Like Money in the Bank: Other People's Mistakes

The ABA's publication Bookselling This Week has a fantastic article in this week's issue:

If I Only Knew Then... What Not to Do When Opening a Bookstore

Here are some highlights:

1) Don't be undercapitalized.
Check. My business plan requires more capital than I think I'll actually need at first -- one of the reasons why I haven't jumped in the water yet.

2) Take your time.
Several booksellers said they wish they would have not rushed to be open before Christmas, or waited to find a better location. Better to do it right than to do it right now. Got it.

3) Don't expect that everything will be perfect on the first day.
As you learn your customers and your own systems, things will adapt and change. This is one I've struggled with, but it makes so much sense!

4) If you have a business partner, put everything in writing and make it legally binding.
Sad stories of broken friendships and financial disaster result if you don't. This one is definitely on my mind.

5) Don't think you need to have everything.
Not ever book or section anyone recommends, not a ton of inventory to start with in any category. You'll fill things appropriately in as your store evolves. Good to keep in mind, especially as I'll be trying to save money during startup.

6) Don't forget publicity!
Not paid advertising, but press releases to local media, business cards (and gift certificates!) to local businesses, etc. Make sure by the time you open people already know you're there. I'm already working on that one.


There's more there -- it's a deep well when you go to smart booksellers for advice, especially when they had to learn the hard ways. I feel pretty comfortable with all of this advice, and I'll definitely be keeping it in mind. I'm sure I'll make my own mistakes, but it's great to avoid some of the worst!

Bookstore Design Dreams

While most of my time these days is spent in imagining financial scenarios, confabbing with lawyers and other experts, and fiddling with Excel spreadsheets, I was reminded last night (at an impromptu bar gathering that included a high percentage of bookselling types) that the fun part is imagining the store itself.

Those of us who have chosen to indulge our literary inclinations in the physical environment of the bookstore take our joy in the physical books, the shelves, the displays, and the other elements of the space, sometimes as much as in the words and ideas themselves.

My bookselling buddies and I discussed with relish some section division issues that are perhaps too wonky for even readers of this blog. But the other aspect I've been thinking about greedily lately is bookstore design. My dream is to find some experimental, idealistic, local (and affordable) designer to help me shape the vision for the bookstore's design. But here's some of what's already out there that I've been salivating over.

Boing Boing has a picture of a chair made of paperbacks, resident of the lucky Myopic Books in Providence, Rhode Island. More pictures at the Rag & Bone Blog.
I spent half a day at my job ogling photos of the Vintage Shelf (the image at the top here), which is such a witty design expression of my favorite paradox, traditional meets progressive, that it brings tears to my eyes. (You knew I was a nerd, right?) This would be so awesome for displaying special rare books or featured signed first editions; too bad it's not for sale in the U.S.

If you must deal with a two level store, why not do it with a book/stair-case? This seems like it would be awesome for a children's section. Or for my house someday, when everything is perfect.

As it turns out, lots of people are into this designer bookshelf thing. It's a simple functionality that lends itself to lots of expressions of creativity -- some more practical than others. The blog Bookshelf has tons of juicy pictures of creative bookshelf designs. Some make me roll my eyes as a bookseller -- designs that look like they would damage the books, or that books would fall off of, or that it's impossible to remove books from. But there are so many that I would be proud to display. The ones by Vincent Thomas Leman, which look like they popped out of Alice in Wonderland or maybe Naked Lunch, are laugh-out-loud delightful.


This is one of the ways that I think brick-and-mortar bookstores will continue to be viable in the future: by becoming retail spaces as showcases for design. On a panel last week for the NYU publishing program, I sat next to the brilliant Richard Nash, who quoted a study that had discovered that the less something feels like a selling space, the more selling gets done. Creating a space that evokes both comfort and desire -- which I know is what I feel when looking at these brilliant shelves -- makes folks want to be a part of it. And they become part of it by buying a book.

Who knows what the design of my store will look like? A lot depends on the space, the budget, and the intended demographic (which I have ideas about, but nothings certain until it's certain.) Whatever it is, I'm grateful for the designers who are inspiring me, and letting me think about the fun stuff.


What cool book-related designs have YOU come across lately? Comment or email me -- I'd love to share!

The joys of signed books

This weekend, I started to catalog my signed books.

As one of the incentives for higher-level donations on my Stimulating Reading campaign, I've promised a choice of signed first edition books from my collection. When you pitch in $600 or above, you not only get the t-shirt and discount card offered with other donations -- you also get to see the list, and pick your prize from amongst them.

I've discovered I have a lot more signed books than I remembered. For eight years of bookstore work, I've hoarded signed copies for lots of my favorite authors at readings, drop-by signings, and book parties. Many, I've discovered, are personalized to me (which I imagine will be of less interest to others, though they are still on the table as potential prizes). But some are pristine signed first editions.

