How To Have Book Event

Here’s a little collection of tips and FAQs I send out to help make hosting a breeze. I got most of these from my friend Tori. Buy her fantastic book here: https://amzn.to/4cB43ej 

Prepare a Publicity Sheet

The goal of a publicity sheet is to provide all the essential information needed to promote the book effectively, making it easy for media professionals to write about or discuss the book in their outlets.

A publicity sheet (or press sheet) is a document used to promote a book, author, or event to the media, bookstores, reviewers, and potential readers. It typically includes key information about the book, the author, and relevant details to help generate interest and coverage. Here's what you might find on a typical publicity sheet:

Book Title and Author: Prominently displayed at the top, usually along with the book cover image.

Synopsis: A brief summary of the book, highlighting the plot, themes, and what makes it unique or compelling. This section is designed to grab attention and entice people to read the book.

Author Bio: A short biography of the author, including relevant background, previous works, awards, or other accomplishments that establish credibility.

Key Selling Points: Highlights of what makes the book special, such as its unique angle, relevance to current events, or any endorsements from notable figures.

Quotes and Review: If available, this section includes positive reviews, blurbs from other authors, or media quotes praising the book.

Publication Details: Information like the publication date, publisher, ISBN, page count, format (hardcover, paperback, etc.), and price.

Contact Information: Details for the publicist or author so that media outlets, bookstores, or event organizers can reach out for interviews, review copies, or other inquiries.

Promotional Material: Sometimes, it includes promotional photos, video links, or additional resources like a book trailer or author interviews.

Attach the publicity sheet – with some promotional language, a synopsis, and a few photos to the event planner or host – to the invitation.

ADD

Thank you again so much—this is going to be a blast! If you have any questions at all, feel free to email, text, or call me at [Add Number].

WHO to INVITE:

This event is the perfect time to invite everyone—your close friends, colleagues, and even those acquaintances you think might enjoy a fun, lively evening. A lot of people have never been to a home book event and don’t realize how much heart and humor they’re in for. Some folks may cancel at the last minute, so cast a wide net and invite everyone! Assure them that there’s no need to have read the book beforehand or even know who you are—they’ll still have a great time. (Example: “I promise, those who show up will leave happy because I put on a GREAT show. Always fun!”)

HOW MANY to INVITE

A good rule of thumb: invite 50 people if you want 20 to show, invite 70 to get 40, and so on. It’s also a good idea to set an end time for the event, so guests don’t feel like they’re committing to an endless evening.

The INVITE

I’ve found that Evites or Paperless Post invitations with RSVPs work well, making people feel more committed, but a good old-fashioned email works just fine too. If you co-host the event with a friend, you’ll double your chances of getting a great turnout—so whatever works best for you!

Consider titling the event “Cocktails & Author Chat.” The word “cocktails” grabs attention and signals that this will be more of a fun, social event rather than a dry lecture. Plus, let’s face it, people love a drink, and it doesn’t hurt when it comes to selling books! Food is optional—potlucks work great too. Plan for a minimum of about 2 hours. Here’s an example invite description you could use:

“Please join us for cocktails, nibbles, and entertaining conversation with my old (very funny) friend, V.C. Chickering, author of TWISTED FAMILY VALUES (St. Martin’s Press)—a witty, smart, 50-year dysfunctional family saga that’ll make your family look tame.”

(Adding the publisher after the title gives the book a bit of street cred!)

You could add something like:

“Saturday, Oct. 12th, at 7pm. The author will speak briefly at 8pm. Books will be for sale (or buy the book here). You don’t need to have read the book to enjoy her stories.”

I also recommend mentioning when you’ll speak—usually about an hour after the event starts.

A LITTLE MORE PROMO

You can describe the book as intriguing, witty, funny, racy—a romp you’ll devour! Say it’s a fun, quick read that’s easy to get sucked into. Feel free to describe yourself however you like— fun, funny, wrote for Comedy Central and MTV—whatever you think fits!

PHOTOS

Photos are a must! I’ve attached a bunch you can choose from [add Photo]. Designate someone to be the photographer and encourage everyone to take their own photos and videos too.

EMAIL LIST

Don’t forget to collect emails! Ask guests if they know anyone else who should be on the list.

EXTRAS

Think cake, bookmarks, or bookplates—anything that can have the book cover on it. Maybe even a poster for people to sign or a fun photo backdrop for Instagram moments. Hashtags are great too!

