Lowered expectations for authors

Remember the beginning of the 80s? After the 70s and all it had brought and not brought, the "malaise" of the Carter years and the election of Reagan compelled someone, possibly Garry Trudeau, to dub the nascent 80s "the decade of lowered expectations." That's what I toasted to, at least, when I was rousted out of bed on 31 Dec 1979 (I already had low expectations: I had gone to bed early), a glass of champagne was shoved into my hand, and I was asked to give a toast.

At that time I was living on Frederick St. in the Haight in a shared flat -- I seem to remember the rent for my dank room on an airshaft was something like $160 a month -- with another upper-middle-class slacker, a middle-class drug dealer, and a piano teacher who was trying as hard as he could not to be totally gay. The piano teacher, named Danny, had this girlfriend who was a total jewel. She was one of these outgoing, sweet, loving girls who go out of their way to make everybody feel included. (What? You haven't met one of those girls? They aren't very common, but they are a type. They're sweet, relentlessly cheerful, and often are craftsy) Since she was Danny's girlfriend she extended her sisterish affection to all the young men in that flat. When New Year's Eve rolled around, she's the one who got me out of bed where I had churlishly retreated, and gave everyone champagne.

But when I gave my toast -- "Okay... to lowered expectations" -- she said, "No, that's no way to be! Come on, what good things do you want to happen in the new decade?" That's the way she was -- refusing to let anyone feel sorry for themselves. I'm sure she went on to be a therapist, probably an art therapist.

I bring this up because the 00s must be the decade of lowered expectations for writers. Just look at this entry on the site of M.J. Rose, the "Buzz Your Book" person. She quotes a writer who says his philosophy toward marketing his book is Expect Nothing, Do Everything.

Personally, I sympathise with that attitude. When my very first book came out, the editor was full of promises and grand tales of how they were going to promote it. I nodded and smiled as I listened to her, as if I were listening to a maniac prattle to me on a bus. "That sounds great," I said to her, while thinking, "I'll be surprised if even a quarter of that actually happens." As it turned out, my estimate of a quarter was about 24% too high. They did practically nothing. Good thing I hired my own publicist.