I’ve learned one or two things over the years. One is that the best time to work out a book is in bed, just after you’ve woken up. I think my brain is on time-share to a better author overnight. A notebook is vital at this point. So is actually being fully awake. If I had been fully awake I probably would have written a fuller note than “MegaPED:” on the back of a card by my bed the other day. It’s probably the key to a plot idea, but don’t ask me, I only wrote it down.
And if you think you have a book evolving, now is the time to write the flap copy. The blurb, in fact. An author should never be too proud to write their own flap copy. Getting the heart and soul of a book into fewer than a hundred words helps you focus. More than half the skill of writing lies in tricking the book out of your own head.
ADVICE TO BOOKSELLERS
July 1999
This was written not for publication but for the use of the worthy people at Ottakar’s bookshops. They have since disappeared, unfortunately, but the advice is still valid fifteen years on.
Let’s start with this: on the face of it there is not a lot for the author in a signing tour, and the more popular the author, the less there is. If it’s going well, it’s exhausting; if it’s going badly, it’s exhausting and frustrating and a lesson in humility. I’m not certain it sells that many extra books; it simply means that books sold in that town will be sold mostly at this one shop. It doesn’t hugely affect the bestseller list—Bookwatch, for example, “adjusts” returns from shops that have held signings to ensure these don’t distort the national figure, and a very successful author will have to work very hard to influence their position on the list. Meals happen at odd times or not at all. You live out of a suitcase. The world blurs.
Of course there are pluses, but these tend to be for the shop (if it sells a lot of nice shiny books) and the publisher (who consolidates a relationship with the shop or the chain). What the author gets, mostly, is indigestion.
We do it sometimes because we’re bullied, we’re vain, we’ve always done it, we have a vague sense that it’s the right thing to do, a few of us just like it in some strange way, and—to borrow from another branch of the entertainment industry—we feel that however much work you do in the recording studio, it’s not rock ’n’ roll until you take it on the road.
What you should expect from an author
To be on time, to be polite to staff (you may need to modify this requirement in the case of one or two authors) and friendly towards the customers, and to stay to the end of the advertised time.
Then immediately you get into the grey area. Should the author sign backlist titles? Write a dedication in every book? Sign all the telephone orders? And orders for other shops in the chain? And, in the case of a successful signing, stay beyond the advertised time to send all the queue away happy?
My feeling is that the default answer should be yes, but signing tours can be crowded, taxing, and generally designed to be the most unhealthy way of spending a few weeks outside the Lard-Eating Olympics. So those areas have to be matters of gentle discussion with the publicist beforehand.
What should the author expect from the shop?
In the last eleven years I’ve spent fifteen months “on the road”; and here are the little notes I’ve collected:
Before the event
Are there books? Don’t laugh. Sometimes there aren’t—or, at least, aren’t enough. You still run across the unreconstructed shop who thinks a good order for a signing is about twenty-five extra copies.
It’s nice if the shop staff knows who the author is and why they are there.
A guest should get something further up the scale upon arrival than “Wait here and I’ll go and find someone” or, possibly, “Oh, was it today?” Remember: an author, no matter how successful, is under that cool exterior as twitchy as a shaved monkey, and will be pathetically grateful for a friendly smile and (assuming that they’ve been good and arrived well in time for the event) a swift stroll to …
… a chair in some office, preferably, rather than a stool in the stockroom, where they have …
… a nice cup of tea and can loosen up a bit. I generally use this time to sign orders and stock, and listen to any scurrilous gossip. Authors will always appreciate hearing how much worse other authors’ signings went. (But if devilment overcomes you and you praise a known rival, you can actually see certain muscles in the author’s face freeze up. This is great fun. But don’t do it.)
I personally don’t dedicate books ordered by phone except in special circumstances, simply because of pressure of time, but it’s worth finding out from the publicist in advance how an author feels about this. The sensible mantra is “We cannot promise a dedication on preorders because there may not be time,” but I prefer to say no right from the start if we know it’s going to be a crowded tour—it saves raising and dashing hopes. Incidentally, the desire to get books signed for other shops in the chain is a natural one, but don’t force it—most authors will be happy enough to do this if there is time, but don’t get insistent and don’t pretend that all six hundred are really just stock for your own shop. It’s been tried. Play fair.
If the local paper/radio/cable station contact you for an interview, for heaven’s sake let the publicist know as soon as possible. It’s best to pass the request straight to them. They may be able to arrange the day to fit it in, but that depends on knowing in advance. It makes for a tricky situation if they simply turn up unbeknownst to the author (mumbling something on the lines of “We spoke to someone”) and expect a twenty-minute interview while the queue waits. That’s bad manners.
It’s a good idea to make sure advertising for the event takes place before the event. I wish I didn’t have to say this.
The event
Is there a table and chair? I wish I was joking, too. One shop once forgot these completely, and elsewhere I’ve sat on, at, or around various strange items of bookshop furniture. It should be a real table and a real chair, not a stool in front of a shelf unit with no room for the knees. Try and put together something you would be comfortable sitting and writing at for several hours.
Give some thought to where the signing table is. I prefer to have my back to something—a wall, shelves, whatever. That means the kid with the blue anorak and one blocked nostril can’t stare over my shoulder for two hours, which is off-putting (there’s always one …).