Over the past couple of years I’ve done countless book signings (I could actually count them and figure out a number but I’m too lazy, and countless makes it seem like I’ve done hundreds of them). Whether it was a solo book signing or one with Tim Baker or at a convention, I always try to come up with a game plan to get me in and out of the event with minimal energy and manpower to do it. I also hate carrying heavy boxes of books.
My problem (and it is a good problem) is I can bring 45 print books with me to a signing. 45 different titles I am in. That is quite a few choices, although I don’t have all of them in bulk to sell. I usually have 10 different titles, sometimes 12… but then, when you carry a dozen copies of each, you run into carrying three boxes of books or more. Quite heavy. I have an old luggage dolly I use, but the wheels are getting stiff and it can only hold three of the smaller boxes. And it rattles if I pull it over uneven surfaces.
I also make sure I have a pen in my pocket and some singles and fives for change. The pen is usually new, since I steal one each book signing from Tim Baker. I guess I could figure out how many signings Tim and I do based on the pile of pens on my desk at home. What else? Tim usually brings the table if we need one, and a couple of chairs. We all have boxes of bookmarks and business cards, and enough back stock in books to supply a bookstore.
But I’ve been to conventions where authors and publishers bring an entire small city of items with them, and it amazes me. The work involved to lug it in and out, especially if you only sell a few books. Ideally, leaving a signing with empty boxes is always the goal.
Here’s my question for those who do book signings, whether it is at your local bookstore, at a convention or just about anywhere else you sit down at a table and start peddling your wares: what do you bring along, and do you have a Book Signing Kit with items you have to have in it?
Armand
KOKOMO‘S CAFÉ
Part 3
Flagler Beach Fiction Series
It’s All About Time
RebaPort wanted to lift her laptop and slam it to the floor, before stepping on it, kicking it across the small room and breaking it into tiny little pieces.
Her twins were home and, currently, arguing over the game controllers, even though they each had their own. Reba’s husband, Sam, owned his own software business and worked from the extra bedroom upstairs. From 9 am until 5 pm, except for a regimented lunch hour from noon until 1 pm, his door was closed and he was working. He was the bread winner, but she wanted to be the famous writer and turn this hobby into a viable income, one she could be proud of. She wanted a steady income so she would be seen as more than Sam’s doting wife and mother to the twins. She wanted her own career, her own money, and she wanted to do it in style.
This book was her ticket to this and more. Only, right now, she couldn’t string three words together to form a sentence without freaking out. She felt like a wannabe hack. Who was going to read her lame story about a little boy who saw ghosts in his house?
Reba was glad no one else was in the side room of Kokomo’s Café with her, because she probably looked insane. She took turns covering her face with her hands and then shaking them at the computer screen she felt was mocking her.
She knew how the story would end, and the first six chapters were brilliant. Her mother, back home in Illinois, had read and loved it, so far. She had asked a few questions, so Reba knew she’d actually taken the time to read it. The middle chapters, however, weren’t coming to her. She needed to move the character along and get him to see the ghost his mom couldn’t see but could hear.
But how? Reba shadow-punched the laptop in frustration. She giggled, suddenly, when she thought of the faces Mac and Ginny would give her if she started screaming, or what they’d do if she smashed the side window out with her computer. “Probably call the police,” she whispered. She was losing her mind. Reba decided to check her e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram and LinkedIn accounts, quickly, before writing again. Maybe she could find inspiration among the cat memes and one-sided religious and political rants.
Reba didn’t know how much time she’d wasted until her cell phone rang. She checked the time: 12:25. Time flies when you’re wasting time, she thought. She was going to write that down as soon as she answered the phone. She was sure she could use the line in this book. “Hello?”
“Hey… where are you?”
“I’m at Kokomo’s Café, writing. I told you this morning I was going to catch up on my book.”
“How’s it going?” Sam asked.
Reba stared at her computer, with an angry cat meme staring at her. “Great,” she mumbled. “How’s work for you, today?”
“It’s going great. Just hanging around here… getting hungry.”
“I’m a bit hungry, too.”
“What are you bringing home?” her husband asked.
Ah, he’s waiting for me to give him lunch, she thought. “I’m not coming home just yet. I want to finish this chapter.” I really just want to write a damn sentence without wanting to kill someone.
“Alright…” Sam paused on the phone.
“I have work to do,” Reba finally said.
“I’m hungry,” he blurted.
“Then make something. You’re a grown man. I think one lunch by yourself won’t kill you.”
“The twins are hungry, too. There’s nothing to eat in the house. Why can’t you get us McDonald’s?”
Reba sighed. “I’m not driving over the bridge to get you burgers when you can make a sandwich. There’s ham, salami and cheese. Bread is on the counter. That shouldn’t be hard to do.”
“I guess. I lost half of my lunch break.”
Reba laughed. “You work at home. I don’t think the internet will crash if you get back online at 1:08. I’ll be home when I get home.”
“What’s for dinner?”
Reba wished she was home, so she could slam the laptop over Sam’s head and kill two birds with one stone. Finally, she took a deep breath and calmed down. “I’ll bring home McDonald’s for dinner.”
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I hope everyone had a great extended weekend, I know I did… took my Special Gal and my daughter (and her friend) to see the new Star Trek movie, went swimming and relaxing with aforementioned Special Gal and then she had me watch Despicable Me since the new one is coming out and she’s a huge fan… lounged around and ate and just spent time together.
How was my writing? Dunno, because the laptop stayed closed from Saturday morning until right now. And I am happy about it. Normally I freak out over missing three days of writing time, and panicking because I’m 6,000 words behind. But I’m beginning to slow down the fear and relax. It might have to do with so many finished projects I’ve added into the pipeline, too. I know I’ve been busy and now I can actually release a few things. I spent the end of 2012 and the beginning of 2013 writing for money, with stories made specifically for TV and movie projects, and they may never see the light of day except on a screen.
This week will see the third part of the Kokomo’s Cafe serial released, and I’ve already begun writing the second set of stories, set in Golden Lion Cafe. I’ll be putting together the print version of Kokomo’s Cafe so it will be ready by the time of my June 28th book signing at Kokomo’s Cafe, and this week I will be doing another round of edits on my horror novel, which I will be pitching at World Horror Convention.
In addition, I want to begin moving again on Dying Days: Origins and I’ve already gotten an idea for the opening to Dying Days 4. Since Dying Days 3 just came out, it isn’t at the top of the list, but it would be nice to write a bit of it and see where it goes, right?
Anything else? Not this week. Coffee, good food, writing and good friends will sum up the rest of this week. I’m sure by this time next week panic will have set in and I’ll be behind, but for now… I am enjoying this…
Armand
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