by Nigel Featherstone

‘I’m not going to do it,’ I said to my friend. We were in the cafe where we meet every few months. He is a novelist too, and a good-natured soul. ‘I really think you should,’ he said. ‘People love you – they’ll want to support you.’ I pushed aside the last of my Caesar salad. ‘No. It’s stressful enough without adding a pandemic to the mix.’ 

We were talking about the impending launch of my new novel, My Heart is a Little Wild Thing, which would be published by Ultimo Press in May 2022. I like to describe it as a three-way love story – between a middle-aged man called Patrick and his ageing mother, between Patrick and a man called Lewis who’ll change his life, and between Patrick and a place that was important to him when he was a child. The novel begins with a sentence that some might find troubling, contains uncensored descriptions of homosexual sex, charts a descent into dementia, and has a political purpose – maybe the prudent thing was to let the novel find its readers without any in-person fanfare. (I’m also a natural hermit. For every hour of socialising, I need nine during which I chat only to my chooks.)

But, in a way, I am misrepresenting myself. 

I first had the idea for this novel in 2007 and had worked on various iterations, all of which were not sufficiently alive, before settling on the version that would be published – I had worked hard and I did want to mark the occasion. However, what I’d said to my friend was also true: I find book launches – my own, that is – to be so stressful that hours before the launch of my previous novel, Bodies of Men, I rather dramatically turned to my partner and said, ‘If only, right now, the venue could be flattened by a hailstorm. My launch would have to be cancelled, and that would be a relief.’ 

So then, why arrange a launch during a pandemic?

Because my friend was also right: it’s good, perhaps even necessary, to celebrate a publishing milestone. There’s always something miraculous about a book making its way into the world. All the effort that has gone into it – from the author, yes, but also from the publishing team, including the editors, designers, marketers, and publicists – should be acknowledged. With that in mind, I held my breath, bought a new outfit, and, because sometimes it’s wise to be immoderate, had not one but three launches: in Canberra, at Harry Hartog ANU; in Sydney, at Better Reader Than Dead; and in Brisbane, at Avid Reader.

So, what’s it like launching a book during the pandemic? 

My frank answer is that the nerves do ratchet up quite a few notches. There were the usual anxieties. Will people attend? Will the launcher or interviewer get the date wrong? Will I be the opposite of entertaining? But now there were additional fears. Will I get Covid? Will a member of my family get Covid (again) and I’ll need to care for them? Will the launcher or interviewer get Covid (again)? Will the venue have limited human capacity? Will my event turn into a super-spreader (oh, the shame, the shame)? Perhaps it would be more responsible to not hold an event, especially in terms of protecting the vulnerable.

But come on, Negative Nigel, surely there are some upsides. Of course, and they come from just pushing through, no matter what. 

Here is what I’ve learned from doing exactly that:

Accept that it’s going to be a rocky road. That’s not being pessimistic, just pragmatic. You may need to be more flexible than usual. For example, it’s possible that you’ll have to find a new launcher at the last minute (have a name on standby), or you might need to find a new venue, or – damn and blast the whole bloody thing – the event might have to be cancelled. None of that is your fault; it’s just the way of the world at the minute. 

Don’t solely rely on social media to publicise your event. Industry insiders say that if our use of social media is passive, we’ll reach about 3% of our followers; if our use is active, informed and strategic, we may reach up to 8%. Is it worth it? Probably not. I’m convinced that it’s better to build an audience by sending personalised emails. Use first names. Tailor the invitation. For example, if you know someone’s very busy, say, ‘I know you’re in a busy patch right now but I’d really love to see you at the launch.’ Say something about the book that might mean something to the person you’re hoping will attend. For example, if your novel has a nature-conservation element and your friend works in that field, say so, though don’t labour the point. And make sure the invitation includes the booking link, one that works. If the venue has Covid safety protocols in place, summarise what they are. All that is especially important during the pandemic, when you want the event to be a success but also make sure attendees are as safe as possible.

