One day not too long ago I felt that Donovan Street Press was firmly on track. On a positive trajectory. We had money in the bank. Enough to fund some upcoming projects. Some excellent reviews out there too, from some influential industry partners. And then… BAM! Right between the eyes. Didn’t see the bullet coming.
An author had ordered authors’ copies for an important event. A lot of them. The estimated delivery time suggested plenty of headroom. So I placed the order, confident they would arrive in time. On the Friday before the event, the author informed me the books still hadn’t arrived. I checked the status. They were supposed to arrive later that day. I informed the author of this but kept checking the status, fully believing they would come. It was already a few days past the guaranteed delivery time.
At 5pm Friday evening the status changed to “Arriving Thursday.” Of the following week. Long past the guaranteed delivery time.
Uh oh.
This would mean a full refund if we decided to return the books, but it would also mean no books for the event. The author needed those books Monday at the latest. I had told the author the books would be there in time. In writing. I did not want to let the author down, which could potentially damage our relationship along with the reputation of our nascent press. I needed a solution, and fast. I had very little time to figure out how to deliver a large number of books that hadn’t even been printed yet a considerable distance away.
Now, obviously it was dumb of me to have placed us in this predicament. I knew perfectly well that deliveries couldn’t be counted on, even if supposedly “guaranteed,” and had in the past advised authors to place their orders well in advance to ensure their books arrived in time. But I had not wanted to turn down this order because it was obviously important to the author and it represented money in the bank for the press. So I had rolled the dice thinking there was very little chance it would come up snake eyes.
Now here I was staring the snake in its beady little eyes.
I phoned a printer in the author’s vicinity. “Can you print an order of books for me by Monday?”
“Yes, but that will be a rush order and will cost you.”
We negotiated. He suggested a figure that was barely palatable but doable. “When do you need the files?”
“Within an hour.”
“Lemme think about it.”
I had less than an hour to make up my mind. Going ahead meant that we would lose a significant amount of money. Well, chump change for a larger company, and not an existential threat to us, but certainly a blow at this point in our evolution.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had to make my mind up fast. At the CBC I’d often had to make critical decisions rapidly with insufficient information. Sometimes in live radio, other times as an operations manager. There, if things went south, we would often console ourselves with the notion that, well, it’s not like air traffic control. If our “plane” crashes — if there’s dead air, or something else goes wrong — it’s not like anyone dies. This was no different. And although other people are involved in our boutique operation, I’m not playing with anyone else’s money. I’m the sole owner, and there’s no public money involved. I still have an obligation to run it responsibly, both for its own sake and for the sake of our authors, but at the end of the day it’s just me and the company feeling the hit.
There was no time to consult anyone else. Also, it was my own decision to make. I made sure I had all the necessary files, emailed them to the printer, and called him back.
“The book is longer than I expected,” he informed me. “It’s going to cost you more.”
Ouch! I decided to be honest with him. Told him the exact situation, my whole predicament. We negotiated some more.
“How much can you afford?” he asked me.
We settled on a figure. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. “Let’s do it.”
I gave him our credit card info and hung up.
All weekend long I was on pins and needles. Would they get the books printed on time? Would they be acceptable quality? Was it even a real print shop? Maybe I’d given our credit card info to some scam operation.
I called them Saturday morning. “They’re out for binding,” the guy told me. It was the same fellow I had been talking to. Was he the only one running the entire shop? “They’re looking good. They’ll be ready 9:30am Monday.”
I informed the author and graduated from pins and needles to sabres and rapiers. Would the author find the place? Pick the books up in time? Like the finished product?
Finally I received an email. The author had received the books. They looked good. Success! And then, out of the goodness of their heart, the author paid for the original order as well, even though they had come in late, mitigating the financial damage. Yay for good-hearted authors!
On the one hand I felt like I had pulled off an operational coup. I had arranged for and delivered an emergency order of books in record time for an important event. Our author was pleased, the reputation of the press was intact, and I had learned a critical lesson about not trusting supposedly guaranteed delivery windows. The operations manager in me was grimly pleased.
On the other hand, I had placed us in this position to begin with by not establishing firm protocols around deliveries, and I had cost the company money. The human in me (which is a good chunk of me, you might be surprised to learn) was decidedly not pleased.
But this is how you learn. You dust yourself off, pick yourself up, and get back to work. Right?
And try not to make the same mistake again.
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A freat story, with an even better outcome. Boxcars, instead of snakeeyes.
Ooph. I've definitely taken risks when I book a last-minute event I didn't expect, but at least I only have myself to blame. Kudos on finding a printer on such short notice!