If You're Gonna Play in Looney Daze, You Gotta Have Booth #10

Do you judge success using a traditional profit and loss statement? Try a different scale in which you can post a loss yet gain happiness.

“So what’s the plan for unveiling ‘The Mystery of the Laughing Loon’ tomorrow,” Beth said as she held out her wine glass with one hand and, with the other, signaled that she only wanted a smidgeon of a pour.

I divided the last of the bottle between Beth, her husband and my brother Jon, and me.

It had just ticked past midnight. The three of us were sitting in the living room of our log lake cabin on Long Lake near Vergas. Their two kids, Olivia and Abby, were asleep in the loft.

Two of the three main characters that I penned in my “Cousins at Long Lake Mysteries” young adult series were inspired by Olivia and Abby. The third character was based on their cousin, and another of my nieces, Lexi.

It was August 2012. I had just completed my first book that I had written and self-published over weekends, at nights, and on vacations.

“What do you mean, Bethy Boo?” I asked, revealing the late hour and my wine intake. “I have 50 books in that box right over there on the floor. And you saw the sooo cute poster I made with the girls’ picture and the series title on it.”

“I dare say, I think I’m ready for Looney Daze,” I added with an air of condescension infused with sauvignon blanc.

“I don’t doubt that you’re ready for Looney Daze as well as the Looney Bin—most Stoas are,” Beth said. “I’m just saying we may need more prep as vendors so as not to be mistaken as lingering Looney ladies at a street fair.”

“Well, let’s not discount the ladies of the fair idea if it’s another source of income, but what do you mean being more prepared as a vendor?” I asked.

“Well, for instance, how will you keep that tightly furled poster that’s lying on the floor unfurled tomorrow in the hot sun?” she said.

Dang. She had a point.

Up until that moment, I had been basking in self-credit for having left work early that day in Santa Rosa, CA to fly into Fargo and drive to the lake with 50 copies of my book and a rolled up poster.

Now challenged, I glanced around the cabin and spotted a windowless wooden grill window frame half-hidden behind the couch.

I leapt from my cocktailed perch and flew to a nearby junk drawer.

“Aha,” I muttered.

I pulled out a roll of green duct tape. Then I grabbed the poster and the window frame and laid all three items on the floor. As Jon and Beth watched and volleyed jokes at me, I taped the back of the poster to the window frame.

“Tah dah,” I said, holding up my doodad. Never mind that from behind, the taped-up poster looked like a cheap Picasso knock off from his unsuccessful years.

“Oh my god, Judi,” Beth said and choked. “You’re really going to do that? Somewhere in Hollywood, MacGyver is wincing in embarrassment.”

“MacGyver nothing,” Jon chirped in. “What about us Stoa folk right here in Vergas?”

“For gosh sakes you bellyachers, it’s Looney Daze,” I said as if that would excuse my problem-solving inadequacies.

“Okay, I've never been so I’ll give you that maybe people do weird stuff at Looney Daze. Hence the name. But how do you plan to hang the poster in the middle of Main Street?” Jon asked now genuinely getting a little concerned.

“Oh Jon,” I said and scurried into the mud room.

I returned dragging a coat stand made of oars and rope. I hung the poster’s wooden frame backing on one of the coat stand hooks. The pitiful poster waggled like an erratic, sad metronome. I slapped a strip of duct tape on it, connecting it to the coat hook, and the poster stopped wagging.

“There,” I said. I took a last sip of my wine. Jon and Beth didn’t say anything but looked at each other, then at me. Looking at them, looking at me, I felt a tinge of worry creep into my chest.

I tried to squelch my self-doubt by repeating my earlier assertion.

“Well, jeez you guys, come on. It’s Looney Daze—a street fair in Vergas. I’ve never gone to it, but how big a deal can it be?”

“Okay. We’ve established that none of us have ever been to a Looney Daze and we have no clue on how to prepare properly, but set up is about six hours away,” Beth said yawning, “And remember we’re going to have three squirrelly, tired kids on our hands, and...”

“Oh Mama Beth, taking care of the squirrelly kids is your department. Don’t bother me with such trivialities. I think I’m ready,” I interrupted.

Beth shrugged her shoulders and said, “Yeah sounds like you'll be master of the ring. Well Barnum and Bailey, the circus begins soon, I’m heading to bed. See you at 6:30 a.m.”

It seemed scant minutes since I had closed my eyes when I felt a Morse Code-like tap of a small finger on my forehead.

I opened my eyes and focused on nine-year-old Abby hovering over my face. She wore a pretty foam green headband that matched her sweatshirt.

“Come on Judi, it’s Looney Daze,” she said excitedly when she realized I was alive. She shook my shoulder and hopped up and down on her socked, but unshoed toes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m with you Abby. It’s Looney Daze, it’s Looney Daze,” I mumbled as I jumped up—okay slid off—my bed.

I got dressed and grabbed a big cup of coffee.

“Mom, where’s Lexi?” Abby asked as she ran upstairs to try again to awaken her nocturnal sister, Olivia.

