I love signing books, but I’m really not a big fan of “signings,” in an organized sense. I feel they keep me at arm’s length from the fans.
I’m fine with the idea that, if I ever get rich and famous, I might have limited time and a lot of people who want to meet me. In that case, a signing-behind-a-table format might be the best way to achieve that. But I feel like when I’m getting started — and I’m still getting started, yeah, twenty years on, that’s how writing works — there’s no point in putting me behind a table so that people can ritually file by me like I’m handing out the Eucharist.
I’d rather shake hands with readers and shoot the shit, hear what they liked about my book or what they hated about it, or what they’re planning to like or hate about it, and graciously say “Thank you” when someone asks me to sign their book, the same way I do if someone comes up to me after a convention panel and does the same. It’s a huge compliment to be asked to sign my book (or someone else’s, if they’ve mistaken me for M. Christian). I’m always pleased to sign books.
But the idea of sitting behind a table reminds me too much of the many hours I’ve spent chatting with other writers behind tent cards at mass autographings. This is a great format for incredibly famous people, who have a zillion fans and only so many hours in the day. For me, it’s always felt isolating. I much prefer to meet people, rather than have them creep past me as if I’m a pharmacist handing out Xanotabs.
Readings, on the other hand, I love. They’re terrifying and invigorating…or they should be. I say this as the veteran of literally hundreds of readings over the years. I love them; they’re incredibly challenging and very scary. But mostly, they’re different than writing, and I cannot emphasize this simple fact enough. Think of a reading as basically going up there and reading this thing you wrote, and I believe you’re missing the value of performing in front of an audience.
There is a personality to every audience, and “working a crowd” requires lots of improvisation. I spend a great deal of my life listening to audiobooks, lectures, and podcasts, and a significant amount of it watching comedy performances. I’m the veteran of literally hundreds of readings, which means I’ve watched and listened to thousands of live literary performances. I’m very much a veteran of live readings, both as an audience member and a performer, and I can tell you, they require a whole bag of tricks that looks almost nothing like “writing a good book.” (more…)
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Readings are difficult things, let me tell you. Public speaking is hard enough, but reading something you wrote, that you sweat and bled over? Reading something that opens you up in such a vulnerable way? That’s freaking hard.
It’s been said before, but readings and signings are both the bane and boon of an author’s existence. Me? I much prefer a reading to a signing event. No matter the size of the audience, I feel I’m doing something worthwhile when I’m giving a reading. (Yes, even if there’s only one person there.) A reading is like a party. All are there to have some fun. Signings are dull and stressful to me–particularly when they’re stand alone events. I guess I have trouble with sitting in a chair, passively waiting for readers to come up and chat. It feels too much like my wallflower days in high school. I never was one for patience. (Which is why it was so funny to have two people walk up to me at the WFC signing event and say, “Can you please sit still somewhere? I’ve been trying to get you to sign my book for a while!”) That said, I get stage fright every time I read. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve done it. (And by this time, I suspect the number is fairly respectable considering I’m a new author.) It’s not as bad as it once was. I no longer deal with dread for days or shake or blush. The terror is limited to the first hour or so before. Practice is important–even if I’ve read the same passage aloud a bazillion times. I’ve found that if I take the time to practice, I’m good. If I don’t, I’m more likely to stammer or lose my place. I’m almost always shaky at the start, but settle in after a page or so. I’ll have to say that serving as a pen and paper RPG gamemaster (D&D) for all those years helped. I got used to speaking in front of crowds and making up stuff as I went along. I also trained myself in giving characters a voice. I’m no actor and never will be, but I can do a pretty good job of that at least–provided I relax and embrace my inner ham. That’s key.
When I took theater classes back in high school, I knew I wasn’t doing it with an eye toward becoming an actor of any sort. I like eating, and being a tad physically intimidating, so a traditional Hollywood-style frame was not in my future. But for somebody deeply introverted and sometimes paralyzed by long, tangled thoughts of what other people might be thinking of me, getting up on a stage, spreading my arms, and basically screaming, “LOOK SEE ME HERE I AM” was a really good exercise. It also didn’t hurt when I was cast as Banquo in a post-apocalyptic version of Macbeth. Slipping on that particular skin ended up giving me some insight into creating that type of character on the page, and hence the brutal women of my fiction were born.