I had an amazing weekend. It started on Friday with insane sales of Lost In Spain. I looked at the KDP (Kindle) sales graph at noon and it was selling better than hot cakes at a country fair where all the other cakes are cold and made out of mud and cat hair. By Friday night I had sold a couple hundred copies. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot but it is to me. When I first released the book I sold a couple dozen a day for the first week before it dropped down to five to ten a week for the last few months.
I’m not sure if it was the Kindle Countdown Deal we did but we’d done that two times previously and although sales were good, they weren’t THAT good. I also benefited from the free advertising of the local beach paper reviewing my book. Though that wouldn’t be nearly enough to explain the Kilimanjaro peak of sales, it was the second factor that made my weekend so fantastic.
I’ve had brushes with infamy (there was an incident involving duct tape, a bull whip, Peter Dinklage a fourteen inch cattle prod, a clown suit, adult diapers, somebody’s pet monkey, a bowl of dead goldfish, a handful of Mollies, a girl named Molly, Miley Cyrus and the wrongful application of way too much eucalyptus) but never experienced proper celebrity.
The beach paper is small and circulates to five thousand readers. The beach itself is also small, a quarter mile across and five miles long. Every single human being on that stretch of land, however, apparently reads every inch of that paper because I literally could not leave the house this weekend without being waved at.
Over the course of the weekend I was mobbed by tens of fans overwrought with Oglesmania. They would rush up to me and say things like, “I saw you in the paper, the book sounds interesting” or “Hey, I didn’t know you were an author, congratulations.” But they always said it with a look of needy intensity in their eyes which made me nervous. And sometimes they didn’t so much “rush up to me” as “continue sitting in a lawn chair” as I walked by but it was all very impressive and overwhelming, I assure you.
I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with this celebrity status; I don’t have the necessary decorum. Our laundry room is outside. You have to leave our gated courtyard and walk around the back to access it. If there’s one thing I hate it is a less than full load of laundry. I was doing darks on Sunday and when I saw that a few more things could fit I took off both my shorts and my shirt hoping that I could slip back inside without being seen. But wouldn’t you know it, there was a paparazzi (neighbor) out there with a camera (talking on a cell phone.) I’m going to end up just like Lindsey Lohan only prettier.
Despite the hassle, all this attention feels good. Like vindication. A lot of hard work has finally paid off and people know my fucking name.
It’s been a very good weekend indeed. So, a big thank you to everyone who has bought the book and supported me over the years. I love you all like a porn star loves his fluffer!
Lost In Spain: A Collection of Humorous Essays by Scott Oglesby
The funniest book you’ve never read.
Congratulations, and having a photo of your butt made pubic can only help your sales. When people see a butt, they want to know what’s on its mind. Next time, look to see if there’s a “half load” setting on the washing machine – better cleaning with less water, so they say.
That was my opinion as well. I thought about going full frontal as well but that might scare off everybody.
Ours doesn’t have that feature, unfortunately. Which is why I must strip naked for every load. Innuendo intended.
Congratulations to you!
Thank you very much!
You deserve all the intrusive fans and invasions of privacy you can get! More even!
And now I can make people jealous when I say, “I know Scott Oglesby! He even has my number . . . Even though he never calls.”
I do Amy, I really do. So much so that I might have to change my idea of what is invasive. I might have to move “waving and nodding” out of that category soon.
Now that you’re famous and renowned and respected by the literati I’ma call you all the damn time.
I guess the most troubling for me is that a) you actually do separate laundry and b) how easily you drop your drawers in semi-public. The rest is just awesome, truly happy for you.
I’m domesticated like a mother fucker Ken. I’m like the ultimate man only less manly.
And you even have a street named after you. I’m impressed. Now I can say “I knew Scott Oglesby when…”
Congrats. Hope all of your weekends are as awesome.
I know right. I also found out that there’s a Scott street in a town called Oglesby. It’s in Kansas though so it barely counts.
Thanks you so much Karenlee!
Scott, all of us at the Happy Hollow Rest Farm are, well, just happy, to see you doing so well. We knew you had something inside you. We just didn’t know it was a book. Hope the ride to fame and fortune continues to be smooth.
I always knew I had something inside myself as well I just always hoped it wasn’t malignant. Turns out it was malignant but could do no harm as long as I exorcized it before it grew and ate me.
It’s nice to see you around these parts.