Of book signings

I’ve noticed that a good sign of the approaching Christmas is the ever growing number of book signings in my local bookstores. They’re usually held by bestselling authors who publish their books right before Father’s Day, Mother’s Day or Christmas to make sure it's their book that is found in all those presents. Equally often, they’re held by writers whose books I’m not particularly interested in reading. Judging by the queues in front of their desks though, I’m the only one.

Sour grapes, perhaps?

Back when I still dreamed about fame and glory as a traditionally published author, I occasionally imagined what it would be like to sit behind that desk, signing my bestseller for people eagerly lining up for them. Since it was my fantasy, there were always long queues; reality wouldn’t interfere. 

I imagined singing books until my wrist was sore. Would it be fun? Would it feel like I’d achieved something, seeing those people? Perhaps I would be extremely successful and do hectic book tours around the world. In those fantasies, the publisher would be happy to pay for hotels and expensive restaurants. Not very realistic, I know, but it was my fantasy, so I got to imagine them the way I like.

That was before I read an article by Andrew Mueller, Australian rock critic and travel writer, about his book signing tour (in three parts: 1, 2, 3). Written some years ago when he was marketing his then new book, it tells a different story. In a humorous and self-deprecating manner, he lets the reader understand that in reality – for a less known author at least – the book signings draw modest crowds at best and most people are there only to tell their own stories, or no crowds at all; the only audience the bookstore employees and crazy old men holding rain. 

After reading his account it was really difficult for me to imagine my book tours would be different. I would notice, too, how most authors – those who weren’t bestsellers – sat alone behind their desk, desperately trying to look like it didn’t bother them that shoppers avoided them like plague. So it wasn't hard for me to let go of that dream when I became a self-published author.

It isn’t necessary all that much fun for those successful authors either. At least if you believe Terry Pratchett who claims that his latest tour was almost the death of him. Of course, he was suffering from a food poisoning, but even without that, he makes a book tour sound very exhausting.

One doesn’t have to have Pratchett’s level of success to have an annoying book signing experience. A while ago, the biggest bestseller of my small country held a signing in my local bookstore. A media darling, she draws in huge crowds where ever she goes. However, perhaps to limit the attendance, the signing was held in the middle of a working day and not even during the lunch hour. The only people who had time to attend it were pensioners, stay-at-home mothers, unemployed and – dare I say – those not employable. Still, there was a respectable queue, long enough that I decided I didn’t want her to sign my copy that badly. Especially since the line didn’t seem to be moving.

I wanted to see the author in person though, so I walked around the queue to take a peek and learned the reason for the holdup. A middle aged man, one of those not so easy to employ, was chatting with the author. Judging by the look on her face and those next in line, the conversation had been going on for a while already without actually going anywhere. She writes historical fiction about events that are recent enough that some readers have personal experience about them and controversial enough that everyone has an opinion too. This man definitely had an opinion – and it wasn’t shared by the author. She listened to him patiently though, nodding politely, all the while trying to get him to stop and go away so that the line would start moving again. She may be a big name, but she didn’t have a handy helper from her publisher who would get rid of such blocks for her.

I left the scene before the man did, having heard enough. But I couldn’t help thinking that the reality of any book signing was probably closer to what I had just witnessed than to my dreams: long lines of harried people trying to squeeze in a moment with their favourite author, and the author trying to keep from getting provoked by know-it-alls. Still, it might be fun to find out in person. Who knows, maybe someday I will.

Paying it forward

A couple of years ago, I lost my mobile phone. It didn’t cause a panic, mostly because I wasn’t aware I had lost it until the person who found it let me know. I had been on my way to work and the phone had dropped from my bag as I made a mad dash across the street before the lights turned red.

A young woman heading in the opposite direction at the same time found the phone. A resourceful person, she immediately checked the phone's address book, found the number for my mother and gave her a ring. My mother told her where to reach me at work and the young woman did. It all happened so fast that she had called my work before I got there.

I was very grateful for her, especially once it dawned on me how difficult my life might have got if I’d had to try and locate the phone myself or if I'd lost if for good. She got a little present as a thank you, and I got a lesson in how not to store my phone and what to do if I ever find a phone myself.

Yesterday, I found someone’s mobile. There it was, lying on a strip of grass between the street and the pavement. I paused and picked it up and immediately wished I hadn’t. But once seen, it couldn’t be unseen. I looked around for anyone nearby who might act like they had just lost something, but I was alone.

There I stood, holding the stupid mobile, wondering what I should do. Should I just put in on the balustrade of a nearby building so that it could be seen from afar? I immediately discarded that idea. Should I take it to the lost and found? But it was Friday evening; it wouldn’t be open. So should I try and locate the owner myself?

I remembered then the handy way the young woman had located me when I lost my phone. But, alas, this option wasn't available for me. The phone was dead. So, despite the hour, I decided to head to the nearby police station after all. I had this notion that they would have a box there where people could leave the items they have found after office hours. 

Turned out, they didn’t. And there wasn’t a helpful police officer in sight either.

Again I stood there, holding the phone, wondering what I should do. I didn’t feel like keeping someone’s property over the weekend so that I could come back on Monday, during the office hours. In the end, I just put it in the station’s post box. They’ll either do something about the phone or they don’t, but at least it’s out of my hands.

It wasn’t until I returned home and told my husband about the incident that he pointed out that it might not have been such a smart move after all. “I bet it puts the whole place on high alert to find a phone in their post box.”

So, my chance to pay forward a good deed done to me didn’t exactly go well. But I’m not discouraged. Next time I find something, things might go differently. And if I’m lucky, the police won’t find out it was me who put the phone in the post box.