Festival of Books Reflections...
The Los Angeles Times Festival of Books is one of the largest most well attended book festivals in the country. Every major (and minor) publisher and bookseller in the region has a booth and hundreds of authors are there for panels, book signings and readings.
It can be viewed as a book lovers heaven. Although it is a bit too crowded to actually read a book. This is where people talk books, buy books and market books.
Due to the 10's of thousands who attend getting there has it's own pitfalls. Namely the traffic to and from the UCLA campus - where it is held - can be a nightmare. That is why I bicycle in, pass all the waiting motorists and park wherever I want.
But I'm not just at the festival for fun.
I have made a flier for
my father's poetry book and I am determined to take it around and 'sell' the book to bookstores. But it's not easy. I'm not much of a guerrilla marketer.
In the meantime I am indeed
just another book lover. And like everyone else I wander around from booth to booth and plan which panels I want to see and which authors I want to meet.
I go in search of Young Hall to attend a panel on independent publishing. On the way a woman hands me a free book. I think this is the way that Catch 22 was marketed in the beginning. This book is titled
Wild Animus. I read the first two paragraphs. This is no Catch 22. I thrown it in my backpack.
After the panel, which I missed. I go over the the Hi De Ho Comic store tent and get
Michael Chabon to sign a poster of his comic
The Escapist.
I tell him I’ve read all of his books including the early ones.
He gives me that 'sure you have' look and smile.
I know I'm lying. He knows I’m lying. He knows I know he knows...
I go to the mountain book tent and find books on hiking trails.
Suddenly I’m thirsty.
There is a guy selling lemonade for $4.00. Forget that. I’ll stick with water. That's only $3.00.
Then I realize I need food.
Everything is overpriced and not well cooked.
It's busy, prices go up, service goes down.
I buy a $7.00 burrito.
I next stand in line for a good 30 minutes to get
Ray Bradbury to sign
The Martian Chronicles.
Then they tell us that we have to buy a book from the booth sponsoring the event [Vagabond Books] if we want his autograph.
What a crock.
Oh, and he's not signing paperbacks. Oh really, does Ray know this?
A woman tells me that she has an extra certificate/receipt that I can use. I'm thankful. I don't want to have to spend an additional $25 for a book I already have.
When I get to the front I feel like I have beaten the system. I tell Ray I can't believe he would allow these perfidious booksellers to use him for sales purposes.
No, I don't. But I think it.
Instead I tell Ray that I read The Martian Chronicles when I was suppose to be learning Spanish in 8th grade Spanish class. He asks how old I was at that time. I say 12 or 13. He tells me that's when he started writing stories for The Martian Chronicles.
Okay, that was fun. What next?
It's sunny. It's hot. It's crowded.
I’m supposed to meet my friend Diane in front of Royce Hall. But I am a bit late and I am unable to find her in this sprawl. I look over and catch a glimpse of Ariana Huffington walking by talking on a cell phone. A couple of people are following her to get a photo.
I next decide to go over and hang out for a while at the poetry tent.
How ironic that you have to pass the emergency tent before you get to the poetry tent. Is it some kind of sign?
The crowds are more nominal here but the shade is good and there are chairs to sit on.
I listen to some of the poetry. Not bad.
Although if I hear another poet use the term 'raven hair' I'll scream.
Next I go back into the crowds and take some photos with my digital camera.
I try to get
candid photos of people who don't know
they are being photographed.
Here's one I took of a
woman with raven hair.
I next head over to a progressive book tent and see Robert Scheer and son Christopher selling and signing there book about
Bush's five biggest lies. Scheer is in good spirits and less shrill than he usually is on the radio. I hand him one of the fliers for my dad's poetry book and point out that my dad has some anti-war poetry worth reading. Scheer finds it amusing that he is pushing his son's writing and I am pushing my dad's writing. Both worthy causes.
Late afternoon. The day just gets hotter. I have bag fulls of brochures and literature. My backpack is overstuffed and getting heavy.
The crowds seem to be thinning out a bit. Time to get out of the sun and drink water.
More later...