Just in time for your holiday gift shopping consideration, I have a new collection of humor columns soon available on Amazon. The collection, Quietly Making Noise, includes 68 stories that haven’t appeared in previous collections. As always, the same dread sinks in as I contemplate whether or not to promote a new book with book signings. Today’s column explains my current trepidation.
Graphic provided
In 1995, a librarian requested that I be the guest speaker for Library Week at the Tell City Public Library.
“Are you sure?” I said.
“You sound surprised.”
As a grade-schooler, I was kicked out of the Tell City Public Library. It happened one Saturday morning when my buddy, Frog, stuck his right arm up his own shirt and positioned his hand beneath his left armpit. Then, he flapped his left arm wildly until flatulent sounds emitted from within his shirt. Nothing is consistently funnier than armpit flatulence at that age. I guess we laughed too loudly down there among the Hardy Boys.
The librarian said she would grant me a pardon.
How could I not accept? I thought. Any event promoting reading is worthwhile. Illiteracy is a big problem. If I could do my little part to reach out to just one person, infect him or her with the magic of the written word, draw out his or her passion to read … well, he or she just might fork out $7.95 for my book: Break The Ice: 200 Fun Questions To Help Break The Ice at Business Meetings, Training Sessions and Other Gatherings – available in a car trunk near you.
Alarmingly, the library first promoted my appearance as a “book signing.” I had not had good luck with book signings – or as I began to call them, book sighings.
I sold only one book at my Books-A-Million book signing. The nice man who bought my book was Captain Garland C. Shewmaker, who just happened to be at the store promoting and signing his own book. He walked over to my table and bought my book; I walked over to his table and bought his book, How To Be A River Pilot. Considering the public disinterest in my book, river pilot didn’t sound like a bad occupation. Unfortunately, How To Be A River Pilot cost $8.95, a buck more than what Captain Shewmaker paid for my book. I’m the only writer to lose money at his own book signing.
At my Barnes & Noble book signing, I wasn’t exactly the main attraction. I was actually the opening act for an all-octogenarian-female-accordion band. Not exactly life in the fast lane, though I did manage to sell one book to Ronald Clair Roat, who, yes as a matter of fact, was hawking another one of his fine Stuart Mallory mysteries, High Walk. Since Ron purchased my book, I bought High Walk, along with his first published book, Close Softly The Doors, tripling what he paid for my book. Notice a trend here?
I set up a booth at a local humane society adopt-a-thon. Note to future writers: people go to these events to adopt dogs and cats, not buy books. Ultimately, I pondered offering my book up for adoption, even paying for the neutering if needed.
My first book signing took place not at Barnes & Noble but at Noble’s IGA where my mom worked. I quickly learned a humbling lesson that I’m sure all great authors have learned: you can’t compete with canned goods. Many shoppers, who for years headed left upon entering the store, saw me and suddenly started their shopping on the right side, heading counterclockwise. A few people practically scaled the checkout counters straight ahead just to avoid me. Others pretended not to see me at all – the invisible book man. It was karma for all those times I resorted to similar creative avoidances when going into stores and seeing old ladies selling raffle tickets for quilts. One young man walked up to me and said, “Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me where the batteries are?” I pointed the man toward Aisle 5. I will never sell as many books as, say, John Grisham, but I bet I sell more AA batteries.
Okay, so I’m not exactly the shrewdest book seller out there.
Desperate to sell books, it would have been foolish not to help the Tell City Public Library. To increase the chance of drawing a crowd, I asked them to re-bill the event as a “public reading” rather than a book signing, even though the latter description wasn’t risk-free either. Tell City wasn’t exactly a hot bed for public readings.
TELL CITY WIFE: Honey, it says here in the paper that there will be a public reading at the library Saturday. Want to go?
TELL CITY HUSBAND: Who in their right mind wants to go watch someone read something?
TELL CITY WIFE: Well, he does read aloud so the audience can hear the words.
TELL CITY HUSBAND: Oh.
I’m happy to report that several people actually showed up for my public reading – all wives. I didn’t sell many books, but I did hear laughter when I read my columns – a form of compensation that I have learned to value more than coin and currency.
It was ironic that the very library that once ejected me (rightfully so) for laughing actually invited me back to make people laugh.
Had no one laughed, I did have a backup plan. The night before, I practiced my armpit noises … just in case.
Contact: scottsaalman@gmail.com