The Story behind the Story (Or How I FINALLY Learned to Sell My Book)

Monday, November 26, 2007

Authors are expected to be able to talk about their books in such a way that they sell the books. As in, "Tell me about your book." Insert deer in the headlights look here because that's me. And that's some of my friends. Accomplished and talented writers who have written masterworks and couldn't’t tell you what their book was about if their life depended on it. The Creative Director of the publisher of The Messenger of Magnolia Street happened to fly into Nashville prior to the book making it to the printed completed page. He tells me a day prior to his arrival, "I'm looking forward to really hearing you describe your book. To tell me what it’s about." Now this is after he has read the book, the entire publishing house has read the book, and they have bought and are publishing the book. The thing is, they want the author to describe exactly what type of book it is.

Okay, fine. I stay upstairs in my office working on this for about 3 hours. Then I venture downstairs and tell Mr. Wonderful, "I’ve got it. It’s good and it’s kinda spooky."
"You’re a writer," he says. "Go back upstairs until you can come up with something better than that."
And then like a petulant thirteen year old I’m stomping back up the stairs whining and mumbling under my breath. But I never really did come up with something better. Not exactly. Because what I told the Creative Director, the Marketing Team, the Sales People and readers at all the speaking engagements time and travel permitted was, The Messenger of Magnolia Street is an Allegory about the things that are disappearing from the South. Well, more-so, about our ability as a society to listen. To remember. To tell and share stories. That our stories are becoming homogenized by our dependence on mass media. And somehow that mass media is telling us who we are. It’s about a battle between good and evil that is truly a symbolic representation for the battle that lies before us and within us.
This is about the time that peoples eyes turned glassy and rolled up in their heads. The fact is, people were not looking for a scholarly dissertation on the cultural relevance of the art of storytelling. They were looking for a story. Something to read that carried them on a journey.
And it’s not that all that I said about the book wasn’t true because it was, but it’s not the way to tell a story about a story. I know better. Really.
So it struck me as pretty funny when I was at the Kentucky Book Fair in Frankfort this year and showed up to my assigned table to find it laden with books and I’m talking laden that things took a turn. There was a mountain of beautiful hard back editions and paperbacks and even a big stack of my first novel, that mysterious, little, unknown gem, The Gin Girl. Oh, no, I’m thinking. I’ll be sitting behind this pile of books all day, sight unseen, and have to crawl out of here on my hands and knees to save face!
Then a lady picks up one of the novels, leans over the pile until she can see my eyes, and asks, "What’s your book about?"

And suddenly as if I had been sprinkled with the fairy-dust of my ancestors, I slid into my native tongue (backupinthererural) and said:

This blog is posted and may be read in it's complete version at the Southern Authors blog, A Good Blog Is Hard to Find. And you may also listen to the attached podcast of the post in it's completed form here.

A jazzy collective of southern authors posting words about writing, life, and whatnot, stuff and other things worth telling.The_Story_Behind_the_Story.mp3

Labels: biscuits, Kentucky, stephen speilberg, storytelling

posted by River Jordan at 9:10 AM 0 comments

Midnight in Nashville

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Well, it's midnight. And I'm up/awake/typing. Why? Because I'm a writer. Because when I wake up words begin to ratatatatat in my brain like rain falling on a tin roof. Then they take shape. Some sort of elusive patter and before I know it I'm out of bed, staring at the computer screen. But the thing is when I woke up it was quiet in the house. Everyone had gone to sleep. Even Moses the cat had stopped purring. The kind of quiet that make you think the whole city of Nashville is resting quietly, tucked in tightly, while the wind rustles those fall leaves out there. And that kind of quiet calls me to the page.

For those of you who weren't able to make it to the TAG art Gallery in downtown Nashville this past Thursday night for the Meet the Author Series, - okay, I will admit, it was just a blast. A lovely event. People were gracious and good and let me tell the story behind the story of Messenger (or How I finally learned to describe the book to people a year after the hardback first hit the shelves) and they gathered up copies of The Messenger of Magnolia Street and took them home so that the story could continue.