“Lexi and her mom are on their way from Fargo and will meet us at Booth #10,” Beth said as she pulled a folding card table and chairs from the closet.

I finished eating my toast and looked dubiously at my duct tape work mish-mashed across the back of the poster and old window frame.

“Abby, will you take this poster to the car?” I asked as I grabbed my books.

“And be careful with it, Abby. It’s our only prop,” Beth said as she dragged the coat stand outside.

“Sure Judi!” Abby said breezily before shooting her mom a withering look.

“And jeez Mom, I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t have to tell me to be careful,” she said as she banged and scraped the poster against the door when she ran outside.

“Olivia,” Beth yelled from the doorway back inside toward the loft. “Come on, we’re leaving!”

“You don’t have to yell Mom,” Olivia said from behind us. She was curled up in a blanket on the couch.

“Oh there you are,” Beth said. “Have you eaten anything? This is going to be a long day.”

“Really long,” I muttered sleepily as I stretched my arms and gave a last look around the cabin for anything I might need.

“Here. Take this,” Beth said and handed me a Sponge Bob Square Pants lunch box.

“Awhh, you made lunches for us,” I said, touched yet a little disappointed that we wouldn’t be snarfing street fair food.

“Made you lunch? Are you crazy? This is going to be a Billy’s burger day, baby. We are going to stash all your sales money in this lunchbox,” Beth said, clanking her finger on the metal box.

“Oh yeah, something to keep money in. Huh, hadn’t thought of that,” I said.

“Yeah, I know you hadn't thought of it. It’s only Looney Daze,” Beth said with a sigh.

In case I needed to make change, I stuffed five singles and a 10-dollar bill into SpongeBob’s mouth and latched it shut.

The four of us drove two miles to the edge of town. Main Street was cordoned off with roadblocks and festively flagged ropes. There were more vehicles, people, and stuff than I’d ever seen in Vergas. All-terrain vehicles, trucks, cars, and wagons, with people working by themselves and in teams stepping over numerous power cord and cable protectors setting up tents, tables, displays, lighting, and signs.

I gulped and shifted the Amazon cardboard box of books on my lap.

“Jeez, this is kind of a big deal,” Olivia said quietly.

“Yeah, cool! Where’s Booth #10? Where’s Lexi?” Abby yelled.

I looked over at Beth. Her wide eyes met mine.

“Yeah, um, it’s just Looney Daze at Vergas,” she said with a quarter-hearted laugh. She made a right turn on a secondary street and found an open parking slot at the far end of the block.

“Okay, so now, let’s find Tanzy. She’s in charge of Looney Daze and will know where Booth #10 is,” I said, dry-mouthed, but not wanting the girls to know I was nervous.

“Yeah! Booth #10, Booth #10. Come on Judi. Let's find Tanzy and get set up. We’ve got books to sell,” Abby said clapping her hands and dancing around us.

We spotted Tanzy at the corner of Main Street. Although I had never met her in person before it was clear she was Tanzy. She was directing people like Macy’s Parade Director Maureen O’Hara in the beginning of “Miracle on 34th Street.”

Tanzy led us to Booth #10 in the middle of Main Street on the Avenue between Billy’s Corner Bar and Paul Pink’s Ace Hardware. It was the perfect location because it was a main entry and exit point into the fair.

Beth and I set up the card table and chairs and Olivia and Abby hung the poster on the coat stand, but a slight breeze continued to blow the poster to the ground. We decided to prop the prop on the ground in front of our table. Inspecting our setup, Beth and I realized that the 15’ by 15’ booth dwarfed our box of books, card table, and poster. As an additional pang to my heart, the duct tape was already showing through the poster.

“I wonder how much a Looney Day attendee might pay for a cheap Picasso knock-off,” I said to Beth.

"Maybe we should consider selling the poster if the books don’t sell, but let’s see how it goes," Beth said reassuringly. "First, let’s step out and see how we compare to other booths.”

We walked into the street and turned around to look at us and the adjacent booths that were being erected.

“Oh jeez,” Beth laughed.

“I know,” I said. “Professional canopies are rising like Manhattan skyscrapers next to our little setup.”

Just then, my sister Connie delivered Lexi to the booth.

At age 12, Lexi was a tweener, and starting to exhibit a teenager’s disdain for early morning outings. Lexi’s eyes were half shut. She slumped into one of the folding chairs and laid her head on the edge of the card table. Olivia plopped down on the opposite side of the table and mirrored Lexi.

"Great," I said, watching the night-loving cousins, "Now we've got bookends for the books."

As if she had been caught walking through the poppy field on the way to Emerald City, even early-riser Abby suddenly seemed sapped of strength. She plunked into a chair, put her elbows on the table, and hung her head in her hands as she watched early fair goers go around to other booths.

“Oh boy. Our trade show beauties are folding faster than our card table, and the show hasn’t even started," I lamented.

“You're right. This just won’t do,” Beth said. She pulled her phone from her purse and called Jon.

