Mindset of a Gambler
The weekend planned in Wild, Wet, Wonderful West Virginia, was a washout. The event was a Civil War Reenactment in Barboursville. The event organizers were dealt a bad hand. It turned out to be the same Saturday as Marshall University commencement, a county-wide “stepping up” ceremony for all the head start and preschool children, a community festival in the neighboring county, the baseball team in a playoff, and the neighbors in Kentucky relaxed with their mint juleps in front of their TVs. The city is responsible for putting up the signage, which they store, but apparently lost over the year so there was none. Then Mother Nature played her trump card: the weather. All day Saturday it sprinkled, drizzled, showered. It could have been worse, as there was no wind, no lightning, no downpour. The rain was manageable.
The women prepared a beautiful tea, with pretty centerpieces. They worried because their speaker hadn’t shown up. I volunteered to take her place. I talked about the Avery & Gunner books; they are local. Avery Junior Bennett lived in Kanawha Valley. When he left home in 1861, it was from Virginia. When he returned 5 years later, it was to West Virginia, a new state born from the labor pains of the Civil War. Barboursville is in the Kanawha Valley. I gave a short presentation about the books, and the ladies bought them.
But sadly, the hostesses were the only ones in attendance. No one came. Perhaps no one wanted to chance the rain, but rain never stops the battle reenactors. What stopped them was the missing-in-action Union soldiers that never showed up. The soldiers sat in their tents and watched it rain.
I hung around all day staying dry under the shelter. I visited with folks wandering in and occasionally someone would ask about a book, but just about everyone there had one, so it was a slow afternoon. No one else came. We were all waiting for the free catered supper coming our way at 5:30. On a day like this one, free is important!
My hotel was booked until Monday morning; I planned to be “working” until 4 o’clock on Sunday. Sunday’s weather was to be worse than Saturday. I looked at the cards in my hand; I decided it was time to fold. Check out Sunday morning, save the cost of Sunday night in the hotel as well as two meals on Sunday. I’d only sold 12 books, 4 of each title, short of my two-an-hour goal. The probability of recovering the losses on Sunday are nil. It was time to walk away from this one.
Every author gambles when heading out with books, and everyone has a story of having to fold. But save us a place at the table. We’ll be back. And just so you know, I never count my money while sitting at my table.