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Book signing
Mar. 12th, 2005 03:22 pmSaturday 12th March - not a phrase that automatically implies a day upon which all hell breaks loose, but nominative determinism never works when you want it to, does it?
Actually, it hasn't been that bad, merely busy. Firstly, Tony was in the shop today. He's the manager and doesn't do many Saturdays, but the ones he does do are always extremely tiring. I probably should make clear that he is eminently likeable, rarely gets cross with anyone, knows everyone and takes it as a personal affront if anyone doesn't get paid. He's just so talkative, and insists on telling you the same thing in five different ways consecutively and it can be rather wearying. Anyway, he was in today because we were doing a signing for a local author, Ron Ellis. No, I had never heard of him before, but we do have a couple of his books, so there was a signing table and quite a few people coming in at ten o'clock.
"The thing about Ron is," Tony told me last night after a glass of red wine (this was at the leaving do they held for Paul), "the thing is, he's a nice guy but he's immune to criticism. Take Niall here. Say he spends twenty years on his sensitive-Irish-boy memoirs and you don't like it, he'd be in floods of tears, wouldn't you Nially?"
Niall blinked. I would have done the same, I think.
"But," Tony continued, "if you turn round and you say, 'Ron, your books are crap,' it'd be water off a duck's back." He paused. "But don't do that."
I didn't. I barely met the man, actually, as while he was signing I was stuck booking in six boxes of books from the wholesalers. There are three main ones, Gardners, Bertrams and THE, and I have a feeling I'm going to be dreaming about them, I'm so sick of staring at their invoices. I did this last Wednesday, and at the time I had my school stuff with me. There was an essay - combined synoptic, fun - which I put down for a moment and totally forgot about, so I went in later to get it. It had gone. I have a horrible feeling it's been thrown into one of the boxes and sent back to a wholesaler. I had to explain the whole sad story to Mrs Myring, who quite naturally wanted that essay, but as luck would have it, she took all the other essays home and left them in her car which promptly got broken into. So there are ten essays being sold to a fence somewhere and a further one at Bertrams book wholesalers, and really, this wasn't a successful homework assignment.
The next author I may get a chance to meet is Frank Cottrell Boyce, author of Millions. They're making a film of it, I believe. Anyway, he's doing a signing and he's coming to a school nearby, and I may get to help out with Mrs Barry and the first years. We shall see.
So, I got out at about two when the authors had gone and Tony was still there but ushering me off. Have put Colleen and Clare down on our list of people for Half-Blood Prince, and that list is growing by the day. The shop will open at midnight on July 16th, and it should be a good party.
In other news, tonight involves Death of a Salesman, as performed by the Merchants' sixth form. Yay. But Hannah's coming, so yay!
And, finally, I think I may have developed a minicrush on Neil Gaiman. To be honest, I've always had a minicrush on him. But when he starts talking about naming a cruise ship the USS Fucko Bazoo, I begin to wonder.
Actually, it hasn't been that bad, merely busy. Firstly, Tony was in the shop today. He's the manager and doesn't do many Saturdays, but the ones he does do are always extremely tiring. I probably should make clear that he is eminently likeable, rarely gets cross with anyone, knows everyone and takes it as a personal affront if anyone doesn't get paid. He's just so talkative, and insists on telling you the same thing in five different ways consecutively and it can be rather wearying. Anyway, he was in today because we were doing a signing for a local author, Ron Ellis. No, I had never heard of him before, but we do have a couple of his books, so there was a signing table and quite a few people coming in at ten o'clock.
"The thing about Ron is," Tony told me last night after a glass of red wine (this was at the leaving do they held for Paul), "the thing is, he's a nice guy but he's immune to criticism. Take Niall here. Say he spends twenty years on his sensitive-Irish-boy memoirs and you don't like it, he'd be in floods of tears, wouldn't you Nially?"
Niall blinked. I would have done the same, I think.
"But," Tony continued, "if you turn round and you say, 'Ron, your books are crap,' it'd be water off a duck's back." He paused. "But don't do that."
I didn't. I barely met the man, actually, as while he was signing I was stuck booking in six boxes of books from the wholesalers. There are three main ones, Gardners, Bertrams and THE, and I have a feeling I'm going to be dreaming about them, I'm so sick of staring at their invoices. I did this last Wednesday, and at the time I had my school stuff with me. There was an essay - combined synoptic, fun - which I put down for a moment and totally forgot about, so I went in later to get it. It had gone. I have a horrible feeling it's been thrown into one of the boxes and sent back to a wholesaler. I had to explain the whole sad story to Mrs Myring, who quite naturally wanted that essay, but as luck would have it, she took all the other essays home and left them in her car which promptly got broken into. So there are ten essays being sold to a fence somewhere and a further one at Bertrams book wholesalers, and really, this wasn't a successful homework assignment.
The next author I may get a chance to meet is Frank Cottrell Boyce, author of Millions. They're making a film of it, I believe. Anyway, he's doing a signing and he's coming to a school nearby, and I may get to help out with Mrs Barry and the first years. We shall see.
So, I got out at about two when the authors had gone and Tony was still there but ushering me off. Have put Colleen and Clare down on our list of people for Half-Blood Prince, and that list is growing by the day. The shop will open at midnight on July 16th, and it should be a good party.
In other news, tonight involves Death of a Salesman, as performed by the Merchants' sixth form. Yay. But Hannah's coming, so yay!
And, finally, I think I may have developed a minicrush on Neil Gaiman. To be honest, I've always had a minicrush on him. But when he starts talking about naming a cruise ship the USS Fucko Bazoo, I begin to wonder.