Accept that audience numbers are going to be patchier than usual. One bookshop events manager told me to expect that, as a general Covid rule, 30% will not attend. The number can be worse than that – she had one event, for a novelist, where the non-attendance rate was 90%. They are confronting figures, but it’s best to be informed.

Encourage – or even require – your attendees to wear masks, if they can. Not only will you limit the spread of Covid-19 and help protect the vulnerable, but some people will feel much more comfortable attending if masks will be worn. It’s a small thing, but have a box of masks on standby for those who genuinely forgot to bring theirs. Hand-sanitiser too. 

As most now know, having a Zoom element can help spread the literary love – people beyond your home turf will be able to attend, as will those who are currently sick or caring for others, or have mobility challenges. However, in terms of being practical, it’s worth knowing that folk who attend via the livestream are unlikely to buy the book. A prominent bookseller in a major city told me that the reason they provide alcohol at launches is to help open those wallets just that little bit further – if all attendees only buy one book, the bookshop doesn’t make any money, but if the attendees buy two or more books, the event starts to become profitable. While you can hope that your Zoom audience is getting pleasantly drunk on the couch in their pyjamas, there’s little to encourage them to make a purchase.

Despite being a social-media sceptic, there’s value in using the various platforms to post photos of an event after it’s happened, and – importantly – take the opportunity to thank all those who attended, including the venue team. People like to see themselves in a crowd, even a socially distanced one. It’s also good to publicly acknowledge that they chose your event over all the other options or responsibilities they had that night. They may even have been as nervous as you, but still they drove through all that traffic to be by your side.

Listen to your publicist (if you’re lucky enough to have one). They are gold and will help you with the scheduling of your event – the time of year, the day of the week, and the time of day. They will also help to coordinate all your events. For example, it’s better to have one large event, rather than a group of small events, which might split your audience.

And, please, look after your wellbeing. If walking keeps you centred, keep going for walks. If you need time out under a blanket, that’s fine too. If you really gotta hit the gym, hit the gym. It’s going to be a wild and twisty path; take a breather every now and again.

So, in the end, how did my launches go? 

They were wonderful. In fact, it was probably the best fortnight in my writing life – such fabulous folk. It seemed that most genuinely wanted to be out and about again. 

My good-natured novelist friend had a few words to say too. ‘I told you so.’ And then he smiled, put his arms around me, and said, ‘People really do like supporting you, you know.’

After resting for a few weeks, I’m about to head out again, this time to participate in various festivals, for which I’m grateful. Even though I’ve now had Covid (it felt like a 13-day hangover, and that’s an observation I never thought I’d make), am I worried about getting it again? Yes. Am I concerned that audience numbers might drop off a cliff? Yes. Might my session line-ups change? Highly likely. But there will be fascinating conversations with a wide range of people. If there is one thing I’ve learned in 30 years of writing, it’s this: our industry is exactly that, an ‘industry’, but it’s one of the most generous and human imaginable (and that’s not to say there aren’t issues that need to be addressed, some of which are critical to its vibrancy and sustainability). There is a good reason why we say there’s nothing like book people – we know that a life of the mind is a life worth living. 

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Nigel Featherstone’s latest work is the novel My Heart is a Little Wild Thing, published by Ultimo Press. It has been described as ‘A remarkable look at Australian masculinity’ (Newtown Review of Books), ‘A poignant and ultimately hopeful novel’ (Delia Falconer), ‘A devastatingly emotional exploration of love, family and place’ (ArtsHub), and ‘Powerful, tender, visceral and sublime – a must-read piece of Australian literature’ (Holden Sheppard). Nigel’s previous novel, Bodies of Men, was published by Hachette Australia in 2019 and was longlisted for the 2020 ARA Historical Novel Prize, shortlisted for the 2020 ACT Book of the Year, and shortlisted in the 2019 Queensland Literary Awards. He is represented by Gaby Naher of Left Bank Literary. More at www.nigelfeatherstone.com.au

(Photo credit: David Lindesay)