Having a book signing was kind of like throwing a party and being certain no one would come. I figured if I just wanted to look lost, scared and stupid all by myself—I could have stayed home. I stood behind little piles of my books with my pen clutched tightly between my sweaty little fingers. I kept waiting for someone to walk up to me and write “fraud” across my forehead. I smiled at every potential buyer who strolled past—or maybe I just showed teeth. But, I persevered. 3 hours morphed into 300 but I kept smiling. My teeth dried out and I begged strangers for Chapstick—Jack Daniels flavour preferably. But, I pushed on. I kept talking. I offered candy to children—yes, I’m technically a stranger, but I promise it’s OK just this one time.
By the end of the day, I learned that a book signing is not for the faint of heart. Nor is it a good idea to entertain yourself in the lulls of traffic by trying to see how many pieces of salt water taffy you can fill in your cheeks—and then successfully hum ABBA tunes. Not everyone likes ABBA.
I don’t know what the definition of a successful book signing is, but I do know that they came, they bought books, and they left smiling. For me, it was a very good first.
Thanks to everyone who came out to support me—and didn’t just point and laugh from afar.