest in silver bars when the price was low. I’ve watched the price rise and fall over the years, hoping to shed my small stash of silver at a judicious moment. Now I was about to leave on a trip to India and the price was right. When Dick and I had agreed on a deal, he asked how to spell my name on the check. Digging for a business card in my overloaded purse, I muttered something about “No, that’s the wrong card.” He wondered aloud why I would have different business cards, so I showed him. One of them was the newly designed promo card for my book. He hardly even asked what the book was about, although of course the title makes it evident. So there I was, whipping out my briefcase and coolly asking the other three men in the office if they also wouldn’t like to buy a copy. No, but Dick paid for his autographed book, and we were both happy.

So there I was on a British Airways flight headed for India. My seatmate en route to London was Stasha, a fresh-faced young Serb returning home to Belgrade after working as an architect in Manhattan for two years. Although I rarely talk with fellow passengers, her open smile and friendly style opened me up, and we soon discovered that we were kindred spirits in our enthusiasm for world travel. I found myself handing her my green sheet. In no time Stasha had glanced at it and asked where she might order a copy. Now I had packed a handful of books to present to my friends in India, but they were not accessible now. On a sudden whim I had also tucked a single copy into my carry-on bag which was now squeezed under the seat ahead. How fortuitous! Stasha promptly wrote me a check and received “At Home in the World” to inspire her in her traveling life ahead.

So there you are. Be prepared. You just never know! 

Dorothy Conlon, author of “At Home in the World:  Memoirs of a Traveling Woman,” has been a citizen of the world for all of her 81 years.  She has visited 70 countries and has taught travel courses and given almost 700 presentations to audiences throughout Southwest Florida.  More information is available at www.DorothyConlon.com.