My book is coming out tomorrow.
I’ve been here before—five times. And it’s always … weird. You devote more than two years of your life to a subject. You lock yourself in rooms, dig through piles upon piles of paper, chase interviews, chase more interviews, seek out miniscule nuggets of information. You put everything you have into a single subject, hoping it works out. You obsess, then you obsess some more. And some more. You have dreams about the subject. You talk incessantly about the subject. Strange sentences like, “Earl Jones called, and I’m really excited!” escape your lips.
Then, the book is about to drop.
And there’s silence.
Right now. The day before The Day. Silence. I keep checking Amazon, obsessed over a ranking that doesn’t have much reason to yet move. I wonder whether I’ve done enough. Whether my website is OK. Whether I should be in Los Angeles. Whether someone’s going to be mad. Whether someone is gonna call and scream. Whether the book cover should have Michael Cooper or Kurt Rambis instead of A.C. Green. Whether I need a nap. Whether I’m losing my mind.
This is not my comfort zone. I suppose I do pretty OK on radio and TV, but I’m at my best sitting behind a table at the Swirl Coffee & Tea shop here in my hometown, sipping a mocha sometha sometha, picking my way through a pile of clips, happily lost in the material. The PR element is important, and—thankfully—sports media gives one plenty of outlets. But it’s also mysterious. Ten years in the game, and I’m still unsure why truly drives sales. Does sports radio work? Excerpts?
Will this book lead to more books? Will it be a best-seller? A so-so seller?
I have no idea.