Barbara Walsh's Blog - Posts Tagged "daughters"
My Relentless and Unflappable Book-selling Dad
The ambulance waited outside to take my father to the hospital.
Later he would admit that he was a bit nervous about his “situation,” but he had other concerns on his mind. “I need to bring some bookmarks,” he told himself before leaving home.
The hospital, my dad knew, would be filled with potential readers, readers who would enjoy my book August Gale: A Father and Daughter’s Journey into the Storm.
Since it was published last fall, my father has relentlessly promoted August Gale, a story about the grandfather I never knew and the 1935 storm that killed several of my sea-faring Newfoundland ancestors. My dad has sold the book at airports, golf courses, pizza parlors, farm stands, hardware stores, doctors’ offices, basketball games and grocery stores. Telemarketers, stock brokers, cable TV workers have also heard his spiel.
“Do you like to read?” he often asks strangers, handing them a bookmark with information about August Gale. “It has 60 five-star reviews on Amazon.com and it’s written by a Pulitzer Prize winner.”
Over the past five months, my 77-year-old father has handed out nearly 1,000 bookmarks. Almost daily, I get reports on his book-selling progress. “Sold another couple,” he tells me.
With roughly three million books published last year, my dad understands that authors have to “work like dogs” to market their own title. Even though August Gale has been featured on CSPAN Book TV and has been reviewed by several TV, newspaper and radio stations in the States and Canada, my dad knows it’s not enough. He is determined to see his daughter and August Gale on the best seller list.
“We’ve got to keep plugging,” he tells me. “We’re going to move this mountain.”
And so, as the ambulance took him to the hospital on a September afternoon, my dad was upset that he forgot to bring August Gale bookmarks with him.
Ten minutes after he arrived at the hospital ─ where doctors later removed his aggravated hernia ─ he asked my sister Jackie, “Did you bring any bookmarks?”
Thankfully, Jackie had stuck a dozen in her purse.
For the next 24 hours as nurses and doctors examined him or walked by his door, my father asked, “Excuse me, are you a reader?”
“Anyone who came in his room, between the nurses drawing blood or hooking up his IV, got a bookmark,” my sister Laura explained.
As the surgical nurse prepared my dad for his operation, he told her about August Gale. The nurse (who had never had anyone selling books before on the operating table) took several bookmarks and promised that her book club would read August Gale.
Within 48 hours, most of the hospital staff knew about my father and August Gale. “This is a great place to sell books,” he told me shortly after his surgery. His voice slow and thick with lingering anesthesia and painkillers, he boasted, “I bet I’ve sold two dozen since I’ve been here.”
Ironically, August Gale is about a family secret that my dad kept private for much of his life. The book not only resurrects the storm that killed several of our sea-faring ancestors, it recreates my grandfather, my dad’s childhood hero and the man who twice abandoned him, his brother and mother.
For nine years as I researched and wrote August Gale, I worried that the book would hurt my father. I feared that the chapters about his childhood would be too painful for him to read and share with the world. Repeatedly, he tried to reassure me. “I trust you,” he said.
It was not easy for my father to read August Gale or relive the years Ambrose Walsh left his family destitute, but my dad has been comforted by people who read the book. “They say they can’t put it down,” he tells me.
They also tell my dad he was courageous to share his story, but he has little time for praise. There are books to be sold. Several times a day, he checks August Gale’s ranking on Amazon.com. He often notes with pride that it has grown more popular after he has handed out dozens more bookmarks.
“We’ve got to keep the momentum going,” he tells me weeks after he is released from the hospital. “We can’t give up.”
I smile and nod, knowing that my father will indeed move that mountain.
Later he would admit that he was a bit nervous about his “situation,” but he had other concerns on his mind. “I need to bring some bookmarks,” he told himself before leaving home.
The hospital, my dad knew, would be filled with potential readers, readers who would enjoy my book August Gale: A Father and Daughter’s Journey into the Storm.
Since it was published last fall, my father has relentlessly promoted August Gale, a story about the grandfather I never knew and the 1935 storm that killed several of my sea-faring Newfoundland ancestors. My dad has sold the book at airports, golf courses, pizza parlors, farm stands, hardware stores, doctors’ offices, basketball games and grocery stores. Telemarketers, stock brokers, cable TV workers have also heard his spiel.
“Do you like to read?” he often asks strangers, handing them a bookmark with information about August Gale. “It has 60 five-star reviews on Amazon.com and it’s written by a Pulitzer Prize winner.”
Over the past five months, my 77-year-old father has handed out nearly 1,000 bookmarks. Almost daily, I get reports on his book-selling progress. “Sold another couple,” he tells me.
With roughly three million books published last year, my dad understands that authors have to “work like dogs” to market their own title. Even though August Gale has been featured on CSPAN Book TV and has been reviewed by several TV, newspaper and radio stations in the States and Canada, my dad knows it’s not enough. He is determined to see his daughter and August Gale on the best seller list.
“We’ve got to keep plugging,” he tells me. “We’re going to move this mountain.”
And so, as the ambulance took him to the hospital on a September afternoon, my dad was upset that he forgot to bring August Gale bookmarks with him.
Ten minutes after he arrived at the hospital ─ where doctors later removed his aggravated hernia ─ he asked my sister Jackie, “Did you bring any bookmarks?”
Thankfully, Jackie had stuck a dozen in her purse.
For the next 24 hours as nurses and doctors examined him or walked by his door, my father asked, “Excuse me, are you a reader?”
“Anyone who came in his room, between the nurses drawing blood or hooking up his IV, got a bookmark,” my sister Laura explained.
As the surgical nurse prepared my dad for his operation, he told her about August Gale. The nurse (who had never had anyone selling books before on the operating table) took several bookmarks and promised that her book club would read August Gale.
Within 48 hours, most of the hospital staff knew about my father and August Gale. “This is a great place to sell books,” he told me shortly after his surgery. His voice slow and thick with lingering anesthesia and painkillers, he boasted, “I bet I’ve sold two dozen since I’ve been here.”
Ironically, August Gale is about a family secret that my dad kept private for much of his life. The book not only resurrects the storm that killed several of our sea-faring ancestors, it recreates my grandfather, my dad’s childhood hero and the man who twice abandoned him, his brother and mother.
For nine years as I researched and wrote August Gale, I worried that the book would hurt my father. I feared that the chapters about his childhood would be too painful for him to read and share with the world. Repeatedly, he tried to reassure me. “I trust you,” he said.
It was not easy for my father to read August Gale or relive the years Ambrose Walsh left his family destitute, but my dad has been comforted by people who read the book. “They say they can’t put it down,” he tells me.
They also tell my dad he was courageous to share his story, but he has little time for praise. There are books to be sold. Several times a day, he checks August Gale’s ranking on Amazon.com. He often notes with pride that it has grown more popular after he has handed out dozens more bookmarks.
“We’ve got to keep the momentum going,” he tells me weeks after he is released from the hospital. “We can’t give up.”
I smile and nod, knowing that my father will indeed move that mountain.
