I gave the Women of the Apocalypse a proper sendoff last night — surrounded by friends and family. Of course, the hidden battle last night was the most important — what to sign on the books. Every signing had to be pithy, succinct, to distill the entire reader-author relationship (and my personal relationship) with that person into a single statement.
It was not easy. Some people got the obligatory: Thanks for your Support! Those less reputable of my peers received: I know you’re going to sell this on Ebay tonight. Brian got a: Big Thumbs Up! Though he later said he was disappointed that he didn’t receive a ‘Fuck you, Fuck you very much’. You see, if he would’ve told me that, I would’ve happily obliged.
Then there was the: “I don’t know you, but here’s my signature anyways.”
Or for my Mom: Thanks for liking Billie’s story better than mine.
I know I misspelt ‘friend’ a couple of times. Nothing like a signature accompanied by an incorrectly spelled word. Perhaps it’ll be like those incorrectly printed stamps and be worth millions.
Always remember to ask how to spell someone’s name. “Really, so your name is spelled Duc, but it’s pronounced Yo?” (no, my Vietnamese seamstress did not attend; you need to be able to read English before you can read Women of the Apocalypse.)
There is nothing more terrifying than that blank page, staring at you. With an immediate deadline. And the person standing right there. No time to think. Not time to react. Just do. Just do. Just write the first thing that comes to mind. Achieve ‘oneness’ with the signing.
“Fuck you, fuck you very much. ” Crap, sorry Mom.