The Other Side of Me by Sidney Sheldon

Instead, he called and said, “I think it’s wonderful. Send it to my agent in New York. I’ll tell him to expect it.”

The novel was called The Naked Face and it was turned down by five book publishers. The sixth one to read it was Hillel Black, an editor at William Morrow.

My agent called. “William Morrow wants to publish your book. They’ll give you a thousand-dollar advance.”

I was filled with a sudden sense of excitement. I was going to have a book published. William Morrow did not know it, but I would have gladly paid them a thousand dollars.

“Great,” I said.

Hillel wanted a few minor changes made and I quickly took care of them.

The novel was published in 1970. The day The Naked Face came out, I panicked. I was sure it was going to break every publishing record: that it was not going to sell one single copy. I was so certain of it that I hurried to a bookstore in Beverly Hills and bought one copy—a tradition that I have continued to this day.

It is customary when a book comes out for an author to travel around the country, publicizing it, making the public aware that the book is in stores. Authors appear on television shows, attend book parties, and go to literary lunches to publicize their books. I called Hillel Black.

“I just want you to know,” I said, “that I’m willing to go on a book tour. I’ll do all the television shows you can set up and—”

“Sidney, there is no point in sending you on a book tour.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Outside of Hollywood, no one knows who you are. None of the shows will book you. Forget it.”

But I did not forget it. I called a public relations man and explained the situation to him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

He booked me on The Tonight Show, with Johnny Carson, The Merv Griffin Show, and The David Frost Show, as well as half a dozen others.

He also arranged for me to go to a literary luncheon at the storied Huntington Hotel in Pasadena, California. The procedure was for the authors to talk briefly about their books, have lunch, and then the people in attendance would buy the books, which were at the back of the room, and come up to the dais to have the author sign his or her book.

Next to me on the dais that day were Will and Ariel Durant, the popularizers of world history who spent a lifetime writing The Story of Civilization; Francis Gary Powers, who had written his book about his experiences of being shot down in a U-2; Gwen Davis, a well-known novelist; and Jack Smith, who wrote a popular column in the Los Angeles Times.

During lunch, each of us was introduced and we briefly talked about our book.

When lunch was over, members of the audience bought their books at the back of the room and then lined up in front of their favorite authors. There was a line in front of Will and Ariel Durant that ran clear to the back of the room. The line in front of Jack Smith was almost as long. Gary Powers had a long line, and so did Gwen Davis.

There was not one single person in line for my book. Red-faced, I took out a notebook, pretending to be busy writing. I wished there was some way I could have escaped. The lines for the other authors got longer and I sat there, writing gibberish.

After what seemed like forever, I heard a voice say, “Mr. Sheldon?”

I looked up. A little old lady was standing in front of me. She said, “What is your book called?”

I said, “The Naked Face.”

She smiled and said, “All right. I’ll buy one.”

It was an act of mercy.

That was the only book I sold that day.

A few weeks later, I flew to New York and met with Larry Hughes, the president of William Morrow.

“I have good news,” Larry said. “We’ve sold seventeen thousand copies of The Naked Face and already went into a second printing.”