Last week I was in the sin city, the second biggest gambling town on the planet (Macau is #1). I was there to do some book signings, play in some events at the Five Diamond Classic at the Bellagio and generally do whatever (within reason) to get some visibility for the 'ol book.
The tournament and cash poker action was very interesting. Dorothy, I knew I wasn't in Connecticut anymore. They play a different kind of poker out here. I mean I should be used to it, I've played in Las Vegas near a dozen times, but it seemed different this time around. Like Fred Stallworth, there were a lot of characters out there who didn't seem to care a lick about money. Anyway, I'll get into the poker side of things in a later entry. Here I wanted to talk about my very first book signing.
The book has only been out for a few months, so I asked other authors and so-called industry professionals about how you get people to read your tome. The old timers all said that you needed to do a book tour and set up book signings in various cities. So I naively asked, "Doesn't the publisher help with that?" The response was usually a hearty laugh. For all you aspiring authors out there, let me give you some inside dope; the publishers do nothing! Oh sure, they'll get it listed in various places and maybe help with distribution. But unless you're John Grisham or Stephen King, they essentially say; "You're on your own bub. Go get 'em."
So, I make a few bucks in my regular 5/10 no limit game and go find myself a publicist. She's a busy little bee contacting the casinos and bookstores and libraries in that desert town. Finally she lands gigs at the Tropicana, the oldest casino on the strip (but whose complaining) and the Gamblers General Store.
Now Vegas is not a place where people are going to file into a room and sit down calmly and listen to a quaint little lecture by yours truly and ask quaint little questions about my book while they sip tea with their pinky extended. No, in Vegas everyone wants to PARTY! So my bookish little publicist was shocked (utterly) when no one wanted to sit down at her little event. They came. They looked around. Not seeing any naked dancing girls, they left. There was one exception. This man in his mid 60s stopped by, sat next to me and said, "What's this here poker all about?" I, having nothing better to do, so I take out a deck of cards and showed him the basics. The man had on a big tan cowboy hat, a mustache and a long braided ponytail. He was a Navajo Indian. He talked slow and gave me a stare which I read as either, "I know all this already -- move on, move on;" or "What the hay are you talkin' about pale face?" This guy could be a good poker player.
I find out the guy is from some small town in northeast Arizona called Dead Cat or some such thing. He had never left his ranch in the last 30 years. He decided to drive the 14 hours to Las Vegas because, for the first time, two Navajos had made it to the rodeo championship which was in town that weekend. That explained all the cowboy hats, the occasional YEE HA and the bowlegged walkers in town. Anyway, I had a lot of fun listening to the old guy (I should talk) and teachin' him poker.
My jitery publicist would occasionally stop by and pull me away to meet some disinterested diners. You see, they put us in the Garden Cafe which is way in the back of the hotel and they set up our "event" all the way in the back of the restaurant. So foot traffic was a problem. Also, considering the poor economy which the casinos are feeling big time, my poor publicist had decided I should show up at people's table as they ate their breakfast in order to drum up business. Not a good idea. Morning is not a good time for Las Vegans. "Hi, this is Neal Gersony. He is an author and a professional poker player," she said to the overweight guest as he shoveled pitchforks of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He'd freeze and slowly turn his joweled face my way as yellow goo dripped from his chin. "So whaddya want me to do about it?" he was obviously thinking. After a half dozen more futile attempts. "Oh we just here fo' the Jackson family reunion. You best be gettin' along now. Ya hear." I snuck away back to my Indian friend.
Did you know that the Navajos are the largest native American tribe in the US? I ordered some breakfast for my new buddy and chatted the morning away. I signed and sold a few books, not many, but a few.
I'm suppose to be on a plane right now. A plane to Omaha. Why am I sitting here in front of my computer and not on a plane to Omaha? The Hartford airport is gridlocked. I somehow got bumped ( I guess I don't rate with Delta) and there is craziness there with a big winter storm coming in later this morning.
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