A couple of months ago I gave the owner of the lake where I fish a copy of my book ‘The Apocalypse Chase’.
It’s an adventure saga about a guy fishing in the world’s most dangerous places, and as I wrote it 10 years ago, it was no big-hearted gesture on my part. The cover of that edition featured a freshly-caught rainbow next to a rod pointing towards the horizon. It was meant to be symbolic of a conceptual ‘chase’, not just fishing. But as I’m the only one who thought so, I’ve now changed it.
It took Jack, the lake owner, two months to finish the book. Either he’s a slow reader or the action is not as fast and furious as I thought.
But even so, I was not prepared for the end result. It happened when one of the lake regulars was planning to go bonefishing in the Bahamas and Jack called me over to give a few tips. I looked bemused, as the only bonefish I’ve caught was at Kosi Bay, Zululand, and I was using a sardine fillet rather than a fancy fly.
“You know, bonefishing … like you wrote in your book,” Jack prompted.
Indeed, there is a chapter with the hero catching bonefish off Colombia before being kidnapped by Marxists guerrillas. But most of the expert info was gleaned from Google as I have never been to Colombia.
Suddenly, even though my book is adventure-fiction, in their eyes I was no longer just a jerk at the end of a line … I was an expert with a book.
It gets better … people now greet me at the lodge and ask what flies I’m using. I’m sussed enough not to tell the truth, which is that unless there’s an obvious insect hatch, I just wing it with colour and size. If trout aren’t going for black, try a smaller green. In other words, inspired guesswork.
But the bottom line is that one book that only Jack had read has suddenly transformed me into the lake’s local guru. Even when I don’t catch, regulars say ‘that’s unlike you’. They never said that before.
This could be good marketing advice for business people out there.
For example, last week I was phoned by a guy who lives in London but grew up on a game farm in Africa. He wants a book about that.
I tried to tell him – politely – that particular literary genre peaked last century when Karen Blixen immortalised the first chapter of ‘Out of Africa’ with the words, “I had a farm in Africa.”
But my new mate got it right away. This was not about his interesting story; it’s instead a highly-effective business card. A book on his childhood in Africa adds an exotic string to his CV bow like nothing else.
Of course, he wants it to be a bestseller, but accepts the unlikely odds. So what? As a business card it will make him more money than any bestseller.
The same can be said for a book I did on two Hurricane Katrina pet rescuers called Forces of Nature. After the royalties had been divided, I had enough chump change for a thimble of robust red for myself and a diet coke for my wife.
But not for the heroines. They are no longer minor tree huggers. They’re experts with a book. How they exploit that is up to them.
The best ‘expert with a book’ example is that of a woman who brought out a tome on the socio-enviro impacts of shopping centres. I feel drowsy just writing those words. I think she sold four copies. But today, organisations like Wal-Mart consult her on any new developments.
Now that’s real money.
So, for all those bonefishermen out there, you know where to find me. And my book.