Adventures in Marketing — Week 531

Leah, who was to pick up the copy of MESSIAHS I had set aside for Giselle (See previous “Adventure”) made it to the café. She was a no-nonsense, recently retired probation officer with short grey hair. We had an amicable chat in which she reminded me we had met at a reading I gave at Robin’s Books in Center City Philadelphia in the early ‘aughts to which she had come with Giselle. I did not remember her but I remember the friend who had come with Giselle had not bought a copy of my book. Nor did she buy one now.
But as we chatted, through the open front door my eye was caught by Alexander, an ill-clad fellow who lived in a nearby park. He was rolling a jam-packed shopping cart which was capped by a battered copy of FULLY ARMED. Now FA had recently become a focus of my attention, first, because a former roommate from law school with whom I had recently re-established contact (and to whom I’d sent a CHEESESTEAK two days earlier, explaining how I got from there to here) told me that he’d tried to interest a film producer in Miami in it only to be told filming FA would be impossible. (I tended to agree); and, second, because two friends had independently said they thought it my best book, implying either a decline in my talent over the past 25-years (and 10 books) or a calcification off of their own range of interest.
But what the hell, was Alexander doing with it? Fortunately, his brother Wilkes, a banjo player of local repute, is even more of a café fixture than I, so after Leah left, I asked if he had any idea where Alexander got my book.
“From me,” Wilkes said. “Last time he was over he grabbed it and has been walking around with it since.”
“Oh,” I said. “Still, it’s the first time I’ve seen anyone with one of my books in public.”
Slightly crestfallen not have added to my circle of readers, I resumed taking notes on the graphic novel with which I was engaged. “Excuse me,” said a rosy-cheeked woman heading toward a free table, a rolled up yoga mat under one arm. “Is that work yours?”
“No,” I said. “I’m writing about it is all.”
Her name was Mehitabel and her daughter, who aspired to a career in comics, worked at Berkeley’s leading comic book store where she was being mentored by the owner. “He knows everything there is to know about comics,” Mehitabel said.
I described my own arcane, niche, quirky relationship to comics and each of my comic-related books. She expressed particular interest in MOST OUTRAGEOUS because of its theme of abuse. “I’ll tell my daughter. Maybe her store will stock your books.”
“It has in the past.” I considered being invited for a reading but ruled that out. The place was about the size of a shoe box. Maybe a conversation with the owner, afficianado-to-curiosity would be in order.
Mehitabel had been googling me. “I’d like a signed copy,” she said.
“Here’s my card,” I said.

ALL OF BOB’S BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE (SIGNED) AT www.theboblevin.com.