This week I had the simultaneously delightful and alarming news that ‘Sex, Lies and Bonsai’ is temporarily out of stock. Delightful, because yay, I’ve sold out! Alarming because I am booked to do a session called ‘Sex, Lies and Bonsai’ at the Snowy Mountains Writers Festival next weekend. And a session like that with no books is a little like a pub with no beer.
I have been moved to capture the ensuing events in verse…
The Books for Snowy River
(with apologies to Banjo Patterson)
There was dismay
at HarperCollins for the word had passed around
That Sex, Lies and Bonsai had run out.
And an urgent order had come in – 50 books must soon be found
So all the sales team gathered at the shout.
All the tried and trusted sales reps from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the office, after a bite
For the team there love a challenge
And as all in publishing know, a re-print cannot happen overnight.
There was Anna who had bought the book and brought it to the land
No finer editor ever held a pen
For ne’er a text could throw her or a manuscript at hand
As a publisher she knows the art of zen.
Lisa’s off to Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side
And the readers there are twice as keen and twice as tough
And an author’s books don’t linger in the bookshops overnight
No, a tale that holds its own is good enough.
The Snowy Mountains Festival is on one week today
And Sex, Lies and Bonsai’s on the bill
We must find some unsold copies or else perish in the chase
Because our writer’s heading for the hills.
So they went – they got one copy from the old Big W clump
Then they raced away across the city crush
And Anna gave her orders, ‘team, go at em from the jump’
No use to try for fancy buying – rush!
And they found them, some in clusters and some they were alone
They chased them down like bloodhounds on their tracks
But there were only 49 when they turned their heads for home
And in boxes and in handbags brought them back.
But one was there, a stripling, with sore and blistered feet
She wouldn’t rest until she found the final prize
She was hard and tough and wiry, just the sort who won’t say die
There was courage in her quick impatient eye
And her bright gaze saw one loitering in a darkened bookshop aisle
And she snatched it up and held it to the sky
And she shouted to the heavens with the book above her head
We have not failed the festival, this book will now be read
So down by Kosciusko where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high
Where the air is clear as crystal and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky
In the Thredbo Alpine Schuss Bar where the readers come to stay
Those yellow stripes are shining with the best
And the HarperCollins sales team are a household word today
And the author tells the story of their quest
You can catch me and the captured books at the Snowy Mountains Writers Festival over the Easter weekend. Top of nine degrees in Thredbo today so bring the woolies!