Marianna: Launch Day - Keepin' It Real

After a long road, the launch day for my debut novel, Frost, is finally here!

With so many writers chronicling their publishing experiences online, I know perfectly well that while the release of my first novel will be exciting, there will also be disappointments. I figure it will make the whole thing easier if I keep my expectations for launch day firmly grounded in reality. Hence, the following plan.

Morning:

I don’t think I’ll set an alarm, because I’ll probably be woken up early by the buzzer announcing a delivery -- flowers, champagne, that sort of thing. BUT, I am making it very clear to myself that there might not be as many of these deliveries as I’d like/expect. Maybe… ten or twenty throughout the day. Max. Shouldn’t be hoping for more.

After I’m up, I’ll turn on my laptop and go to the NY Times site. Okay, I admit that I’ll be scanning the front page for a headline like, “40-Year-Old Prodigy Releases Great American Novel.” But, you know, let’s be real -- the article will probably not be on the front page! It will probably be in the Books section. If it is, I need to remember not to be disappointed that only people interested in books will come across it.

(Speaking of the NY Times, I’d like to think that Michiko Kakutani’s review of Frost will be in the paper on launch day. Unfortunately, I don’t think her reviews are published on Tuesdays.)

Deciding what to wear on launch day will be tough. I don’t have any actual plans, which means that people must be planning surprise events. But I don’t know what sort of surprise events, so I’ll have to wear something multi-purpose. Also, I don’t want to wear something TOO noticeable, because I’m not sure I’ll be ready for all of the, “Hey! Isn’t that author Marianna Baer?” attention from random people on the street. (This may seem crazy to you, like I’m not sufficiently managing my expectations, but my neighborhood is home to YA celebrities like Gayle Forman, Libba Bray, and Melissa Walker, so people here are used to keeping their eyes peeled for us.)

Afternoon:

I’ll probably go to a couple of bookstores, just to make sure that the display table dedicated to my book is there. If it’s not, if there’s only one of those cardboard display things, I’ll be okay with that. I know Frost is my first book, and the dedicated table might not happen right away. While I’m at the bookstores, I’ll probably have to spend a few hours signing stock. Carpal tunnel on launch day isn’t very glamorous, but I’m not at the point where I can get my “to-be-signed” pages early, like John Green. If I have to sign a few hundred copies at my local B&N, so be it.

The rest of the day will probably be spent much like any other -- here at my computer. Of course, I won’t be able to help checking my Amazon ranking, and that’ll be another challenge. “Be patient, Marianna,” I’ll tell myself. “Your sales rank might not reach single digits for a week or so.”

I’m sure my phone will ring pretty much non-stop; the trick there will be remaining realistic about who will call. The president of HarperCollins, sure – that’s a no-brainer. But even though it’s fun to think that the owner of HC’s biggie parent company, Rupert Murdoch, might give me a ring, he probably has other things on his mind.

Nighttime:

Luckily, I don’t have to keep my expectations for launch night low. I have great friends. They know this is an important event. I’m absolutely positive that they’ll do something pretty special in my honor. (I wonder if they’d be allowed to rent the lights on the Empire State Building and light them up to spell Frost?)

I hope that this post is helpful to others of you who will be releasing your debut novels soon. We have to stay humble and realistic, and keep in mind that this is a job (albeit one that will make us rich and famous.) At the end of the day, the writing is the most important thing. (Well, the writing and the vintage of the Dom Perignon I’ll undoubtedly be drinking for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.)

Michael: 3... 2... 1...

In the movies, launches are serious business. They often involve two people who must, after exchanging a somber nod or shouted threats, turn their keys simultaneously to release a dread projectile. Launches are serious business in publishing, too. They involve at least as many people acting in unison, and at least as much dread. I mention this, of course, because my second YA novel officially launches February 1.



My key contributions have included sending a box of ARCs (advance review copies, but the acronym is pleasingly ICBM-ish) all over the map and an all out offensive of Q&As, guest posts, Top 10 lists, character interviews, and other strategic initiatives for dozens of websites and blogs.

My publisher’s key contributions have included sending out even more ARCs, some carefully targeted at the top trade and review outlets, and a lot of clandestine, behind-the-scenes work, like conversing with buyers, briefing sales reps, and pouring over proprietary data. Their part is cooler, but whatever, we both have to turn our keys.

Six days from now, we will have. The silo door will open, the smoke will shoot out the side vents, and we’ll see what happens. It’s possible that Scholastic will turn to me and say, “What have we done?” Either way, Trapped will be out there.

And then we’ll both go back to turning our keys—I’ll be doing readings, more guest posts, whatever—and Scholastic will do more of that spy stuff. The missile launch metaphor really falls apart at this point, and that’s OK. It’s not the sort of metaphor you want to follow all the way through on. You just don’t want the thing to land 18 feet away or fall over sideways once it clears the silo.

I don’t think that will happen. The keys seem to be working, our nods were sufficiently somber, and the design of the thing, if nothing else, is impeccable. But, really, only time will tell.



Which reminds me: When I was around 6, I had a water rocket. Finally, I pumped it up one (or eight) too many times and it flew so high that it got stuck in the big tree in our front lawn. As far as I know, it’s still up there. That's the kind of launch I'm looking for, and why I still get all keyed up for these things.

Michael: Launch Day (An Animated Discussion)