Now for those of you who have asked me if I would blog what I spoke on the answer is, yes but I'm stashing it away to offer up on November 26 when it's my day this month to contribute to the southern authors blog, A Good Blog Is Hard To Find so keep your eyes peeled for that date and I'll run a link here on Ramblings. I'm busting at the seams to tell you The Story Behind the Story - but I'll save it for that date.

And for those of you who may have missed BACKSTORY this week, I so greatly enjoyed speaking with Sallie Ann Robinson, the author of Cooking the Gullah Way, and Mark Smirnoff, editor of Oxford American Magazine, that the show will re-air Saturday, November 24th at 4pm Central. Pull up a chair and really enjoy. (You can read more about Sally and OA under BACKSTORY on the RADIO on this site.)


It's been a good week for counting blessings, for giving thanks in anticipation of Thanksgiving in a few days. For remembering all that is well in the midst of not being just up to par health wise this week. And refraining - thank goodness - from suddenly sounding like my grandaddy when the young man behind the counter asked me what kind of day I was having. Oh, thank goodness! again that I stopped myself just shy and short from rolling out a laundry list of ailments and maladies and sharing with him that I had been a little down and out lately.


And my thankfulness, ahhh, well, it's just good to begin to roll those lists around on your tounge. And in thinking of thanksgiving I'm reminded of that quick word of kinship called graciousness. Like when a person opens their door to the lonely and the forgotten out there. (And you'd be amazed where they are lurking - like, everywhere.)

Sometimes we think our house isn't large enough, our tv big enough, our food good enough, our house CLEAN enough, our guest room sassy enough, our absence of a guest room embarrasing, our dishes are wrong, our car's too old, our food is too cold - the list can go on and on and on as to why we can't give. Why we aren't worthy for sharing. But here's the lesson I learned one time traveling with a group of Spanish women to a conference in central Florida.

It had been arranged for us to stay with a friend of theirs. All six of us. With a single Mother in a tiny apartment in Orlando. We were going to be cozy that was for certain. But here's what was waiting for us when we arrived. A smile of a woman who was standing on the stairway breathless in anticipation of our arrival. The car pulled up and she went wild, running down the stairs and speaking in Spanish all her welcome's and hello's. (Because most people take me for Spanish/Greek/Persian/Italian/etc. She thought I understood every word she said which of course I didn't. But what I did understand was the heart behind her words. I understood her joy at opening the door to her tiny apartment and being more than willing to share what she had. No, not willing, overjoyed. She showed us to the little second bedroom which was her daughters and how she had borrowed beds and mattresses from other neighbors so that the room was now literally one mattress next to another. And when the mattresses had run out, she had borrowed a box spring alone, put it on the floor, and covered it with all the remaining blankets that she had so that it would be as soft as possible. She could have been taking us into a five star hotel with the enthusiasm pouring out of her as she was patting the beds, pointing to the blankets, sweeping her arm across the miracle of a room to her that was going to house all of these honored guests. The same with the meals as she smiled and said we were all having soup! And BREAD! Because that's what she had and we gathered around that table with bowls of soup and with bread and the women laughed and told stories late into the night and they would occassionally remember I couldn't speak Spanish and would back up and interpret the entire story for me and they'd all laugh again. Hospitality baby. The real kind. Straight from the heart. I've never felt more welcomed or more comfortable as a guest in someones home in my entire life. (And I think I may have volunteered for the box spring.)

So - if the dishes don't match, if the food is simple, if the house just ain't all that (or if it is) remember that it's you, your stories, your smile, and your piece of this life that someone needs, not all that other empty stuff.

And do think to find that lonely person anywhere from 8-80 and include them in your holiday meal. Or grab someone and go to McD's. Or make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and find a buddy that could use a good story and a little company. And if you happen to be one of the many that is cooking, feeding, traveling, packing and enjoying the lovely crazy zany FAMILY closeness that this special time of year brings, take a deep breath, you know, in and out, and and don't let the doing of it all spoil the wonder of it all.

Safe Journey to all of those hitting the holiday road and a very Happy Thanksgiving!

Labels: family, Thanksgiving

posted by River Jordan at 12:04 AM 0 comments

New York in the Rearview

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Well, if I was driving I would have been looking at New York in the rear view to catch that one last glimpse of the city as I pulled out of sight. But as it stands, just a quick shot from the window of the airport shuttle as we crossed the big bridge. Yes, I could eat another Bagel this morning and wander down to this Cuban bar where I was DETERMINED to eat before I left and order and steak and plantains and black beans again tonight (joined with a wonderfully cold Negro Modelo I must add) but that's not happening.

