My Bookstore

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by Ronald Rice


  Surrounded as I was by friends, family, and other book lovers, the shindig was a celebration of a destination reached. Who could ask for more? Not me. No way. There is nothing more humbling for an author than standing in the middle of a bookstore. Gazing upon shelf after shelf lined with thousands of other writers’ hopes. Even with the much-wished-for Book Sense recommendation, I knew it’d be a walking-on-water miracle if my book sold more than a modest amount. But within a week, the Next Chapter staff had hand-sold fifty copies; by the next, another forty; and on and on it went and still does in their store, across the country, and around the world. Whistling in the Dark eventually made the New York Times list and won the Midwest Independent Booksellers Association award that sits next to my bed alongside the other unexpected gifts. (Imagining readers paging through my books while sitting on the Great Wall of China and below windmills in the Netherlands and whatever-the-heck landmark Turkey has to offer can keep me occupied for hours.)

  Five years and four novels later, it still takes everything I’ve got not to burst into a chorus of “You Light Up My Life” and drop to my knees in gratitude when I step through the doors of the store to sign my works, attend author events, or shoot the book breeze with the team that makes it all possible. (So far, I’ve managed to keep it to joyful humming and a simple genuflection, but I’m not making any promises.)

  Bless you, Lanora.

  Bless you, Next Chapter Bookshop.

  LESLEY KAGEN is a mother of two, an actress, a former restaurateur, accomplished equestrienne, and award-winning New York Times best-selling author of Whistling in the Dark, Land of a Hundred Wonders, Tomorrow River, and Good Graces. Visit her at lesleykagen.com.

  Stephanie Kallos

  Third Place Books, LAKE FOREST PARK, WASHINGTON

  Defining Third Place

  third place ‘thrd ‘plās

  1: a term coined by urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg; used in the concept of community building to refer to social surroundings separate from the two usual social environments of home (first place) and work (second place). 2: an open, light-filled public space offering a variety of food and drink, furnished with large sturdy tables that have been sliced from the massive trunks of salvaged Douglas firs, and employing a waitstaff that is completely unconcerned with rapid customer turnover 3: deluxe amenities of some third-place locales include bookstores, bowling lanes, live music and/or juke boxes, upright pianos, beanbag and/or barber chairs, community kiosks, photo booths, beer and wine licenses, wood-burning stoves, and giant chess sets 4: the monthly meeting venue for The Commoners, a five-person writing group to which you belonged for ten years, through marriages and divorces, house sales and purchases, the deaths of parents and dear friends, the births of children and grandchildren, job firings, unemployment, and job retrainings 5: the place where your writers’ group spends seven of those years critiquing every chapter of your first novel, Part One of your second novel, and half a dozen short stories—all this beginning in 1996, long before you even dared to dream that anything you wrote would actually be published 6: where, season after season, your writers’ group offers smart, insightful, and kindly voiced variations on one of two things that all writers need to hear in order to become better: (1) Keep going. Don’t give up. It’s wonderful. (2) Keep going. Don’t give up. It’s not good enough. 7: comments involving variations on sting less because they are offered over lattes, herbal tea, and calorically generous pastries provided by Honey Bear Bakery 8: it is where you nurse your second baby on the first Saturday of the month from November 1997 through April 1998 while drinking decaf and nibbling disks of fruit panettone sprinkled with generous amounts of organic sugar and fennel and listening to your writers’ group continue to critique your first novel—the one you began writing before this baby was even conceived, the one you won’t finish and finally publish until he is 7 years old and his older brother is 10 9: where your sons play with the giant chess set as soon as they are slightly taller than the rooks 10: in the fall of 2003, where you spend many hours over the course of several weeks sitting at one of those expansive wooden tables editing your first novel after it is accepted for publication, your notes executed in a ragged, barely legible scrawl because you signed up for a private ice-skating tutorial, fell ten minutes into the lesson, and fractured your right radius. It is your first broken bone ever. The novel you are editing is called Broken for You. 11: where you go to meet your writers group as usual on the morning of January 7, 2006: the first Saturday of the New Year, the morning after you held vigil and watched your mother die almost a year to the day after your dad; you go because one of your earliest memories is of your mother’s hands demonstrating the right way to open a book; because it is from your mother that you inherited a sanctified love of reading; because she wept when she read the first draft of your first novel; because she would have wanted you to go; because there is no place in the world you can imagine being—not even the first place of home—that will comfort you today like this place and these people 12: you will forever bear a grudge against a famous American movie star/daughter of movie stars who shall remain nameless because at a huge third-place event promoting her latest children’s book she was cruel to your bookselling buddies 13: you will forever adore Alan Alda even more than you already did because at a similar event promoting his autobiography he was kind to them 14: since you have a habit of inscribing all book purchases with the date and place of purchase, you know it is where you acquired the following volumes: Edwin Mullhouse and A Girl Named Zippy; Four Letter Word: Invented Correspondence from the Edge of Modern Romance; Strange as This Weather Has Been and Defining the Wind; The View from the Seventh Layer; How Green Was My Valley; Poemcrazy; Stuffed; Saul Bellow: Letters; The Brief History of the Dead; The Face on Your Plate; The Face of a Naked Lady; Woe Is I; Words Fail Me; Writers on Writing, Volume II; A Writer’s Time; Reading Like a Writer; Pitching My Tent; Border Songs; The Great Good Place 15: it is where you step onstage in December of 2008 to launch your second novel—the one you wrote in the wake of grief, the one dedicated to your deceased parents and a writer friend who committed suicide 16: it is where you teach the audience the Nebraska fight song, flanked by Third Place bookseller/friend Cheryl McKeon and PGW rep/friend Cindy Heideman who hold up large poster boards bearing the lyrics: “Oh, there is no place like Nebraska; dear old Nebraska U; where the girls are the fairest, the boys are the squarest, of any old place that I knew…” 17: it is where the Q&A is initiated when beloved author/buddy Jim Lynch stands up and asks: “How do you write with such authority about the dead?” 18: it is where booksellers know you, greet you by name, ask how the next one is going, and don’t mind if you break down in tears and babble on about how the next one isn’t going so well 19: it is where you arrive with your laptop not long after the doors open on July 5, 2012, to complete the final edits to this essay, a couple of hours before setting off on a road trip with your sons You bring your twelve-ounce sugar-free hazelnut soy to one of the big round Doug fir tables , run a finger around the smoothed, curving, shiny edge, count a few closely spaced rings , realizing that the history of your life as told in this essay occupies only one and a quarter inches. A Chopin ballade i
s playing through the speakers. A shaft of sunlight illuminates seven middle-aged women gathered around a table beneath one of the skylights, knitting. The kiosk is now a flat-screen TV, but the content hasn’t changed: There are posted notices about Summer Story Times, invitations to join German and Spanish and French conversation groups, requests to consider donating your used musical instruments at the July Farmers’ Market so that all children can play. You are a few days past the deadline, but the editor was understanding about the delay; and besides, it is so important to get this right, this ode, this efharisto, this love letter to the place that has nurtured, solaced, and challenged; the place that has forged connections far beyond those that can be measured on a road atlas; the place that has witnessed your growth into the contours of a grateful, full life, a life you always dreamed of 20: on your way to bus your dishes, you notice two 11-year-old boys who have been sitting behind you as you write this: best friends out of school for the summer. They’ve ridden here on their bikes and are eating lunch at a low counter that encloses a small play area for young children. One boy is pale, freckled, shaped like an Idaho russet; the other is a pole bean with orthodontics. Pole bean is saying, “I said, ‘Where?’ and he said, ‘Four hours ago.’ I said, ‘Where?’ and he said, ‘Four hours ago.’” They both throw back their heads and laugh. Pole bean repeats this exchange three more times before I am out of earshot, and they laugh hysterically every single time. Why are they sitting there? you wonder as you ride the escalator down to your car. Why not at one of the other tables? And then you realize that, of course, it’s because they played in that play place as their folks looked on and chatted here, years ago, when they were still just little kids.

  21: [insert your definition here]

  STEPHANIE KALLOS spent 20 years in the theater as an actress and teacher before turning her full-time attention to writing. She has published several works of short fiction and three novels, Broken for You (chosen by Sue Monk Kidd for the Today show book club), Sing Them Home (named by Entertainment Weekly as one of Top Ten Books of 2009), and Language Arts. She lives in North Seattle with her husband and sons.

  Larry Kane

  Chester County Book & Music Company, WEST CHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA

  Before I begin this essay, a disclaimer. My favorite bookstore is forty miles from my home. I have purchased many books there, but I still frequent two Barnes & Noble stores within three miles of my home. I have sold four books at my favorite store: a biography of my career as a broadcast journalist, two best-selling books on my unique travels with the Beatles, and a newsroom murder mystery. A fifth, on the mystery of how the Beatles came about, is due next fall. I will sell the book there, as well as on a national tour. This essay will no doubt make me more popular at my favorite bookseller but perhaps create some controversy with all my friends in the book community.

  When you read the name of my favorite bookstore, Chester County Book & Music Company, you may conjure up images of a lush green countryside, the smell of burning firewood, the evening sounds of owls hooting in the cool summer air, and the hues of green that makes Chester County, Pennsylvania, in the far suburbs of Philadelphia, a physically angelic masterpiece to the eye and a treat to the senses. Although that imagery may seem to fit the name, Chester County Book & Music Company is hardly anything of the above.

  But it does fit a remarkably entertaining contemporary version of the extraordinary mix of old-fashioned values and modern technology, because the store’s staff employs the first, and best, bookselling value: the art of the sale, performed not by lists or computer screens, but by face-to-face, person-to-person encounters that can be as exciting and fun as the book itself.

  First off, Chester County is not located in the woods. It is nestled in a strip mall just off of Route 202 in West Chester, Pennsylvania, but no matter—this store could be located anywhere. Like all great institutions, the store thrives not on its physical structure, but on the force of its people.

