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| Photo trimmed from Waterstones Newton Mearns FB page |
The banter (as we call it in the West of Scotland) was top form, covering a wide range of topics, such as how they got into crime writing and why Scotland is such a good setting for crime fiction. The quiet but substantial, respectful audience enjoyed their hour in the trio's company.
Afterwards, I purchased Michael's book. Why not the other two, you ask? Well, I already have Children of the Mist on my Kindle and own a signed copy of the hardback version of Caro's book.
I have to admit I prefer to read books on my Kindle. I can adjust the font size to accommodate my eyesight, I can look up unfamiliar words using the built-in dictionary and I can still read in bed after my wife has put the bedroom light out. The only downside is the beautiful covers are in black and white on my Paperwhite.
My wife goes nuts when I buy physical books because she knows I rarely read them. We've bookshelves full of signed editions with unbroken spines cluttering her room now that mine is full of other junk.
In my defence, I like to support the bookshops that host the event because, without sales, they'll go out of business. I'm also encouraging them to keep running the events so I get to hear and meet my favourite authors. Plus, I have a tiny dream that one day I'll see one of my own books for sale in such a place so it is important to keep them open.
The book is a physical memento of the evening, and getting it signed is a lovely bonus. However, without fail, when it comes to making small talk with an author, I always become tongue-tied. It’s like I’m suddenly starstruck by this amazing person who has actually written a book and had it published by a proper publisher (in the case of these seasoned authors, multiple times). My brain grasps for information it can’t recall and I struggle to form coherent sentences. What does come out is often embarrassing and unfunny and I want to shrivel into a little ball and roll away.
After one book event at Bloody Scotland, I once asked AA Dhand if he'd paid his fees yet. In retrospect, I can see why he looked confused. In my head, this was my way of telling him I was a pharmacist too but this was a book event and he was there as an author so why would he expect to receive a pharmacy-related question. It didn't help that, seeing his confusion, I fluffed my follow-up, blabbering on about, you know, that thing with the form and the CPD, unable to remember the terms registration or revalidation. When eventually he twigged, he said "Ah, you're a pharmacist," like that explained everything. He then answered that he hadn't as they weren't due to be paid till the end of October. I'd just received my reminder that mine were due by the end of September so I told him I thought he was wrong. He was certain he was correct but signed my book anyway and once again I wanted to die.
It turned out we were both right. There are two deadlines, depending on whether you pay in full or in instalments via Direct Debit.
My brain went into meltdown again tonight. Michael made every effort to personalise the experience and I floundered, lazy brain kicking in big-style, only half remembering where we'd met before. When I mentioned I was in Caro's writing group, he asked what I was writing and I couldn't remember my pitch for School of Thought, failing to describe it or sell it with any conviction. Nor could I describe the previous aborted work he thought he might have heard of.
On the drive home, I cogitated over why I couldn't chat like a normal person (beyond the obvious answer of not being normal).
I decided the starstruck thing is definitely true but it might also be due to the pressure of the queue, not wanting to delay another reader from getting their moment with the author. There is also the artificiality of the situation where the author wants to impress his reader but not take too long so everyone can be satisfied. It's something I need to work on. For the moment though, I remain the befuddled, anonymous punter with a signed book sitting on my wife's bookshelf should I ever need to remind myself what my name is.
