That's right. In the spring of 1990, long before the days of carbon off-sets, for some insane reason I was tremendously excited to be on my way to my first season as a tree planter in northern BC. Never mind that it had been voted the most difficult summer job for I don't know how many years running. Never mind the warnings about mosquitoes, black flies, frigid nights, storm clouds that kept circling the valley and dumping hail on you over and over again, black bears that stole your lunch, and pot-smoking foremen who cut costs by restricting you to one piece of sandwich meat and an all you could eat buffet of peanut butter and jam for lunch each day. I was ready.
My experience turned out almost exactly as described, only worse. About two-thirds of the way through the season, my girlfriend (who shall remain nameless for her own protection) dumped me. I was heartbroken, and despite my friends' pleading to the contrary, I left early to see if I could reconcile with her. Never mind that deep inside I knew reconciliation was impossible, that leaving meant foregoing my bonus, which was the only thing that made tree planting remotely profitable, and that going home meant taking a job at the dreaded Foam Lake Co-op, which was also a concession of failure to succeed in the wider world.
But I learned from my experiences, sort of. About four years later, for some insane reason I found myself back in northern BC pounding seedlings into unforgiving soil. I had a new girlfriend, and this time I was smart--I brought her with me. Well, sort of smart. She was a terrible planter, she complained about everything and I lost more money helping her some days than I made. But at least this time I made it through the entire season. And when fall came around, this time it was my turn to kibosh the relationship (for reasons that had nothing to do with her lack of prowess as a tree planter, I might add).
You know what they say though--unlucky in love, lucky in business. One day as I was struggling to find places for my trees amongst the rocks on a swampy hillside, I paused to wipe the sweat from my filthy brow and swat away the incessant black flies. And I began to wonder... How could I organize my life so that I no longer felt my best prospects for employment included two months a year slogging around the clear-cuts in northern BC eking out a miserable existence? I was an intelligent boy, so my mother always said. Surely all this torture was not necessary for a few measly bucks. Wasn't there a better way to put myself through college?
At that moment, I stepped up onto a fallen log to get a better view of my planting area. But as I hoisted my other leg up onto the log, my bags of trees shifted forward, pitching me headlong into the pile of slash down below. As I struggled to extricate myself from the tangle of branches and thorns, cursing my foreman, my girlfriend and my dog, inspiration struck--why suffer through another season of tree planting when I could make a much more comfortable living telling other people how to tree plant instead? Just think, no more early mornings, no more freezing nights, no more black flies and no more whining girlfriend. Well, that last part was far from a guarantee. But on that day, my first book, The Tree Planter's Survival Guide was born.
When I got home at the end of that season, I quickly began writing the manuscript. The bulk of the book consisted of FAQs about tree planting, such as "What is tree planting?" (obviously), "Where does tree planting take place?" "How do tree planters make money?" and (most importantly) "Where do tree planters go to the bathroom?" I also included an extensive a list of equipment, advice on where to buy it, health and safety tips, bear facts, a glossary of common tree planting terms and an extensive list of tree planting companies, including their contact info. To truly appreciate the value of this book, you have to remember that it was written and published in the pre-Internet age, so there really was no other place to find this sort of information without mailing real letters and then waiting for someone to reply. Painful, I know. And this book was all about reducing pain, my pain and the pain of others.
Once I had the manuscript written, I contracted some fantastic artwork by Larry Metz (are you still out there somewhere?). After a few queries to various publishers, I decided my best approach was to self-publish the book. I'd been eager to self-publish ever since I'd read Gary Brodsky's How to Publish Comics when I was only 15 (I've recounted a bit of that episode elsewhere.) So I decided this was my finally my big chance.
To help finance my venture, I pre-sold advertising in the book, which was pretty smart, I thought. Except for the fact that I had no idea how to price it properly and one tree planting equipment company scooped up my center spread for a song. But I learned from my mistake and made a killing on the back cover. I also took pre-orders on the book (thanks to a tip from Brodsky) and pre-sold enough copies to nearly cover the cost of my print run. Somehow my first check to the printer still managed to bounce, but I straightened that out right away.
I can't tell you how exciting it was to finally receive the finished product. It was ugly (though "Not quite as bad as I expected," one of my customers remarked), but it was mine. I quickly mailed off the 400 or so pre-sold copies. Then I set to work beating the bushes to see if I could sell more. I created ads, solicited reviews in various publications and generally began what has become a career of shameless self-promotion. Below are a few samples of my work.
Over the next couple of years, I eventually sold about 1,000 copies of the book across Canada. Not a bad feat considering my marketing budget was near zero and I didn't have the Internet to help me. The Internet is what eventually killed the project, because as soon as people could get the information for free on one of a dozen web sites, the Tree Planter's Survival Guide was finished.
It was loads of fun while it lasted though. I learned a ton about writing, publishing, business and marketing. I still employ many of those lessons today. In fact, my work on this little book also helped lay the groundwork for Fresh Wind Press, which I co-founded several years ago with my friend Brad Jersak. Unlike Millstone Press, the name of my first publishing company, Fresh Wind Press is still going strong.
I can't complain though. I probably wouldn't be a writer today if I hadn't published The Tree Planter's Survival Guide. And nearly 20 years later, my career as a manual laborer is nothing but a distant and surprisingly pleasant memory. So are the heartbreaks, the black flies, the peanut butter and jam sandwiches, even the days of silent misery at the Co-op. And would you look at that, carbon off-sets are finally in vogue. Never mind that man-made global warming is seriously in question. But that's a story for another day. From where I sit today, if the next 20 years are anything like the last 20 (assuming I get 20 more), I've already got it made.
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