Books by the Banks is an annual book festival in Cincinnati. I have visited it in the past, but this year I was a participant, sitting in a booth displaying my novel, LIKE A RIVER.
Early in the day, a young boy (maybe 10 years old) and his mother approached my booth. The boy ran his fingers along the cover and asked questions about the book, before his mother nudged him along to the next booth. I watched them move further down the aisle, until the boy left his mother’s side and ran back to my booth.
“How much does this book cost?” he asked.
“$17.95,” I answered.
I watched him go back to his mother and saw her shake her head.
The woman beside me made the comment that the woman probably wouldn’t give a moment’s thought to dropping $18 to take the boy to a movie or taking him out to pizza. And each of those things would last no more than an hour and a half, where the book could take him on a journey for days. If he loved the journey, he could take it again over and over without putting out another nickel. He could share the journey with his parents, siblings, and friends. That $18 investment could bring a great deal of entertainment.
I thought of all the books on my shelf that I have read more than once—and loved each time. If the copies of LIKE A RIVER on my table had been my property, I would have been tempted to give one to the boy.
He came back a third time asking more questions about the book, before he disappeared into the crowd.
An hour or so later, the boy returned a fourth time, bringing his mother along.
“Are you sure?” she asked him.
He nodded, and I signed a book for him.
I will never know for sure whether he read the book or if he enjoyed it, but I am so glad his persistence paid off. Not because it was the sale of one more book for me, but because I know the value of putting a story into a kid’s hands.