But there are a few lovely things I want to share with you as I look back. Author friend, Rona Berg, took me on a walking trip through the city. First stop - back to the New York Library to see if novels of your's truly were on the shelf - What Look Mama- right there on the shelf in the big, ole city

of NY. Then we wandered down through the theatre district, then we caught the subway to Soho. Then she told me history, the story, of Soho and the West Village area and Beeker street. Of the meat packing plants where the meat would be butchered on the cobblestone sidewalks which is now a posh art district - with one meat packing shop left right in the middle of it. We had a great lunch in Soho, picked up some incredible coffee, wandered into a French pastry shop for desert, and then I had to leave Rona for a new play reading she was attending. But I loved seeing New York through her eyes. (OH - and Rona tells me NOT TO WORRY about the old people, that they love it here and can walk to the store and catch a bus to the Met and they can be independent and get to everything they need. Alright, gotcha. Don't worry about the old people.) I love the way that Rona looks around and says, "Isn't this just great?!" and "Don't you just love this city?" As in when we jumped on the Subway and this Mariachi Band was playing full tilt and passing the hat. Yes, Rona I do. I do love this city. I wandered through the park behind the big library and there is a little ice skating rink and music playing, and trees, AND a lovely little sitting area with a free library right there so you can just pick up a book and read for as long as you want to hang out. Here, just look. So I grabbed a tea, sat, and picked up a collection of poems edited by Garrison Keillor and I just open the book to whatever page and - can you see it? - it's a poem about New Yorkers. Ain't that just strange and wonderful?
Then I visited the Cathedral (Peter's? Pauls?) on 5th avenue and snapped only a few shots cause I'm not really down with snapping pictures around praying people. But the cathedral is beautiful. Millions of flickering lights of whispered prayers, the low hum of people praying in a their native tongue, people from all walks of life, from 5th Avenue and from parts unknown and from the working man's land.









Then I had the lovely idea on a blustery, cold Winnie-the-Pooh kind of day to head to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (better known as the MET) Well, seems like so did every other person in NYC. But you can't get over the treasure this place is no



matter how crazy crowded (but so much for wandering the empty hallways in a dreamy, journal in hand state.)

So this is what's left of New York in the Rear view.

Now, I'm back in Nashville after having hit the road to join all those Motley writers at the Frankfort Kentucky Book Fair. Signing and selling books all day is not a bad life. And when a woman comes up out of the blue and starts pointing to one of your books saying, "Oh my Gosh, this book, oh my - this is one of the best books I've ever read! I just can't say enough about this book. I just can't describe it!" And so on - and the other people picking up your books surely think she is a family member you've staged for the event but the woman isn't even looking at me (which is kinda funny) and her comments weren't directed at me, her totally attention was on the book itself and she just kept picking it up and holding it like it was dear friend. Well, that's when you say- Okay, God - I'll write another one. I'm so sorry I've forgotten this lovely lady's name but we did snap a picture as she was buying The Messenger of Magnolia Street to add to The Gin Girl. I met some lovely people at the festival like I always do and just awesome anytime a writer steps into a place where throngs of people are just getting book drunk and going up and down the aisles trying to CHOOSE and then it's quite an honor when out of all those books, and often on a limited budget, they choose mine. (I don't take that likely.)

And I also get to meet future writers who brightly tell me that they love to read AND to write and are considering becoming a writer. Or a herpetologist. Just because they love snakes. (I'd say there's a writer in there.)

It's good to be home. It's good to be in Nashville. To be surrounded by people that will go out of their way to help you open a door, carry a child, fix your car, give you a ride. And that's for strangers. The fact is, it's the friendliest town in America. So if you find your way here and then you get lost, lose your luggage, your wallet, your keys, your mind, your money, don't worry. Somebody will come along and take care of you. Because my dear friend Alix, it's what we do here. We take care of each other as if one life is connected to the next life. As if your getting lost means a part of me is lost. It's one of the grand reasons that I live here.

