Why I’m Not (Very) Bothered that a Certain Retail Bookstore Chain Isn’t Stocking My New Book

The Pickwicks' Picnic
Cover, The Pickwicks’ Picnic

The Pickwicks’ Picnic won’t be on the shelves at Barnes and Noble. It’s available via their online store, and it’s available from other online retailers and many, many independent bookstores. Perhaps I should be worried that B & N chose not to stock my book–but I’m not (much).

There used to be a very nice B & N around the corner from me, but it didn’t survive the last round of closures. So it’s not like I will be going over to my neighborhood B & N store to look wistfully at the space on the shelves where The Pickwicks’ Picnic should be. I haven’t been inside a B & N in over a year.

I don’t miss it, is the weird thing. And I doubt that my neighbors do either. There are a score of top-notch independent bookstores near me–none that I can walk to from my house, mind you, but still easy to drive to. And there’s always the option of buying online. My book is easy to find there. Have a look at one option.

This article from the New Yorker by a guy with the cool name of David Sax, written about a year ago, reveals a lot about why I’m not really missing seeing my book at a B & N store. Some highlights:

. . . sales [at Barnes and Noble] were actually growing in many categories, including board games, vinyl records, and even some categories of books, the non-digital kind (like coloring books for grownups)

My book doesn’t fit any of these categories. For one thing, it is a book. B & N sells lots of things that aren’t books. Which is fine. I sometimes like things that aren’t books.

After two decades in which the number of independent booksellers decreased by half, those bookstores are now coming back. The American Booksellers Association noted a consistent increase in new store openings over the past seven years . . .

See? There are plenty of places to find The Pickwicks Picnic besides that big chain store. MehEven in places where the local B & N is the only bookstore, you can still ask them to stock it (please do!), you can order it, or you can buy it from them online. You can buy it from Powells, iTunes, and so many other places, even online via Target and Walmart.

[Independent bookstores] stock the books that the community wants, and, while their selections are minuscule compared with Barnes & Noble, the staff can speak to the books on those shelves with authority.

No staff member at a B & N I’ve ever been to could hand-sell a beloved book to a reader, or even direct a customer to a specific book off the tops of their heads. Without the computer to search their stock (which I can do myself quite easily, thanks) they didn’t have much to offer in the way of knowledge and rarely showed the enthusiasm you’ll see at an independent store.

Naturally, I’d be very happy if The Pickwicks’ Picnic were available on the shelves at Barnes and Noble for your purchasing convenience, but I’m not going to fret that it’s not. I think it will find its audience.


Road Trips, c. 1968 (Part two: Roadside Picnics!)

05febde9ea16bad4be4ead6d7c57c9a7Sure, kids have it easier today when traveling–fancy rest areas, turnpike oases, all modern conveniences.

Not so when I was a kid. As I said two weeks ago, often a rest stop was just a gravel turnoff with a place to park, a path leading back to an outhouse, maybe a water pump, and a few scattered picnic tables.

The picnic tables were typically rustic, perhaps dotted with fallen maple seeds and stained bluish-red from berries, but sitting down for lunch at them was nevertheless a treat. Sometimes Mom would have a plastic tablecloth to lay down first. Then the Coca-Cola cooler would come out, filled with juice and pop, and things like cole slaw, potato salad, and sandwiches wrapped in cellophane. Peanut butter and jelly was my favorite. 4c666ef307def775198e3b21ff0a6ffaSometimes the jelly had kind of soaked into the bread and made it soggy–but it was still my favorite.

Retro-Images-Picnic-GraphicsFairyJust like at any picnic, then or now, bees would hover over the pop cans and sparrows would hop up to the table as close as they dared, hoping that a crumb or two would drop to the ground. Being in the open air, free and unbent after having been sitting in a car for hours–most of us can relate to that feeling. Maybe things aren’t so different nowadays after all.

And hey, is there any better way to enjoy lunch?





Road Trips, c. 1968 (Part one: The Inconveniences)

7220536054_09b0d0b4ac_zIt’s weird being over fifty, remembering how different things used to be thirty-five to forty years ago. But the weirdest part is realizing that more than half of the population doesn’t have the same old memories simply because they’re much younger and the world has changed. Does that make me old, thinking about the way it used to be?

We “old” people complain about how easy kids have it today, and in the next breath we’re nostalgic for the old days when things were, well, easier. When I think about what it was like to go on vacation as a kid, to ride cooped up in a car with my parents and three siblings for hours, driving two-lane highways, it’s definitely the former. (If this reminds you of The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963, just be aware that, while the timeline and location is nearly identical, my travel experiences were way easier than the Watsons’. If you haven’t read that book, add it to your tbr list!)

Olds88FrontIn the sixties, the expressway system in the U.S. was in its infancy. When you traveled, you often drove the back roads, because they were the only roads. Highways didn’t have nice, clean, air-conditioned and heated rest area buildings with vending machines, restaurants and flush toilets. Oh, no. Often, all there was at a rest stop was a gravel turnoff, with a place to park, a path leading back to an outhouse or two, maybe a water pump, and of course, picnic tables.

outhouses1-195x195First thing once you parked, there’d be the dreaded trip to the bathroom. You’d have been complaining for the last 15 miles that you really had to go, but then when you were walking back into the woods and remembered what lay in store for you, you’d wish you had never mentioned it.

While Michigan wasn’t the only state with primitive rest areas, it was the state we traveled in most often. Hence the map.

The outhouses at rural rest stops were a great source of anxiety to me, and I’m sure I wasn’t alone. Many of them were nothing more than a ramshackle wooden or corrugated aluminum shack with a creaky door. Inside would be a toilet of sorts, basically a bench or metal bucket that was built over a hole in the ground. There was usually a window high up on the side, covered with a torn and rusty screen, that let in a little light–just enough to see down into the watery, lumpy pit into which you were about to add your own contribution. Imagine the smell, especially in the heat of summer. Now imagine the flies. You’d have to brush them off the dirty toilet seat (if there was a seat) before you could sit down. There were no rest stop attendants (unless you count the flies) so the unsanitary filth could get pretty repulsive as the travel season wore on. But if you had to go, you sucked it up and sat down.

Okay, now I’m not in the mood to talk about the fun lunches we used to enjoy at the rest area picnic tables and the nice, nostalgic part of “the old days” on the road. That’ll be in two weeks.


This tidy two-seater would have been a welcome sight back in those days.