BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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In the early 1990s at Addison-Wesley, we were about to publish Accidental Empires by Robert X. Cringley. I loved the book’s importance, its cynicism, humor, voice, and insider’s view.
Just consider its subtitle: How the Boys of Silicon Valley Make Their Millions, Battle Foreign Competition, and Still Can't Get a Date.
And note its wonderful jacket copy: Cringley focuses on the astoundingly odd personalities—Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Mitch Kapor, etc.—and the hacker culture that spawned remarkable technology.
The book’s author, Robert X. Cringley, was everything a marketing guy like me wants—quick, talented, an insider, and funny as hell. And I couldn’t wait to make a run at the bestseller list with it.
I was certain we’d put Accidental Empires on the bestseller list. We’d go with the same game plan that we used a few years earlier to put Tracy Kidder’s Soul of a New Machine (unknown author at the time and ugliest jacket ever) onto the list. Seed the market—smartly, strategically. This wasn’t about reviews or an appearance on a morning talk show. Instead, both books were well-written and addictive reading. That was the key. Once read, one could not not talk about the book. Every reader became an advocate. If I could “seed” 1,000 signed copies of the book into the offices and cafeterias of hi-tech companies, it would take off. And I had worked on that list of 1,000 for four months. We were ready.
But hold on! Two things.
First, the 1,000 books were in our offices outside of Boston. And Cringley was in California. I needed to fly him to Boston, put him up for a night, and hang with him as he signed all those books.
Secondly, Robert X. Cringley was a pseudonym.
He called me the day before his flight.
“Jess, I don’t have a signature.”
“What?”
“Cringley doesn’t have a signature. Remember, he doesn’t exist. I’m a pseudonym. I don’t know what I’m going to write in those books.”
Hmm, good point.
“So why the hell pay to fly me out there? Why don’t you just sign them?”
Robert X. Cringley
Hmm, interesting.
Not spending marketing money is always a good thing. Every marketing dollar not spent drops fully to the bottom line. I had a chance to immediately add a couple thousand dollars to the profit margin. Cool!
“OK, Bob, stay home. I’ll cancel the flight and hotel. And sign the books.”
“Thanks.”
Signing 1,000 books is a pain in the ass – ripping open cartons, opening books, signing books, re-packing the books into cartons. The whole thing goes much better with two people.
So early the next morning I woke my nine-year-old son, Max. “You gotta help me at the office today.” Hey, why not? It wasn’t like he was mowing the lawn, raking leaves, or helping old ladies at our church.
I bribed him with doughnuts. We went to the office, unpacked the books, stacked them on tables, and I said, “OK, now we’re going to sign them,” I opened up a book to the title page, “On this page, just sign it Robert X. Cringley.”
“What?”
“Just sign it.”
“WHAT?”
“Just sign the books with the name Robert X. Cringley. I’ll do the same. Together we can get these done by lunch. I’ll buy you a burger.”
“But Dad, we’re not this Robert guy.”
“That’s OK.”
“Isn’t this wrong?”
“Damn it, Max, it’s OK. Cringley doesn’t even exist.”
“He doesn’t exist? So you want me to lie about a lie?”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Dad, this is cheating! Can I call Mom?”
“No! Let’s just do this.”
“I don’t think—”
“I didn’t buy doughnuts and haul you over here to think. Just do it. Come on!”
And the saddest, had-just-lost-his-soul-to-evil-Dad little boy began his criminal career. He didn’t say another word. Just signed the books. Didn’t speak to me the entire day. Even after Cringley signed the one-thousandth book to Max. Which Max still has.
Signed book to Max
I went into work on Monday, Max went to school, and Accidental Empires went on to be a huge bestseller. Woo-hoo!
What I didn’t know was how much that incident haunted Max. For decades.
He confided to college buddies about it after a few beers. He frequently wrote of it in his journal, haunted by the dishonesty of what his father forced him to do. He even told his girlfriend about it before he dared to propose marriage. “She should know.” Man oh man, I had no idea! I clearly traumatized him. He’s such a good, good guy.
All’s well now. We talk of the experience. My daughter guides the conversation, making sure it ends with laughter and not expensive therapy.
Max went on to be a very successful author. His Last Kids on Earth series, a #1 New York Times bestseller, appears on bestseller lists year after year for months at a time and he won an Emmy for his Last Kids Netflix series. His success puts to shame what success Addison-Wesley had with Accidental Empires.
So here’s what’s REALLY cool: if you happen to have one of those 1,000 Accidental Empires autographed by Robert X. Cringley, you may actually have a book autographed by Max Brallier. Which these days, is a far BIGGER deal.
The dark underbelly of publishing works in funny ways.
Tomorrow: Book publishing’s last true gentleman