One of the treasures of my collection is this one: the first U.S. edition of Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, signed by Susanna and dated "15th Sept. 2004". In later printings Bloomsbury changed the background color of the cover to black, and the color of the bird and text to white (which really makes no sense once you start to read the story of the Raven King). But that just means that this one is all the more precious. (I've also got a personalized ARC from Susanna, whom I interviewed for Publishers Weekly, but I imagine this one is the more valuable.)

As I moaned over some of the beauties in my collection this weekend, the ALP expressed surprise that I would offer to give away these books that are clearly important to me. But for folks willing to give their entire stimulus check to help my bookstore off the ground, I'm willing to give the best of what I've got to offer. I'm still cataloguing -- who knows what other treasures are hiding on the shelves?

Magic and the Money Thing

So I think it's time for a little background, as I'm working up to chronicling the current state of my bookstore efforts.

Most of the folks I know who have opened up independent bookstores in the last 10 years or so (it may have been different in, say, the 1970s), have had one of two things:

1) a mortgage
2) a well-off relative or friend.

These are traditional and time-honored means of securing capital for an independent business, especially one as high-risk as a bookstore (it also works with restaurants, bars, and other retail businesses).

I have neither of those things.

What I've got is starry eyes, a passion for bookselling, and eight years of experience, which I've purposefully used to the best of my ability to gain the skills I think I'll need to run a great store. And for a long time, I thought that this experience would attract to me the kind of investor who might stand in for a well-off relative, and be willing to put a big (really big) chunk of money into a startup business on the strength of my capabilities alone. I also expected this person to be satisfied with an eventual financial return and the good they were doing for the Brooklyn community, and not take any interest in the day-to-day operations of the business, which would be my domain. Especially after winning the PowerUp! competition, I was certain it was only a matter of time before someone stepped forward to help me take the next step.

The ALP calls this imaginary investor "the magical millionaire."

Clearly, they have not materialized.

This non-happening has, from time to time, made me a little depressed. Why, in a world where people are always investing in crazy ideas, couldn't just one person invest in my seemingly-crazy-but-actually-totally-solid idea? Why couldn't I just find a grant or even a low-interest loan or SOMETHING that would make it easy for me to make my vision happen? Why couldn't I just be born rich?

But when I stop saying "POOR ME!" and my thoughts clear, it's fairly obvious that I need to let go of the magical millionaire, and try something else.

That's where I am now.

Anyone who is going to put money into my bookstore is going to either want some control of/involvement in the business, or the fulfillable promise of a reasonable financial return. I need to figure out how I can give them what they want, while still getting what I want.

Instead of hoping for some goodwill angel investor type, I am now preparing to formally solicit investors (or lenders). The Fort Greene Association is willing to help to connect me with some likely folks. So I'm putting together a prospectus, including my business plan and investment terms. These will include options for loans, payable by promissory note, or equity investments, which will give investors a share (though never a majority share) of the business, and thus its profits.

I spent this morning with a super nice lawyer in Dyker Heights, talking about how to calculate what interest to offer on a loan like this, and how to figure out the value of the business in order to "sell" portions of it to an investor. It's all fascinating stuff, though I'm a bit slow at it (English major, you know -- this math stuff is not my forte. Though I did get an A in AP Calculus, so just skip the blonde jokes.)

In any case, what this means for the bookstore is that since I'm looking at a formal investment process -- or a longer-term negotiation over a partnership, which is another option -- the bookstore isn't likely to get built and open its doors by this fall. Instead, I'm looking at early spring. Give me a few months to connect with investors, a few months to find and build out the space. And even that is dependent on whether I can in fact find folks willing to plunk even small chunks of money into a business with the profit-to-startup costs ratio of a bookstore (and looking at it this morning, I realized it's not super pretty for several years.)



On the other hand, I've already had three good friends approach me, unsolicited, and tell me that they want to put a chunk of their money into the store. They told me to name the terms -- they just think the bookstore is a brilliant idea, and trust that I can make it happen. Their investments alone only get me a few more yards down the track toward my goal, but that's a lot further than I was before.

And a number of people have already "invested" in Stimulating Reading, plunking down your stimulus check in exchange for a t-shirt, a bag, or some swag from my personal library (and you will get it, I promise!) These are even smaller amounts, but they're basically donations, based on the strength of what Andy Laties calls "social capital" -- you all just think I can do it. I'm hoping there's even more out there, as the checks flow in and folks decide that making a bookstore happen is one way to really boost the economy.


So there's no magical millionaire. But there are already a bunch of ordinary folks willing to get in on my bookstore dream. And I think -- and the FGA thinks -- there will be more.

Instead of a wealthy individual, a rich community. That's pretty magical to me.