  People in the publishing business are facing some critical challenges, and the biggest of all are people in the publishing business. Retailers, whether they are in the two standout independents in the Philadelphia region—Chester County and The Doylestown Bookshop, where Shilough Hopwood manages a thriving, smaller independent—or the hard-working chain stores, are subject to a definitive lack of courage on the part of some major publishers in their selection of fiction. People with talent are often left out because publishers want guaranteed winners. The result is a “no-risk, no-reward” environment. Left holding the bag are retailers who are having a hard enough time selling paper books in the age of electronic wizardry. On that score, you’ve got to hand it to the people who are selling books by spoken word, and therein lies the special feeling of Chester County Book & Music. I’ve often told my good friends at Barnes & Noble to check out the selling techniques at Chester County. For it is the subtle and not so subtle that makes the book experience so special.

  A little geography. When a reader walks through the door, there is a large, wood-paneled bookstore that transitions into another large store of music CDs and the resurgent vinyl. The music department gives you something that electronic services can never offer: atmosphere. If you like atmosphere, you’ll love everything about Chester County’s music department, including its children’s section. While there are sections, sections that are actually marked, browsers are encouraged to work harder, to “feel free to browse” at their own speed.

  As you walk back into the bookstore, when you glance to the right you will see an opening to a restaurant. Not a snack shop, but a real restaurant. This combination of books, beat, and food is hard to top, unless you are in the Borough of Doylestown and partake of the many restaurants within walking distance of the Doylestown Bookshop. The Chester County crew has its food and drink right there, and I must say, it’s a terrific menu, with the chefs doing a fantastic job. This might sound a little silly, but I am a big fan of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Is it hard to mess up a PBJ? No. But it’s also a great feeling to get what you want when you want it, even if it is on the children’s menu.

  Back in the main store, near the center, is the cash register and services desk, and that’s where the shine comes through. There is a tradition at Chester County, a tradition that has launched so many good books and at the same time fulfilled the needs of the customers while filling their lives with joy, which I think is what a bookstore should be all about.

  The tradition of R&R, or reading and recommending, began with Thea Kotroba, the current manager, some twenty-eight years ago, when she arrived at the store. It has continued into the next generation of booksellers. And it is largely a legacy of a man who may have been the most instrumental bookseller-reader in the northeast United States.

  Joe Drabyak joined the store in the nineties. He took the art of R&R to new heights. Some customers would look at “Joe’s List” and buy books by the bushel. Joe was that good. But he was also that good at fighting for the publication of great books. Joe, former president of the New Atlantic Independent Booksellers Association, probably did more to save independent bookstores in America than almost any individual in recent years. Authors and publishers were enamored of his ability to make a pick. Some of them, including this reporter, were indeed honored to speak and remember Joe at his funeral service on October 3, 2010. Joe had succumbed to cancer at the age of 60, but what he left at Chester County is still very much alive, in the store and in print. A record eight fictional characters are named for him in recently published books.

  I could tell you a lot about Joe, but I think I’ll leave that to Kathy Simoneaux, the owner of Chester County Book Company, who said right after his death, “Right now, I can’t think of Joe as an employee, bookseller, NAIBA president, or pillar of the bookselling community, but as a fascinating, charming, and hilarious man I was lucky to know.”

  Hilarious was an understatement. Joe was so funny, alive. And inspirational to veteran and beginning authors. His personal impact on th
e store was monumental.

  Thea Kotroba, who is a world-champion reader and picker in her own right, says she thinks of the “hole, the vacancy that remains, but there is the clear understanding that all of us want to continue the tradition.”

  The tradition includes personally recommended books, his own best-seller list, and a man brimming with eye contact, personal allure, and a determination to make the selling, buying, and reading of a book as exciting to the modern generation as the acquisition of a video game.

  And Joe spread the word. During his life, and after, fellow booksellers got in the spirit. Everyone developed his or her own “picks.” So, when you walk into Chester County Book & Music, the gang is ready. Joanne Fritz is on the kids’ beat, and she knows her children’s books. Michael Fortney is an artist that has eclectic tastes in fiction, but I’ve never left a recommended book unfinished. Julia Loving is a part-timer with a great track record. Tim Skipp has a flair for great books, and he loves reading books that were translated. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo comes to mind. And Thea? Well, perfection has its moments, especially when you’re aiming to please.

  The difference? Dedicated readers. Diagnosing sellers, sellers who know their buyers. What a combination. You take these real-life talents and mix them with a deeply toned bookstore, a music palace, and some real American food thrown in, and you have a combination that draws you in like a magnet.

  There is a downside. The place is so attractive and seductive that it provides a challenge. When you walk into the store and “feel” the presence, maybe have a bite of food and get lost in the books or just the browsing, time passes by, as it does when you are reading a great book. Suddenly, you look up, and you might be late, or missing an appointment. Going into a store like this could be dangerous to your schedule, if you want to have one. Shop at your own risk. And remember that Joe’s presence is still there, lighting your path to the next great date with writing destiny.

 

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