Who goes there? Please leave comments so (An Aries Knows)!
Sometime back in the Dark Ages, or maybe it was 2005, I went for the first time to a signing at Houston’s Murder By the Book. Prior to that, most of the signings I’d been to (at least those of other authors) fell into three categories.
1. There was a reading, during which an author sat or stood, read from his or her work, fielded a few questions from the audience, then got down to the business of signing books.
2. A celebrity author, or a hugely successful author, did a signing without a reading and without a Q&A session. Mostly this consisted of people lined around a block or two hoping to actually meet the author before it was time to be at work the next morning.
3. An obscure author with a hesitant smile was tucked into a corner of a bookstore at a table with a stack of unbought books and maybe a poster (paid for by the author) to prove that he or she wasn’t there to give directions to the restroom or the cookbook section.
Since Tim and I don’t want to read, and because there are often four of us present to sign books, we have always eliminated the reading part. Timmy once endured the obscure author horror (luckily, he was not alone, but had a Famous Author with him so they could at least enjoy berating authors who weren’t present), but when the TJB writers have signed together, or when Tim and I have signed, we’ve been very fortunate to have enough friends and loyal readers show up so that it’s not depressing. And of course, we had two signings in bars, where the atmosphere was too noisy, busy, and alcohol-tinged for us to feel uncomfortable–plus we had a lot of friends there, too. Not that I’m saying all our friends are drunks.
My point is that most authors who aren’t Anne Rice or Hillary Clinton aren’t really sure what the hell they’re supposed to do at a book signing if they don’t read from their work. I wasn’t, and then I went to that signing at Murder By the Book, where authors Harley Jane Kozak and Randy Wayne White showed a deftness with the crowd that awed me. (Later, I saw author Dean James do the same thing, but HJK and RWW were the first.)
Of course, Harley Jane Kozak is an actor with performances in theater, television, and movies under her belt. She’s trained to look poised. But I suspect that when she’s standing** in front of a crowd talking about her own work, as opposed to interpreting someone else’s, it’s not any easier for her than for any other untrained soul. Her genius is that she makes it look effortless. She makes people laugh. She shows the right amount of humility and gratitude. And even if her books didn’t already prove it, her discussions of her novels show that she clearly loves writing.
I completely enjoyed her previous Wollie Shelley mysteries, Dating Dead Men and Dating is Murder, and I’m looking forward to having time to read the new one, Dead Ex. If any of you writers ever get the chance to go to one of her signings, grab it. Like me, you’ll probably learn a lot that will help you with your own signings.
But I still don’t want to do it alone. Ever.
**STANDING. As Harley explained, in theater classes, she learned that having to perform sitting down, or even worse, lying down, gives the audience permission to sleep. Trust me, no one sleeps at her signings!
Monday night, Tom told me that he was changing channels and saw that a character from the show How I Met Your Mother hates the word “moist.” Either TV writers are stealing from our LiveJournals, or my friend and writing partner Jim is secretly freelancing. He’s the one who discovered my distaste for this word and therefore uses it often. Because that’s what friends do–right, Marika?
Remember how I rambled on about July having been the tenth anniversary of my meeting Tim and Ron, as well as Tay and Rhonda in our now-defunct online chat room? August is the month that I began talking to Jim in that same place.
(I know I’ve used this photo for you before, but I don’t have access to my vast collection of photos and my photoshopping software right now. Besides, it gives people another chance to comment on the unusual sight of a disembodied hand on Rex.)
Photo: Houston, August 16, 2007
Looking south from Uptown.
There’s nothing wrong with your memory, Mark.
Dear Mark,
You asked about my favorite Godiva sculpture or paintings. Now as you (with that memory of yours) undoubtedly recall, I’ve never been all that excited about sculpture or statues. I appreciate the artistry, but I’m generally not moved by them. Oh, occasionally I’ll be captivated by something small, like this:
She could be a version of Godiva who knows that we don’t have to take our clothes off (to have a good time).
Of course, being a Southern girl, I do appreciate having statues to look at when I picnic in cemeteries and talk to the dead. A good time–as long as the dead don’t talk back.
But since you asked so sweetly, and it is, after all, your birthday, we’ll begin our Godiva tour with the statue in Coventry, England, that–in BeckyWorld–was duplicated and sent to Coventry, Texas. If you click on her and go up to the gallery, there are more photos (with notes) that can be embiggened if your eyes are now too old to see them for greater detail.
Happy birthday to one of my favorite writers–a person who always makes me think and smile. Those are lovely qualities to find in a friend, and only two of many wonderful things about you. I hope you have a fantastic day, in or out of your birthday suit. (However, I don’t recommend nude horseback rides. Chafing, you know.)
*I stole “embiggen” from The Simpsons just as I stole these pictures from the Internet. Don’t tell.
