When I signed up to be a writer, I think there was a contract I made
with myself somewhere along the line, and like most, I didn’t read the
fine print. Because to be a writer you must also be a salesman, and this
is not a job I was ever really any good at. Before joining the army in
the mid 80’s I was a Jack of all trades, garbage man, chicken catcher,
short-order cook, and even I washed cars for four bucks an hour.
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| 1986 - "Leave me alone, I am writing a novel called THE EQUINOX." |
When the western economy was in the toilet in the early ’80s, and jobs
like pumping gas were few and far between, I went so far as to sign up
with Electrolux Vacuum Cleaners as a salesman. I remember they hooked me
up with one of their top salesmen, a guy that looked a hell of a lot
like Billy Idol. He had that same petrified jelled spikey hair, rings on
all his nail bitten fingers, and a long black coat that wasn’t leather,
but a kind of rubber I have yet to see again in my 54 years.
I met up
with him, and he briefed me in his rusted-out Pontiac Parisienne. The
pitch we were making that day, was a carpet cleaning if you let us in,
and even if you didn’t buy one of Electrolux’s expensive machines after
our offer you couldn’t refuse, the carpet cleaning was on us. The carpet
thing was to get in the door, and Billy Idol informed me that we had to
sell hard because I would be doing the carpet cleaning. That was code
for I would be working for nothing.
We banged on lots of doors,
and at one house that was clearly in an economically depressed part of
the city, we ignored the NO SOLICITING sign and went around back. There,
the kids let us in. When we entered the premises, we had to squeeze
passed the stacks of LABATT'S BLUE cases piled six high and four
deep. Dishes littered the counter, the tabletop, but the lady of the
house was friendly.
Billy Idol went right into the pitch. “Good morning, is the man of the house in?”
Sarcastically from behind, the man of the house said, “I guess you never saw the No Soliciting sign?”
I turned to see him grinning. He was a big guy, big arms, pudgy, but a
character who’d probably been thrown out of the local establishments for
fighting or passing out in the john. I’m speculating, of course, but
that was because he wore a stained white t-shirt and, thankfully,
boxers. Also, a scent was permeating from his limited wardrobe that was
unmistakable.
Cigarettes and beer.
Billy said, “Well, hey there, I’d like to offer you the best vacuum on the market.”
Still smiling, he fired back, “You think we got any money here?”
Billy kept on, “We’ve got great financing available to fit every budget and…”
He shook his head, “You’re wasting your time, pal.”
Billy continued, “and we’ll even throw in a free carpet cleaning.”
He laughed, looked at both of us, then down to the stained and
tattering rug in the living area, “If you put water on that rug, it
would probably dissolve.”
Billy had nothing.
We picked up our gear and left.
That was when I started thinking hard about joining the army.
The sales gig was never meant for me. I like people, and I don’t like
imposing on them. It makes me uncomfortable, and I assume it does the same to people who don't want to be pitched. It probably bothers me more, but I’ve always been a guy who wants
to know what I’m making for my efforts rather than depending on working a
commission. But the thing with writing is you must be a salesperson and
here’s why.
The sheer number of books published every year makes
the odds of success and sales a fool’s errand for most. Not because the
writer lacks talent, I’ve met some stellar writers over the years that
have never reached the status of Stephen King or John Sandford, but
whose writing is on par with the big guns.
What most of us can
hope is that for all our work, we will build a readership that will
transform into sales and revenue. And this reality begs the question.Why
does anyone want to be a writer? It pays little. I’ve published short stories
over the years, making anywhere between twenty-five and fifty bucks a pop. For
someone as prolific as author Gregory Norris,
that’s not bad. But for someone like me who can take a week or more to
polish up a story, it isn’t lucrative. But there is a benefit, it gets
your name out there, gives people a sense of your writing, and if they
like what they see, they might even pick up your novel. For me, the
stories are the carpet cleaner, getting me in the door in the hope they
will want to buy the main attraction.
Why does anyone want to be a writer? It pays little. I’ve published
short stories over the years, making anywhere between twenty-five and
fifty bucks a pop. For someone as prolific as author
Writing novels is a long,
arduous process, and if it sounds like I’m bitching I’m not. For some
reason I have these musings in my head that need to be put down in
print.
Two of my novels, THE EQUINOX and ACADIA EVENT and even
part of HIGHWAYMAN were written on top of a truck steering wheel. Stolen
moments at the beginning or end of a day that lasts or lasted between
fourteen and sixteen hours.
The musings would come to me as the
road pulled me along, breaking the 70-hour cycle down into pieces until I
ran out of hours and shut down for 36 hours. In that reset, I would
write in the mornings while other drivers socialized or had breakfast.
And here we are, three novels in and I’m out making the pitch again.
The same pitch other writers are making, to let us tell you our story.
If you take our hand and follow us down the rabbit hole, we are
grateful, if not a little fearful that you will be judging the story we
put before you. I don’t know how long I’ll keep doing this, but I’m
doing it now and hope you’ll put up with my soliciting until the last
tale is told.
MJ Preston
10/27/2019
Visit me on the web: http://mjpreston.net
Check out my latest book, Highwayman. Not for the faint of heart. If you like it, drop me a line and please, a review would be greatly appreciated.
You can get it here
