Predicting a Bestseller

This weekend, we went to a conference done by New York Times bestselling author of The Five Love Languages, Gary Chapman. Since his first book was first published more than 20 years ago, he has written more than two dozen books. Some have done well, but none have done as well as his first book. Why? Certainly everyone has a different theory, and maybe there are as many reasons as there are theories. But, after all the guesses and conclusions, it boils down to one thing: Gary Chapman figured out what people cared about (i.e., marriage), and he did studies to figure out how to help them. Then he wrote a book that condensed everything he'd learned into simple language that was easy to understand and apply.

On Digital Book World today, Daniel Berkowitz wrote an intriguing article about predicting a bestseller. He analyzes data and gives examples, drawing from his review on the upcoming book, The Bestseller Code, which seems to claim that an algorithm may be able to predict if a book will be a bestseller. Berkowitz marks that this process may be perfected someday, but will never be %100 accurate, simply because of the unpredictably of human taste and fashion.

This is true—what people want to buy and read will always be changing, based on fad, trend, even season of the year. It's impossible to predict what people will buy, but based on past and present best-sellers, people usually want one of two things. Come back tomorrow to see what they are.

Introducing

It's easy to spend a lot of time wasting time to justify being too busy to do the things that matter; focusing on the bells and whistles instead of the engine and the brakes. And when the time comes, excuses, even though they don't satisfy anyone, are still always allowed. But, at the end of the day, having a real product to show for your work is better than a pocketful of accessories that you spent time putting in order. Like this blog. It's easy to choose a hundred different templates, fonts, colors. The look is an easy way to avoid focusing on the content. But, when it boils down, what's valuable is what it's all about and what it does, rather than what it looks like.

Introducing: A blog about what it's like to be a self-published and always publishing author, striving for success, but working towards significance.

Join me on the challenging journey of creating something that matters.

Dial-Up

I called someone today who still has dial-up. As soon as I dialed the number, I heard a shrill beeping that eventually cut to the dial tone. I had no idea what it meant, but someone a bit older than me dialed the number, and immediately told me it was dial-up. Age adds context to things that youth doesn't understand. There are people around you who know more than you, and people who know less. Everyone brings their own grid of understanding to the situation; based on age, location, personality, number of years they've been married. The list goes on and on. Often, it's easy to forget that others know more than we think.

Remembering and learning from someone else's experiences will save hours of time and endless trouble.

Return

It's been a while, but I'm back. At a local company today, an email went out advertising benefits to all the part-time employees who worked there, linked to a phone number for the HR department. Upon further examination, no one knew who sent the email. HR hadn't approved it. If a prank, it was deliberate and malicious. If an accident, it was truly unfortunate. The poor receptionist at the front desk was swamped with dozens of curious employees all asking the same question, and she didn't have any more information than the rest of them.

Ideas spread like wildfire—all it takes is a one sentence email to get people acting. It just takes the right sentence. People who take action about something they care about.

So figure out what people care about. And write the sentence.

Jeered

When the soldiers came back from the Vietnam war, they were jeered and scoffed at. People threw things at them, screamed at them, scorned and shunned them. It was not a matter of pride to be a veteran—it was a badge of shame. Some of these young men had given their lives so the people who were jeering at them could have peace.

Think before you act.

The House of Mo(u)rning

People die. Everyone. But there is something beautiful about death when it is timely, when it is the peaceful completion of a long life well lived. Yes. It is the punishment for sin. But it is also entrance into a new life. And newness is beautiful.

Death is night, but in a way, it is morning.

Brandon

Brandon didn't want to wake up this morning. He was dreaming about chocolate pudding, great gray vats of it. His wife Jane always told him his dreams were strange. When his alarm sliced the silence, he groaned and turned over. Pushing snooze was only temporary relief, so eventually he slapped the clock and swung his feet to the floor. The rug was crumpled up, and he vaguely remembered tripping over it the night before. Jane needed to come home—she was visiting her parents in Tennessee and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday. Just four more days of living like a bachelor. Brandon had tired of it on the second day. A week ago. He stumbled into the bathroom and groaned at the mirror.Showering washed some of the drowsiness out of his bones, and after a hasty breakfast Brandon threw his briefcase together and grabbed his umbrella. Last week he’d been caught in the rain. He clutzed his way down the steps, and locked the door. Every morning, Brandon was on his way to work by 6:15. The forty-five minute commute to the heart of the city was not for the faint of heart, but Brandon didn’t mind it. He walked 7 blocks to the el stop, rode for 25 minutes, then walked several more blocks to his building. This morning, the sky was overcast, and three blocks into his walk it started to rain. As he whipped out his umbrella, the wind picked up and blew his tweed cap off his head. He bent over to get it, and his umbrella turned inside out. It shivered around a bit, then a spindle snapped in the wind. Brandon groaned. By the time he reached the el-stop, it was pouring and Brandon was drenched. His shoes had filled with water, and his tweed hat was soaked, and his useless umbrella was flopping forlornly. The train was empty when it finally came. Good. I won’t have to touch anyone. By the time he got into the loop, it had stopped raining. Brandon was still wet, but no longer dripping. When he got off at his stop and it was empty, he began to wonder why. Usually the platforms were crawling with activity on Friday mornings, businessmen and students coming and going. Maybe other companies had days off. Mid September, this didn’t seem likely, but anything to explain the queer silence. He walked down the steps, and slowly towards his building. There was a strange lack of traffic, and the homeless people weren’t out yet. Odd. When he got to his building, Jennifer the desk girl wasn’t there yet. He went up to his cubicle on the 38th floor. No one was there. He sat and looked at his computer screen. His to-do list. His emails. His calendar. Ah.

It was saturday.

Wisdom. Faith. Action.

Wisdom. Wisdom is insight into the true nature of things. It is discernment in situations that are unclear. Faith. Faith is the blind belief that it's worth it. It is complete confidence in a God who is good.

Action. Wisdom is proved right by her actions. Faith without works is dead. See any sort of connection? I thought you would.

That's all.

Writing... It's an—

Listen closely, and I'll let you in on a secret. Scoot your chair in close, and focus on this. Eliminate all distractions, and pay attention. When you're prepared, read on. Writing is an addiction. It's true. Gasp in surprise, raise your eyebrows in skepticism, but know that I tell you the truth. It's a thrill, limited to the select few who know the feeling of successfully putting brilliance into words. Exhilarating. The satisfaction of seeing sentences formed and perfect, and knowing they came from your fingertips.

Now, I don't make the colossal claim of being an excellent writer. I don't even make the high claim of being a good one. But I would like to think that I am one of the privileged few who have discovered the prize that writing can become.

Sure, it's an addiction. Sure, my eyes have funny little black things under them. Sure, sometimes life passes by while I'm mulling over prodigious versus monumental. Sure, there's homework and friends and responsibilities that I'll have to tend to later. But hey. I've been writing. So who cares.

Do It.

People have potential. All of us. Age doesn't matter. Or current station in life. Or what other people think. The truth is, YOU are amazing. That's right. YOU are Amazing. Because you (Yes. You. We've already been over this) are packed with God-given talents and abilities. So, here's your opportunity. Get out and do something about it.

Maybe you're the best voice on the block. Go join a choir and become a soloist. Perhaps you are the most talented bricklayer the world has ever seen. Now get in contact with some great architects, and join in a partnership to build the next Taj Mahal. Possibly you write so well that people applaud for your most nonsensical scribblings. So write!

It doesn't matter where you are. But it matters what you're doing. So get out there. And do your gifts. Because you have them. I know you do.