(Hey and if you are anywhere NEAR Nashville this Thursday please join us at the TAG Art Gallery downtown for true tales of being a writer, being on the road, and learning FINALLY to tell the story about the story. Check out the EVENTS page on this site for time and address.)

Labels: Kentucky Book Fair, Life, Nashville, New York

posted by River Jordan at 7:15 AM 0 comments

Bagels and Buses

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Starbucks Cappachino. $3.50. Everything Bagel with Cream Cheese $2.25. Sunday New York Times $4.00. Consuming these exotic items from the 20th floor terrace overlooking the city - Priceless.


Okay - so I flushed the multiple twists/turns/facts/and mathematical equations from the net on which bus to catch when and how and for how far and just got ON THE &*^# BUS. Because you know what those directions sound like to me even though I write them down perfectly? Go to the 145Z and wait for the xy24 bus to Harlem then take it to wahwahwah - and then get off wahwahwah and do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around and RUN for the 88k65 bus to ferry pass and . . . So forgetaboutit! I got on the bus. You know - as in the first bus pointing in the right direction - "Excuse me Mr. Bus Driver but will this bus take me to 47th street?" Yes - I'm on. "Excuse me Mr. Bus Driver will this bus take me to 9th avenue?" Yes.! I'm on. (okay - so the yes's are more like a short affirmative nod - I'll take that.)

How are people in New York? Their nice/lonely/friendly/amusing/crazy/wise/unfriendly/homeless/vested/brilliant. Kinda like everywhere. Kinda like the family table at Thanksgiving (minus that vested part.)

Now there are a few differences. Like when you head uptown to the library and you see this huge crowd of people and there are police there for crowd control and I'm thinking, Wow - a protest. Something historical. Well, turns out it was only the filming of the Sex and the City movie. Okay, for some people that's a line worth being in. Like a few of my friends that would imagine that had to be the to die for moment of my time here. So here's a snapshot taken from the top of the stairs of the big beautiful marble library of the famous lions. Just a peek of Carrie Bradshaw's wedding dress. (Guess it's no big hush/hush since there were hundreds of camera's popping that were a lot closer than I was.) Now that marble library. Well, just as soon as I started snapping the battery went dead. I've got one shadowed lion and a shot taken walking down the marbled hallway. Check it out. Just makes you want to put on some peepers and research something doesn't it?


The weather's turned cooler by twenty degrees maybe and everyone on the street is audible breathing a sigh of relief. Seems they like that colder weather up here. And the streets are full of hustle and bustle. People that have tighter schedules and more important agenda's right now than I do. I wandering, sauntering, and checking things out. Also happen to be reading a delightful new manuscript from author friend Carolyn Turgeon that involves Cinderella's Godmother who is now hiding out in modern day New York. Release date - okay I'm hoping it's Spring of '08 but don't hold me to it. Check out Carolyn's site for upcoming details. (And what better reading than modern day magical realism set in the city while one is in the city?) Along those lines grabbed Anthony Bourdain's book, Kitchen Confidential and sliced my way through that one upon arrival followed quickly by Alice Hoffman's, Blue Diary which just broke my heart and blew me away. Oh, my!

Listening to? Everything from the Beatles to Frank Sinatra to Etta James and the Blues Brothers but don't take my word for it. Tune in to Backstory on the radio (see the live link to the left) and you'll hear all those and more plus stories from Clyde Edgerton and Celia Rivenbark this week.

Alright - As you can see from the photo at the right it's just a snapshot paradise and there is no end to the cultural sights to be captured in a single day. (Okay, there was a crowd of people snapping this guy sitting in a port-a-potty that was being carried around by a guy. Now you know it is a trick, don't you?)


But then once in awhile you capture something that's even more unexpected. The shot that you thought you took just out of the frame and when you get home you see a different picture. You notice that the entire world is rushing by in a blur, people on the phone, people with plans, places to be, people to see. And then you see that somebody's working on something else entirely. It's a little something I call,
'Talkin' to Jesus'.

I'm off, camera and caffeine in hand, to hit the streets and see what's out there. With or without me stories are rolling out and rising up off the streets of New York. And, you know how much I love a good story.

posted by River Jordan at 11:19 PM 0 comments

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