Shearer, 605 words

I recently completed my first-ever series of book signings.

That may sound on the surface as if it would be an ego-inflating experience, but it was actually quite humbling. The reason was that I was not signing books much more often than I was signing them.

The road to humility began several months ago, when I compiled some trivia about famous people, famous products and other facts associated with my hometown into a small paperback book.

The local publisher who printed the books then scheduled some book signings and appearances on those local TV news shows that come on so early in the morning, only the roosters are watching. I was ready to enjoy my 15 minutes of fame.

Having seen video footage of people like Colin Powell signing books for hordes of people, I envisioned that everybody I even remotely know would show up at the signings to buy three copies each.

Unfortunately, that was not quite the case. I did sign 20 at the first two-hour signing, which the bookstore manager assured me was better than many local authors do. But I must admit that those statistics were padded by copies purchased by my parents.

A few days later came another signing at a small bookstore about a mile from my house. I do not know that many people in my neighborhood, but luckily the bookstore owner does. Most of my sales came as a result of her, who in no uncertain terms strongly encouraged her friends/customers to buy one of my books. Her skills helped my ego from becoming too deflated.

After a break of about six weeks, I had three more signings. The first of these was back at the first bookstore where I signed. John Grisham was evidently still not available, so officials there were glad to have me back.

This signing went much slower, and I only sold six books--four of which went to a good friend’s mother. With plenty of free time, I started thinking of ways to sell more books. One idea I came up with was to glue copies of my book to the backs of the Harry Potter books.

By the next signing/daydreaming session, I was resorting to desperate measures to get people to stop and at least look at the book. Not being a salesman by nature, I started feeling like some of those artists at arts and crafts fairs, who seem as though they would rather crawl in a hole and hide than try to sell their wares themselves.

Rather than crawl under the signing table, which I felt like doing, I decided to start getting people’s attention as they passed. My standard line was, "Do you like local trivia?" A number brushed me off as if I were a telemarketer or needed a bath, but several actually stopped and looked.

And to my surprise, three actually bought copies. I was quite proud of my normally shy self and felt ready to apply for a job as a Fuller Brush salesman.

At my last signing, I was glad my humiliation was about to be over. As usual, the sales went slowly. I did sell a few copies, but toward the end I was wanting to sell just a few more so that I could feel better about my bruised ego.

One lady stood and looked at my book for seemingly minutes. When she finally said she wanted one, I was so excited that I bumped my hands hard on the table as I pulled them out from under it.

It was a fitting end to a bumpy experience!

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