“Jon, we have DEFCON 1 here.”

“What? No, Beth, don’t have Jon and Connie take the kids away yet. We’re just getting started,” I said.

She shook her head to wave me off.

“Jon, I need you to bring us the umbrella and stand from our patio. And on your way here, stop at your mom’s place and get that big plastic table from her basement. And ask your mom for a tablecloth because her tabletop is spattered with paint from kids’ play projects. Just drive it all to Billy’s—we’ll see you,” she said.

“Great idea Beth. You’re hired as my marketing manager,” I said with a grin.

“Okay then, as your marketing manager, I’m ordering you to make a sign. People need to know how much you are charging for these books,” she said, continuing to bark orders like a Fort Snelling Drill Sergeant.

“Just how much are you charging?” Connie asked.

I thought for a second.

“Ahhh ten bucks, yeah ten bucks,” I said Rainman-like, relieved to make a decision, even if it was a gut reaction not a reasoned determination.

“Good,” Beth said. “We won’t have to make change in coins.”

“Yeah, yeah. Ten bucks,” I responded.

“Ten dollars?” Abby said. “Shouldn’t we charge more because customers are getting the book here? If they bought it on Amazon, they’d have to wait to get it.”

She looked up at me and blinked her eyes, waiting for my response.

“Holy crap,” I said looking at her as if she were a marketing exec rather than my youngest niece. “This kid is talking about premium pricing. Wow, maybe I should price it higher.”

“Nah, on second though, $10 is okay. After all, we don’t know if your book is any good,” Abby said simply and put her head back in her hands.

I drew a “$10 per book” sign.

When Jon arrived, we helped him unload the larger table and colorful patio umbrella and colorful but unmatching tablecloth. I taped my new sign to the table. The girls moved their chairs around the larger table.

"Well, this is an improvement, but now I kinda think we look like a kids' lemonade stand," I said.

"Hey that's an idea," Abby said excitedly. "We could sell lemonade for $10 and give one of your books away with each drink."

"Okay. Now your describing complementary sales. Are you sure you're not a 30-year-old Manhattan marketing guru disguised as my nine-year-old niece? Keep it up kid and you'll get your mom's job as my manager," I said.

"Nah, I'm good," Abby said and returned to her slump.

I stood in anticipation as fair goers walked by without stopping. People did slow down but it was more to try to figure out what our booth was about and to watch our tweeners sprawled on the table in various poses.

“Say, what do you think of giving the girls something to do so that they don’t look like bumps on a log?” Beth asked.

“I’m up for anything. What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“Since these three represent your main characters, how about having them autograph the books ahead of time? It’ll keep them awake and may inspire some curiosity,” Beth explained.

“I love it!” I said.

We gave each of the girls a stack of books, and I asked them to come up with their own inscriptions.

Lexi wrote, “Have a great summer!”

Olivia wrote, “Hope you appreciate the book.”

And Abby signed, “Enjoy reading.”

Intending to inspire others to pen their own stories, I scrawled, “Dream write!”

As our gang worked on writing in each of the books and displaying them more attractively on the colorful table, people began to stop by and ask what was going on.

The girls told prospective buyers what it was like to have their characters in the book, and what they liked about the mystery, such as the main location being right down the street with the town’s famous landmark, the focus on being kind to the environment, and fun with family and friends around the lake.

At the same time as their stories blossomed, I established two grain elevator pitches depending on the customer’s interest.

With people willing to listen I said something like: “Hi. I wrote this book called The Mystery of the Laughing Loon for ages six and up. The cousin characters are inspired by my nieces here—Lexi, Olivia, and Abby. Do you know the big 20-foot-loon statue down the road at the public beach? Well, believe it or not, in this book, someone steals that big loon and the cousins follow clues and search around Long Lake to find it.”

To someone walking by who couldn’t care less: “I wrote this book. Want to buy it for $10?”

By late afternoon, hundreds of people had wandered through the fair. We had talked with many of them and I was hot and tired. As we were discussing shutting down the booth, a nice-looking woman and her husband dropped by. She said with a smile, “So how are you doing?”

I responded with a big smile, and because of her apparent interest, I began my longer spiel. The woman cut me off and patted my arm, “Judi, Judi it’s okay. It’s me, Tanzy. You don’t have to sell me; I came to buy a book.”

That night, my family and I sat around the cabin living room and relived the adventures of the day.

I’d made a negative profit for the day based on cost of the booth, flight to Fargo, the poster, and giving each niece $1 for every book we sold. I smiled happily.

My life lesson for you? Value is not measured by what you spend, sell, and duct tape, but rather by what you gain by spending time with family and friends enjoying your own looney days.

That day, we sold less than 50 books, but we bought a lifetime of fun memories. We discovered courage to get out and sell our stories. And yes, we learned that if you’re gonna play in Looney Daze, you gotta have Booth #10.

Donchyaknow Life Lessons to see and bring out the best in yourself and others

Learn more:

Looney Daze 2013

Looney Daze 2017

Judi Stoa Books Website