How often have you heard a comment about publishing that involves such things as: it's a crapshoot, when the publisher buys an unpublished author's first novel. Taking a chance, a roll of the dice, the odds are against it, etc., etc., and, hey, why not hold book signings in a casino?
Doesn't it just seem to all tie together? The Big House rolls the dice and sits back, waiting to see if the author will crap out or hit their mark. So why not take that same author to a casino? Gambling, right, it's all the same thing, casinos and publishing?
Wall Street is as much a casino as the Mirage, but without the bright lights and cocktails, so I suppose it's more fun to hold a book signing in a glitzy and noisy spot. A recent NYT article detailed one such event, but the author was a big seller, Janet Evanovich, who writes mysteries. Ms. Evanovich had a doing at a resort casino, but that may be a bit over the top for the average writer. And it's certainly beyond the Pale for the literary types.
All over the country, light bulbs are popping up over the heads of self-published authors, always in search of that edge that will catapult their sales into the stratosphere. By this time tomorrow, you won't be able to walk through the door of the Ho-Chunk Casino without tripping over them, tables set up here and there, offering to autograph a copy of their overpriced verbiage. What better way to while away the hours, waiting for the tour bus to depart after you've blown your stash on the slot machines. As the other senior citizens drop their last nickels into the machine, you could sit back and read a novel by someone who could not find a legitimate publisher to put it out. Or you could take that last $25 and buy a few chips, put them on the craps table, and try your luck.
It's all a crapshoot, isn't it? Looks like even the authors have accepted the fact.
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