Roundtable question #1: What was your worst signing ever?

As much as we might not want to remember, we’ve all had rotten signings. Communication or chemistry fails, and we’re left muttering to ourselves, “well, there are two hours I’ll never get back.” Sometimes we learn from them, sometimes we find unexpected allies, but still…we wouldn’t want to repeat the experience. I asked the Femmes, “What was your worst signing experience?” and the answers are below.  Ladies, in alphabetical order by last name, if you please.

Donna: My worst and best signing experiences seem to go together. Sometimes they're the same event. For example, the first time I visited a mystery bookstore, I didn't see my book on the shelves. I was about to slink out in despair when the staffer behind the desk spotted me and asked if he could help me. I 'fessed up that I was looking for my book, which they didn't have. I gave him the title, and he led me to the space on the shelves at the very front of the store where it would have been if they hadn't already sold out. Worst turned to best in a heartbeat. 

Dana: I think the most miserable was a brutally hot evening in a venue with a wheezing air-conditioner that produced more noise than cool air. The Red Sox, against all odds, had found a slot in the playoffs and I would have cancelled, but was told “some people don’t watch baseball.” In New England, when the Sox are hanging in there? Ha! I had to shout to make myself heard over the a.c. and the two people in the audience only opened their mouths to praise the author who’d been in the month before. Three more people showed up. The discussion widened to include other authors we all liked, and this was much better, right up to the point where I had to tell them that one of the other authors they’d enjoyed (and wanted to come back) had just passed away.

Charlaine: My worst signing experience? I have several to choose from. Probably the most startling came on my last tour. The crowd at the store (and I forget which store) was pretty good, and I was doing my usual spiel and answering the usual questions, when a man standing in the back row asked, “Why is Sookie such a slut?” I think my mouth hung open for a few seconds. I was not the only one who had decided he’d put it that way for the shock value. I straightened my spine and told him that these days, a woman of 26 who’d only had three lovers certainly didn’t qualify as a slut, and I’d created Sookie to be a moral person. To my relief, the rest of the readers present waxed indignant on my behalf. He backed down pretty quickly after that. But now I’m much warier, and I won’t be lulled into false security again.

Toni:  That would be the time that Femme Alumna Teri Holbrook suggested I sign at a particular chain store in Georgia. She'd had TWO terrific events there.  When I showed up, it turned out that they hadn't received their order of my books.  So there was NOTHING for me to sign.  Why hadn't they called me?  The CRC said it was because by the time she found out, I was already in Georgia and she couldn't reach me. With gritted teeth, I pointed out that I have an answering machine and checked my messages regularly.  Then I sat there to greet people who came, expecting to buy books.  Nobody came.

A signing with no books, and nobody cared.  Which was worse?  Oh, I know what made it perfect!  It was my birthday.

Kris:  My worst signing experience was one of my early ones, when my first book came out. I presented a "how to get published" workshop in a large chain bookstore, which drew a respectable 60+ people. Unfortunately, among them was a Neo-Nazi who wanted to get his hand-written scrawl published. Forget about the Ayran efficiency of the movies, though — this was a disgusting little dweeb, teetering on the periphery of psychosis. While clutching the pages of his messy tome, he punctuated his continuous mumbling by shouting out nasty beliefs. He also kept thrusting his hand into his pants for a little self-jollying. I don't know why I feared he'd pull out a gun, since the purpose of the hand-in-the-pants was pretty clear from the groaning, but I was afraid he was going to shoot me. Inefficient, maybe, but he was a scary guy.

I'd like to think I'd handle it differently today, but then I took my cue from the CRM, a young woman who sat there, relaxed and giving no evidence of what scared the crap out of everyone else. What did I know? Maybe they always had Nazi whack-jobs at their events.

But people kept leaving. I later learned many complained at the register. But nobody did anything because that was the CRM's job. One of my former students was among the attendees. When I concluded my talk, the Nazi wandered off, leaving just the CRM and my poor student, who had soldiered on to the end, with a sickly, rigid smile plastered across her pale face. The strangest part was that the CRM, who, while insisting that she listened to everything, claimed not to have heard anything we heard from Weird Guy. What an enviable ability to zone out! 

To my amazement, I sold six books. Not great normally, but with only one person left in the audience, my expectations were low. Besides my loyal student, a few of the folks who had left, listened from other parts of the store, and they returned for signed copies. Given the mass defection, it stunned me to sell any. My goal for that appearance had long since gone from selling books to just leaving the store alive. 

Apparently, the Nazi went on to engage in more vigorous self-jollying in the aisles and more people complained. Finally, some employee threatened to call the police if he didn't leave. My student and I waited, hoping he'd be gone from the parking lot by the time we left. Fortunately, he was — the only good thing to happen that night. At the time, I just hoped that this wasn't a normal signing, because I knew I would never survive my first tour. 

Let us know: what was the worst signing you’ve ever experienced, as an author or a reader?

Comments

[Charlaine Harris]

I've heard violent arguments about Spanish politics, but never observed self-jollying. Maybe it's true that the writer is often the last to know. That sounds awful.

[Toni Kelner]

I saw self jollying in a men's department once as my mother shopped for boxers for my father. I looked the guy right in the face, and started laughing. Then I told my mother, who gave him The Look.

He left.