Sex & the awkward shopper

Hey Blogollowers (it’s a mouthful but I think it’s an accurate word), sorry I’ve been amiss of late.

I failed to report back after the second book fair that yours truly took part in.

Hindsight (and humility) being what it is, I took fewer books, and fewer candies but sported loads more cleavage.

Naturally, one would assume this would double (some pun intended) my sales.

Ah, but how the indie author must learn…

There was certainly more traffic at the second book fair than the first but instead of selling three books, I sold four.

Why?

With so many more people walking by (I’d say 400% more), double the number of other authors present and what appeared to be scads more people genuinely interested in the book, why did I only sell one more book at the fair than I did last time?

I haven’t got the answer, so stop holding your breath…

But I did make a few rather interesting observations.

Sex scares the crap out of people.

It’s remarkable really. If I had a dollar for every person who told me that “Sex & Samosas” was a great title I would have made more money in loonies than I did from the total book sales. Add another ten cents every time they chuckled out loud after reading the back and suddenly I can afford a steak dinner at a high end restaurant.

Lucky for me, I’m a vegetarian.

There were a few people who openly asked me “Is this book any good?”.

My sister kept me cheerfully in check until close to the fifth hour when I had been asked the same question close to 30 times I snapped, “No. It’s crap. Put it down. Go away.”

He laughed and flipped through the book anyway. Didn’t buy it. But he laughed. (ka-ching that 10 cents please).

So what is it about a book about sex that scares people? One of my last table mates (props to Mike and Tim!) sold books on marijuana. One book had recipes, the other was a children’s book that tactfully handles “Mommy’s Funny Medicine”.

Shoppers next to me were quick to smirk and pull money out of their pockets insisting that the book was for their “brother” but then glide by my table after blushing at the cover and awkwardly scramble to getaway. Don’t their brother’s have sex too??

Why are people more inclined to admit that they use an illicit substance over the fact that they might enjoy a book about sex and foreplay?

I still don’t have the answer so keep breathing…

I guess the bottom line is that sex makes people uneasy.

I know people are doing it. The walls in my apartment are so thin I can almost see them in the act let alone hear every grunt, whistle and groan.

Perhaps most people think by picking up a book about sex they are admitting that something might be amiss in their own sex life which is a greater taboo than picking up a recipe book that uses a leafy herb for “medicinal” benefit.

At the end of the day, I went home with a trunk load of books, a little less sanity, quite a few compliments on my cleavage and a strong desire to light up a doobie.

 

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