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October 19, 2008

The Off Season: A writer’s shameless self-promotion scheme

It may be of dubious authenticity, but years ago I heard a story about Mike Royko, the wonderfully acerbic columnist for the Chicago Tribune, who, when asked how he made writing look so easy, supposedly said: “It is easy. Every day, I walk into my office, sit down at my typewriter, and bleed from every pore of my body.”

For anyone who has every tried it, whether it be for a sophomore English class exam, a job interview “Tell-us-more-about yourself essay,” or a note for a child returning to school after an absence, you know that writing isn’t very easy at all. At least, good writing isn’t…

That’s why I am as proud as a new poppa about the recent release of my book, “The Off Season, The Newspaper Stories of Mike Lunsford.” I wrote every word of it — well, all but the Introduction by the Tribune-Star’s editor, Max Jones. I re-edited the book, too, and designed the cover, with the help of a beautiful Salty Seamon watercolor. It looks pretty slick, if I don’t say so myself.

I also have found out in a little more than a week, as a writer with a book on the market — a pretty limited market right now — that a little shameless self-promotion is always in order. I am discovering it to be easier and easier to somehow work that single fact into any conversation.

For instance, in casual discourse in the grocery store: “Yeah, the weather has been beautiful these past few weeks … pretty enough to sell my new book. You did know I had a book out, didn’t you?”

And, “The economy? It is bad, isn’t it. You’re lucky that I’m only charging $15 for my new book; I just happen to have a copy here.”

Unfortunately, I’ve also discovered, like anyone else who has ever written or performed or displayed something for the public, that mistakes will be made, and I found out the hard way. A friend of mine, a curmudgeonly old coot of a colleague (He received a free copy of the book, I might add), made sure he pointed out an error to me.

“Not to be nitpicking or anything,” he said, “but I found a mistake in one of your stories.” Then, as if he was correcting the English teacher’s spelling (which he was), he mockingly added with a slight smirk, “But, it really doesn’t matter…”

For the record, if you buy a copy of the book, and if you go to page 73, and if you look closely, you’ll see that the word “tale” has been used instead of “tail.” I can’t say I know how or why the mistake was made, but it’s there for all the world and the Library of Congress to see. There are probably a few more errors that I haven’t found yet, but believe me, I’ll hear about those, too, probably the next time I see my pal smiling. I just hope he doesn’t expect an editing fee now.

The whole scenario reminds me of a poem I once read by Colonial-era American Anne Bradstreet. In it, she suggested that her poems were like her children, saying that they were not well-clothed or versed in the social graces, but nonetheless, she needed the money, so out the door they went.

I had my first book signing two Saturdays ago in Bridgeton at Collom’s General Store, hoping to take advantage of both the huge Covered Bridge Festival crowds and Diane Smith’s cherry cobbler. It was an interesting and exciting day, and I certainly appreciated the hospitality that Dan and Cathy Collom afforded me. I signed under the Big Tent in Rockville a weekend later, and Parke County Inc. and its fearless leader, Cathy Harkrider, showed me considerable generosity, too.

I’ve learned quite a bit from those two experiences. I’m a people watcher by nature, and the Festival certainly afforded that pleasure. It’s intriguing, for instance, what clothes people choose to wear to such an event. It’s interesting to see to what lengths some folks will go to avoid using a port-a-potty, too. It absolutely amazes me, as well, that on a warm fall day in very rural Parke County, Indiana, I could have bought all the Crab-Rangoon I could eat.

On that first Saturday, sitting just a few feet from the magnificent bridge that Dan and his crew built in an amazingly short time, I sat across from a rack of close-out bed shams and soaked up the busyness of the place — the thumping beat of car stereos, the smell of sausage sandwiches, and the wonderful menagerie of pull carts, backpacks and wagons that folks employed to haul their recently purchased stashes of the homemade, foreign made, well-made, and I-don’t-know-why-it-was made.

Judie Hutts, a longtime Rosedale friend who once gave my daughter art lessons, purchased my first book of the day, a fact that I tried to impress upon her that could prove profitable for her children when someday they would be able to sell that first edition, nearly first copy, of my book at Christie’s Auction House for a fabulous sum.

I have to admit that I felt a little like a vulture as I sat and waited for potential customers, particularly late in the day when it grew very warm and people were dragging past me to seek shelter from the sun and a glass of Cathy’s iced tea to quench their thirst. I pushed my chair against a nearby ice machine more than a few times, myself, so as to be able to lay my back against its cool side.

After a long, but thankfully, busy day, I packed up and headed home, grateful that I had sold a few books, but even happier that all the tourists would be someplace else in the matter of 10 days, and the roads around my house would once again be quiet and passable. I was pleased that I got to see a whole gaggle of old friends, from Rose Screen to Mary Anne Pierce to the always happy Rachel Huxford, who laughs at my stories whether they’re funny or not, and that I met some new friends, too, like Tom and Martha Wampler, who made the trek far out into the country just to see me.

I think I’m going to like this business, knowing that a little of what I know and think and remember is making its way into the lives of other people, perhaps even into another time when someone will pull my book off the shelves in the public library or classroom or living room.

Oh, did I happen to tell you in the past few minutes that I have a new book out?



Mike Lunsford can be reached by e-mail at hickory913@aol.com, or by regular mail c/o the Tribune-Star, P.O. Box 149, Terre Haute, IN 47808. You also can visit his Web page at www.mikelunsford.com to check for local signings and sales of his book. His next signing is 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Saturday at Baesler’s Market in Terre Haute.

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