Having a Book Signing is a little like an episode of 'This Is Your Life'...well-wishers congregate to congratulate and compliment while, as the center of attention, you acknowledge the accolades with as much humility as each moment permits. It's almost as though you died and it's the eulogy you won't get to hear. Or you're a product that satisfied consumers are sharing testimonials about, a deodorant that kept them dry.
That is my humble take on my recent inaugural release party for 'The Cool Part Of His Pillow'. To see a roomful of people carrying my book, or discussing its merits and plot turns in small groups, is surreal, the realization of every gradiose fantasy when you're in the thick of isolation, writing and rewriting the damn thing and wondering if it will ever even SEE publication.It also makes you grateful: grateful for friendship, grateful to live in a community that celebrates the success of others, grateful to know people who actually read and did not just buy the book out of obligation or for shelf decor.
The concept of the autograph is a bit foreign to me. I've never sought one myself and, knowing those who work on Broadway, I have personal access to my fair share of celebrities. They've joined our table, our conversations, yet it never occurs to me to press a napkin and pen into their palm and whisper, "Could you sign this?" I guess, however, books are different. The author's signature is validation that you were in his presence; a personal inscription further elaborates on the relationship. I confess I wasn't very adept at this, my virgin's foray into succinct messages that carried either heft, were lyrically amusing or pithily recalled a shared memory. I fell into a convenient trap of spinning off the word "cool"...thanks for being a cool friend...here's hoping you find the cool part of a pillow...how cool is it that you're part of my story tonight...blather like that. I need, WANT, a do-over for so many of those, hastily-scrawled on the title page as I eyed a growing line of people holding the copy of TCPohP they just bought at the previous table (gratifying, but intimidating, knowing I cannot possibly spend any quality time withy any of them, no matter their familiarity with me as a person).
My next Book Signing, a Mini-Me variant scheduled for July 20th at my favorite Key West watering hole (the poolside bar of The Orchid Key In, at the corner of Duval and Truman) will hopefully yield a more polished presentation. The server has designed a special drink invovling an oversized marshmallow -- a "pillow", so to speak. One further enticement is the presence of my beloved mother, Diana Ross, down to Key West Fl for the 2nd of her twice-yearly visits.
No, not THAT Diana Ross.
Mine is neither black nor vocally-gifted.
But, all arrogance aside, I am pretty SUPREME.
Could I have a rim-shot?
The name of Diana Ross will be large and italicized in the local press releases. I may even put an asterisk*.
* No, that one, this one will be wearing an applique tee, gold bling that might tarnish as you admire it and a perm gone wrong.
If I can't have fun with this, then why the hell bother?
All things considered, I don't know how "cool" I will be. It appears the table will be positioned outdoors and, in the sweltering sun not yet slipped with a sizzle into the Atlantic, I will be awash in both gratitude and my own fluids. Perhaps I shall preside in my favorite shorty robe -- the one I wrote TCPohP in -- and give everyone in attendance for this Part Deux Signing more for their $17.99 than they ever counted on.