The impulse to buy all books now—including bestsellers—comes from that produce model we were all raised in. Because brick-and-mortar bookstores have limited shelf space, books only remain on the shelf for a short period of time.
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Since its inception, traditional publishing was a gentleman’s business, and it played by very clubby rules. One didn’t poach another house’s authors (unless, of course, the author wanted to leave. Even then, the author’s editor might make a friendly phone call [or have a drink in a nearby bar] with another editor from another house in hopes of finding the author a happy new home). One didn’t discuss money (it was gauche). One took care of one’s friends (and we were all friends—unless we were vicious enemies).
And one thought of the good of the club when scheduling events, always.
Events in traditional publishing are Event Novels. Until 2012/2013, it was common practice for the editors in chief of traditional publishing houses to have a polite, if off-the-record, discussion with cohorts at other publishing houses. The editors would scatter their Event Books throughout the fall season—which is the big season in publishing.
Think of it the way that Hollywood thinks of blockbuster movies. Studios don’t want to schedule a tent-pole film against another—an Avengers, for example, will not open against the new Hobbit movies. James Bond always owns his weekend.
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So, until last year, they would have “informal” discussions, designating September 24 Stephen King week, and October 22 John Grisham week, and so on. No one would schedule a tent-pole book—a blockbuster, if you will—against another tent-pole. Unless those tent-poles were in radically different genres. Sure, a romance publisher might release a sweet contemporary romance blockbuster on September 24, under the assumption that romance book-buying dollars are different than horror book-buying dollars. In other words, the romance reader wouldn’t be buying the King, and the King reader wouldn’t be buying romance. (Obviously, the people in these brain trusts never met me. But I digress…)
The blockbusters got stretched out throughout the season. Sometimes, books by authors whose sales were good enough to hit the New York Times list in a less competitive year, but not good enough to go against King or Grisham or J.K. Rowling, would get moved to a different season—spring, maybe.
Store shelves are like movie theater screens. There are only so many prime positions in a brick-and-mortar store. If that prime position is being occupied by a major bestseller, than a bestseller with lower numbers will get shunted to a different part of the store, and frankly, that would hurt sales.
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Staggering the competitive books is both a gentleman’s concept (“Well, old boy, if you claim September 24 for your man King, then I’ll take October 22 for my lad Grisham.”) and smart business. Your book gets more attention if it’s not competing against a book by a novelist who can suck all the dollars out of a bookstore (not to mention hog the great shelf space and have all the limited reviewer spots).
It also enabled the all-important velocity to work the way it was supposed to. As I’ve mentioned many times before, bestseller lists are built on two factors—time and sales. The faster a book sells, the higher it climbs on a list. If a book sells consistently, even if it builds, it probably won’t hit a list.
Velocity in book publishing means how fast a book sells in a given week. If a book sells 5,000 copies in its first week of release, and only another 1,000 in the next six months, that book might still hit several bestseller lists. If the book sells 6,000 copies in its first month, 6,000 in its second month, and continues to do so for twelve months, it might not make any lists at all, because it will have no velocity even though the book has sold more copies than books on the “bestseller” list.
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That’s why traditional publishers and traditional tastemakers/list makers went insane when indie published titles started hitting the lists. A lot of indie writers are adept at letting their fan base know that the next book in a series is out. That book sells to every true fan, and knocks some “worthy” traditional book off the list—because the indie book has a natural fan-built velocity.
That shake-up has been happening for the past 18 months, and traditional publishing isn’t sure what to do about it.
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Dean Wesley Smith was the one who reminded me that the Apple lawsuit had blown the gentlemanly habits of traditional publishers to smithereens. Publishers had to start behaving like real businesses—only they’re so dumb about it that they haven’t thought this through either.
Here’s the other thing you need to know about bestseller lists. To hit a list in the busy fall season, a book has to sell many more copies than it would have to sell in, say, January. Maybe ten or twenty times more.
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Publishers weren’t prepared for this mess. At least two of the big five didn’t compare lists within house. In other words, two of the biggest companies are pitting their own blockbusters against each other in the same week. (Damn those summer mergers.)
Critics got as overwhelmed as everyone else, so a lot of these big titles aren’t getting reviewed. There are only so many big ad spots available, particularly in those front-of-the-store displays (yes, they’re paid for advertising), so some of the middling sellers didn’t get the usual display slots.
Booksellers are completely overwhelmed. They have limited shelf space. Sheldon was waiting for readers to ask for some titles before ordering them, when he would have ordered them automatically in the past.
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And traditional writers are clueless about what’s going on in the industry. Those who are used to their comfy slots on the top of the lists have already felt a shake-up. Their sales numbers have been going down steadily as bookstores closed and indie writers started competing for publishing dollars. (Readers have only so much time and so much money—if there’s a wider availability of titles, then the sales will spread out over those titles, rather than all going to the best of the small pond.)
Now, these traditional writers are going to look at their expected #1 berth or their usual place on the New York Times list, and their names won’t be there. At all. And they won’t know why.
So they’ll guess at the wrong reasons. Scott Turow, who is clearly no businessman, already went on one of the morning talk shows last week and blamed Amazon for declining book sales—even as Amazon is selling his books. (Get a clue, Scott.) He’ll probably blame his poorer-than-usual showing on Amazon itself, rather than publishers who must now act like real business people, subject to the same anti-trust laws as everyone else.
And many many many traditional writers will suffer because of this. Their advances will decline, because their latest novel did not hit #1 on the New York Times list or didn’t hit the list at all. Traditional publishers are good at blaming authors for the publishers’ stupidity, especially when there’s money at stake.