OPTIONAL PROMO COPY:

Author site: 

Author’s Spotify Playlist:

Author’s Video:

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And now a fiction break

The Advance Man

By Liz Dubelman

I once fell in love with an advance man. It was a heady time. He worked for candidate Bill Clinton. It was a long time ago, before the intimate details of the sex life of the leader of the free world were known to all, young and old. I was producing one of Clinton’s town meetings, this one about faith, in Wheeling, West Virginia. That’s where I met the advance man.  His name was Frank.  

Campaigns are events infused with power, adrenaline and, in this case, sex. I spent two days working with Frank before the candidate arrived. I was not yet a Clinton fan but Frank’s enthusiasm and loyalty piqued my interest.  

Candidate Clinton was a half hour late to the live broadcast, but that didn’t matter. He was thoughtful and charismatic. The first question was from a Catholic priest. He asked, “Mr. Clinton, women come to my confessional often and say they are pregnant again. These are poor people who cannot feed themselves or their family. I want to say to them, ‘Use birth control,’ but I cannot. Church doctrine does not allow me to.  What should I do?”

Bill Clinton clasped his hands in front of his face, prayer style. He thought, and then answered. “Your job as Catholic priest and my job as president are different. Your job is to teach church doctrine and my job is to make sure those women have safe legal alternatives.” I got chills. I looked over at Frank and I was in love.

After the show Bill Clinton was whisked away. I was left with Frank. We exchanged numbers. He said he would be heading in my direction and he thought he could get some time off. I loved Bill Clinton. I went home newly converted.  

Frank called and we made plans. He would come to my house in Weehawken, New Jersey. I lived in a beautiful Victorian house on the cliffs above the Hudson River. The view was so spectacular at night that my landlord’s four-year-old son thought it was fireworks.  

Frank came around noon on a perfect summer’s day. The house had a great deck. The centerpiece of the garden was an old clawed bathtub that I had planted herbs in (which I used that afternoon in the picnic I had prepared for us). I had arranged a simple meal: salad, cold roasted chicken, artichokes, and a cold Pinot Grigio. We sat in the backyard and talked. He was from Los Angeles. He’d joined the campaign because he was independently wealthy and unhappy, looking for something to do, when he heard Bill Clinton speak. It was like a door opening. He found he was a really good advance man. He didn’t have political ambitions but he loved what he was doing now and that was fine.   

We were a bit tipsy from the wine and the picnic had fallen into decay in the summer heat. Flies swarmed around the chicken carcass and the vegetables, once bright and crisp, were dark and droopy. We went inside, talked, cuddled and fell asleep.   

When I woke up Frank was beautifully dressed in a dark blue linen suit. He had made reservations for us at the Mesa Grill, a fantastic new restaurant in New York City. I showered and dressed. We took a ferry to the New York side of the river. It all seemed excruciatingly romantic.  

The restaurant was as good as I’d hoped. Frank ordered a magnificent Barolo. We ate spicy food and ordered too much.  After dinner, while Frank was in the men’s room, I ordered after-dinner drinks.  The waiter took the bottle, now containing one inch of wine, away and replaced it with snifters of Armagnac.  When Frank returned he seemed displeased. He said he was saving the last drop of the wine for me to try with the Mexican chocolate he had ordered for dessert. He sulked for a while but that seemed to pass.  

After dinner, we strolled down lower Fifth Avenue. We window-shopped and tried to guess who total strangers were voting for.  Then we took a cab all the way to New Jersey.  

When we got back to my place, time moved slowly and erotically. We spent hours talking and necking on the couch.  Finally, we moved into my bedroom but by that time we were both tired and, again, fell asleep.

In the morning, with the sun streaming through my window, we sleepily groped at each other, building to what seemed to be a nice way to wake up. We had sex for what seemed to be hours and hours and hours. I was in pain. After that marathon, I called a time-out.

“Frank?” I said tentatively. I had never been in this situation before. Sure, I had witnessed my share of sexual dysfunction but usually it was a misfiring of the starting gun or not starting the race at all. This was different. Frank and I had done the 26 miles together and he was still running.  

He rolled over, still with an angry hard-on, and began to speak.  

“I thought this time would be different. My analyst doesn’t think I should give up. At least I don’t think he does. I’ve been talking to him on the phone since I’ve been on the campaign.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“I have a problem. I can’t, you know, when anyone’s watching.”

“Why don’t I make us some coffee?” I said, trying to temper my need to get out of the room with a semblance of supportiveness.  

I went into the kitchen while Frank showered. I made coffee and toasted a couple of English muffins.  We ate in silence.  Frank made a few phone calls to find out his next assignment.  He packed his things and left.   

Years later I moved to Los Angeles. One day I met Frank for coffee. One of the first things he told me was that he was still in analysis. I took this to be a secret code and we never went out again.