My new book, You must only to love them, is out, the reviews are great (HOORAY!), and I’m scrambling to market this baby—an overwhelming task.
I’ve done a blog tour (a new concept for me—I wrote blogs for other sites), I’ve tweeted and facebooked and built a new web site (annmariemershon.com). I’ve sent e-mails to everyone I know. I’ve given away free books through Goodreads and paid people to tweet and post for me. I’ve done author interviews and promoted myself ad nauseum. And this is only the beginning. Sigh..
I’ve decided to post a segment of the book online, so here’s a tidbit from my first week in Turkey, a late-night visit to a carpet shop in Selçuk:
from CHAPTER 5, POINTED SHOES
Every time we left the Nilya, Jana and I were hounded by a greasy-haired rug merchant with black shoes tapered to a pencil point. Jana ignored him, but I made excuses each time we saw him. I’d been taught not to ignore anyone but my bullying brother.
On our last night we took the mini-bus back down to Selçuk, and as we climbed the dark hill home, light gleamed from Mehmet’s carpet shop.
“We really should go in,” I sighed. “I did promise.”
“But I’m so tired, and he hasn’t seen us.”
“It’ll only take a minute, Jana. One cup of tea and we’ll leave.”
Mehmet brought tea in tiny tulip-shaped glasses as we perused his shop. The worn wooden floor was surrounded by stacks of folded and rolled carpets, much like other shops we’d passed.
“What can I show you?” Mehmet asked.
“I’m sorry, but I really can’t buy a rug. We’d love to see what you have, though.”
Explaining as he went, Mehmet showed us kilims (woven), carpets (knotted), and sumacs (woven and embroidered), piling one on another as he pulled them from his collection. I was drawn to the silk carpets, brilliant-hued masterpieces with a rich sheen. Mehmet picked up a tree-of-life carpet in soft shades of green with maroon and red, then flipped it around. The pale colors transformed to deep, rich hues when the nap faced us. The intricate designs of the silk stole my breath.
“How do you like this one?” Mehmet asked, pulling out a narrow silk carpet with three pink and white medallions on a field of light blue, framed with intricate floral patterns and long twisted fringe. When he saw my smile he offered me his “teacher price” of 400—was it dollars or lira? (A dollar was about 1.3 lira at the time.)
“I’m sorry, Mehmet. I really need to wait until I learn more about carpets.”
“Ah, but you will never find better price than this, and I can see you love this carpet. It is beautiful, no?” I had no idea whether his price was fair.
“Yes, it’s lovely, but I haven’t been paid yet. I have no money.”
“Do you have a credit card?”
“I never charge anything unless I can cover it.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Jana interjected. Thanks a lot.
Mehmet eyed me carefully. “I will make special offer only for you. You must take this rug home then look at other rugs in Istanbul. I know you will not find so fine carpet for such good price. Later you send me money or return carpet. You are teacher, so I trust you. In Turkey we love teachers too much.”
I was uncomfortable. It felt shady to take this rug with no down payment, yet Mehmet seemed sincere. Why was he doing this?
Jana convinced me that I couldn’t lose, and I finally succumbed. Mehmet wrote my name in a spiral tablet with a note that I taught at the Koç School in Istanbul, and I took his business card. I expected he’d charge something on my credit card, but he didn’t even ask for it. He rolled the carpet in brown paper and put it in a black nylon duffle.
“I have important warning to you,” he said as he handed me the package. “You as American woman must be very careful for Turkish men who try to take advantage of you.”
To learn what happens with the carpet, buy my book! CLICK HERE
Here’s a hint: