BOOK SIGNING TIPS AND HORRORS

Dec 2, 2014 by Wayne Zurl

When I began writing fiction I held many misconceptions; one being that after the final edits and the presses were humming away printing books, my job was almost done. My only other obligation would be to pull up a chair at a table sitting in a highly trafficked area of a local book store, smile at the customers, and sign anything but a blank check. Then I learned about the world of electronic marketing and promotions—but that’s another story.

After twenty years as a cop, I figured sweet talking potential book buyers into choosing one of my novels couldn’t be more difficult than coaxing a confession out of a reluctant-to-talk felon. Sitting next to my nicely dressed and attractive wife, I’d smile for the crowd and as the customers walked by say, “Hi, do you like mysteries?”

In many cases that approach proved successful. When Borders was still doing business in Knoxville, I could sell a carton of books in two or three hours. But the retailing phenomenon was new to me and not all the customers would succumb to my irresistible smile. For every bibliophile who stopped to learn about my books, a half dozen would only give me a sidelong glance, drop their eyes, and scurry away as if I was a timeshare salesman.

All retail stores have their busy times, but plenty of lulls. When buyers or just talkers were at a premium and my eyelids began to feel heavy, I’d ask my wife to man the fort. I’d tuck a copy of my latest book under my arm and head toward the mystery stacks. Fearing that a female customer might scream and claim I tried to molester her, I never confronted anyone in an unlit corner, but in the appropriate place I resurrected the smile and asked a browser if they would be interested in a police mystery about a fictional local murder. I was surprised at how many answered in the affirmative. I learned that pushing the local angle with an explanation about how many readers said they liked the descriptions I wrote showing my hero travelling the same roads they took getting to and from work or the stores.

Some people who had unlimited shelf space and didn’t restrict themselves to eBooks liked the idea of buying a signed copy—especially when I told them it would be worth a small fortune after I died.

Most of my old-fashioned book signings have been positive experiences. Not all were landslide sale days, but I’ve met far more nice people than specimens I was tempted to slap a pair handcuffs on.

However, one event in an upscale indie bookshop might qualify as a semi-horror story. My publisher arranged it. He booked a date, sent the proprietress two huge professionally prepared posters, and said, “Go get’em, kid.” I showed up bright and early in a sport jacket and slacks looking like a detective ready to work a five-to-one tour and found no one but a clerk in the shop. I expected at least a line wrapped around the building. Silly me. The shop owner never told the publisher that I’d be in competition with a festival, only blocks away, which provided not only good bluegrass music, but free hot dogs and soft drinks. The clerk and I looked at each other for about fifteen minutes before one woman walked in wanting a book. Just after she arrived, the shop owner showed up and dropped her bomb on me. I was expected to make a formal presentation and do a reading. Yikes, I thought. I could “wing” a half hour talking about my books and how I came to write them, do a little softshoe, and thank the old girl for coming. But I didn’t have my glasses and hadn’t picked out an excerpt appropriate for a dramatic reading. And I had an audience of only one! Anyone used to public speaking would rather address a crowd of three-hundred any time. That day I learned that if my vision got any worse and my arms didn’t get any longer, I could never again pull off something like that without reading glasses.