Storytellersunplugged

– Janet Berliner

I’ve finished a new book, SESSIONS, which will shortly be on its way to New York. It’s a collaboration with my friend and colleague Melanie Tem. I met her at my very first convention. She introduced me to Ed Bryant and I read a manuscript she had just finished and took her on as a client. (G-d help me, I ran my own agency in those days.) I thought her book was brilliant. I met her again in Denver, and then we didn’t see each other in person again until she won her first Stoker. I happened to be there and cried a lot.

That back-story is important because time has damaged both of us. She is legally blind and I, as I’ve mentioned before, am pretty much confined to quarters. So chances are, we won’t be doing too much in the way of signings. We’ve both done a lot of them and won’t feel deprived, but are we taking away from the chances of success for the book and what is our alternative?

Book plates.

They’re easy to sign and inexpensive to mail to bookstores. There’s something else in the wind, too. Margaret Atwood has invented a device that will allow us to sign at our own computers, and see our signatures being transferred onto the page in a bookstore. But that, I’m told, is down the road.

Are either of those alternatives the same for the reader? Of course not. Then again, most of us are not my buddy Kevin Anderson, who is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records for the best-attended single-author signing in recorded history. This was at a book signing during the promotional tour for his comedy/adventure novel AI, PEDRITO! The previous records were set by Gen. Colin Powell and Howard Stern.

Anyway, thinking about the fact that there will probably be no bookstore signings for SESSIONS got me thinking about my own signing adventures, each of which fortunately taught me something.

1. There are the signings where no one shows up and you find out, to your dismay that no one advertised. From that you learn to double and triple check well ahead of time and the day before that someone, somewhere has told a few people that you’re going to be sitting there. It also teaches you not to rely on friends and relatives who rarely show up. The most important reason for doing a signing is to get to know bookstore managers and staff. Take cookies; be generous with coffee and soda, even if you think they should be buying, and smile a lot. Drop names and tell stories. It’s fun and they won’t forget you.

2. I did a signing once for a small chain (anyone remember Bookmania?) which was very kind to me. They gave me a window, which is a big deal, and they put money into advertising. So what’s the problem, you might well ask? The problem was Mother Nature who decided to send a major electrical storm. It was winter, late in the day. “We’ll close the store and you can go home,” the owner said. I had what turned out to be a much better idea.

Someone went out to buy lots of candles, cokes, and cake. We created a friendly haven from the storm, one that could be seen from the outside through the plate glass windows.

What a signing that was! We sold everything they had with my name in it and then some. Good party.

3. There are the signings where you have nothing to sign because your books did not arrive. Again, double and triple check.

4. When my first paperback came out, I went down to the loading zone with coffee and doughnuts and had a dawn breakfast party with the drivers and schleppers. They put the book on the bestseller rack and it sold and was refilled until sell-through.

5. When I signed at the (then) ABA in Chicago, four hundred people showed up. I wrote a personal message in each book. Sure was fun and got me over two hours instead of the standard twenty-minutes-and-you’re-out-of-here.

6. When I signed at the (then) ABA in Los Angeles, in tandem with Sean Derek–daughter of John, stepdaughter of Ursula, Linda, and Bo. She’s a dead ringer for Jaclyn Smith and I was pretty cute myself in those days. We had an absolute ball.

7. Remember the Rodney King riots in L.A.? I had a Barnes & Noble signing that day in San Francisco, which held sympathy riots. I was told I didn’t have to show up but I went anyway–and signed while rocks flew through the windows and sirens screamed up and down the street.

8. My favourite signing? I went to Reno for a weekend to play poker. My dealer friends surprised me with a signing in the poker room. They cleared a table, stacked up books, and there I sat, signing while the cards rose in the air.

9. Scariest signing: My first, wedged between Stephen King and Byron Preiss.

10. My least favourite signing: Seeing a co authorship for the first time and finding out that my name had been left off the cover.

11. My angriest signing: In midtown Manhattan at the Fashion Café, owned in part by David (Copperfield’s) then beloved Claudia Schiffer. She placed herself into the signing line next to David, signed the books, and left no room for me in line or on the page. Revenge: Telling everyone loudly that it was okay because I was going to sign across her face on every magazine cover I could find.

12. The only signing David (Copperfield) agreed to do in Vegas. The bookstore set up a podium with a table and two chairs and a mess of books in the centre of one of our largest malls. We had done one at the Beverley Center Mall with some of the other contributors to our anthology, including Ray Bradbury who so rarely does things like that. Here (in Vegas) people actually drove overnight to be there, while others slept on the pavement overnight to be sure to be in line early. Obviously I knew they weren’t there to see me. Sigh.

This was David’s first book signing. He was in the middle of taping his TV Special and arrived late, the first no-no, then whispered in my ear, “Berliner, I’ve got twenty minutes.” I did my usual thing, asking people their names and writing a little message in each book. He got more and more irritated. “Hurry up,” he said. “C’mon. You don’t have to write another book. Just your name. See.” He signed with an unintelligible flourish and smiled, so charming, endearing, until he stood up and left me with the furious folk who had waited outside, sleeping on cement.

Ah fame. How wonderful it must be, I thought, as I kept on signing and explaining and excusing.

Was it worth it in terms of royalties earned on the books actually sold at signings? Nah.

Was it worth it for the publicity and recognition, the ego-boo and the experiences? Abso-blooming-lutely.