What (Not To) Expect At Your First Book Signing

My first time at a table in a busy large-chain bookstore, copies of my book stacked on either side and Sharpie at the ready, went much differently than expected.

First, the good stuff: the full-circle moment when I walked in and saw my book front and center on a table (having frequented that location for years as a someday-author, then a querying one, rejections pinging from my phone like steel teardrops and hope rapidly crumbling that I was ever going to see my book in that building).

But also.

My old friend, What If. Tailing me closely.

What if no one wanted copies? What if the store forgot to order copies? What if they ordered too many copies, and six years from now people would still be tossing them aside while rooting through the discount bin? What if they ordered, like, 2 copies, then someone came to buy one (after my mom and dad), and there weren’t any left?

And let’s not forget the ever-pragmatic what if I have to pee?

(Welcome inside my head. Terrifying, isn’t it?)

What I never anticipated was that the vast majority of people entering the store would appear highly uncomfortable with the prospect of engaging with me at all.

While it takes me by surprise that everyone determinedly looks everywhere else while scurrying past, I don’t blame them. I tend to dodge anyone at a table selling anything too, for fear I’ll get stuck listening to a lengthy pitch and end up with stuff I probably don’t want (but will definitely feel obligated to buy).

I mean, plenty of people do come up to me…it’s just, every one of them is looking for the washroom. One man notices the (fictional) flower market on my book cover and launches into a diatribe about a plant in his living room—how tall it is, how much sun it gets, how big the leaves are. At last, I manage to interject.

Are you…looking for a book about flowers?

God, no! I don’t read. My wife is the reader.

I see. Are you…looking for a book for your wife?

God, no! She already has too many books!

Okay…what are you looking for?

Nothing! I want you to tell me the name of my plant!

You get the idea.

It seems the three-hour signing is nearly over—and the whole thing an epic flop! Not a single copy sold! I picture management shaking their heads in the back, drawing a black X over my name.

In fact, it’s been thirteen minutes.

An all-new anxiety makes its debut: what am I literally, physically, supposed to do during this eternal, unnerving stretch of being on full public display, yet totally invisible (the latter being most welcome, save for the part where I’m supposed to be moving books)? Do I sit? Stand? Stroll back and forth? For the love of God, where do I put my hands?

I feel I should look “leisure-busy”—occupied, but not with anything important. Friendly but not desperate, interested but not creepy. But by doing what? The 6-foot table is starting to feel more like a jail cell.

Mostly, I fiddle with the bookmarks I’ve brought to give away, offering one to anybody who so much as slows to a trot. I stack the copies just so, tilt my head, stack them again. I stress-suck on hard candy, doodle on a scrap of paper as if I’m concerned the still-sharp Sharpie has magically run out of ink.

Friends and family stop by—bless them!—and an interesting pattern emerges as they do. Every time people stop at my table, others suddenly begin stopping at my table.

Again, thinking of it from their perspective, I understand completely. I’m shy, awful at small talk, and prefer to browse my potential reads without a stranger standing next to me. But if that person is “leisure-busy” with someone else for the first little bit? And they sound friendly? Yeah, I’ll probably warm up.

A neighbour who knows me through stopping to let our dogs sniff each other while walking makes a small fuss—bless her!—at finding me there (and an author). She asks about the book, what it was like to write it, and the lingerers lean in, listening as they flip through my book. Two form a line behind her, apparently waiting for me to sign copies??

My insides detonate like a glitter bomb.

So now, I’m signing a book, and someone else is waiting for me to sign theirs. And it seems to put out a signal of sorts. Social proof has led noticeably more people to stop, pick it up, learn more—and yes, buy copies for me to sign.

To be clear, we’re not talking droves here. Nobody fetched those retractable belt-and-pole things to form a queue, and I still had several blocks of time to feel useless and painedly idle. But I sold a few books, had really beautiful discussions with fellow book-lovers (many turned out to be aspiring writers!), had a handful of newsletter sign-ups, and got to know the weekend staff at that location who, I’ve learned, speak kindly of me and my book to customers to this day.

All in all, a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon, neuroses and awkwardness aside. Once I settled in (and What If shut up), it was actually pretty fun. Sure, the vast majority passing through that store still don’t know my book exists, but several more do now than if I hadn’t done the signing. And who knows? Maybe they took my bookmark home and ordered a copy online, or shared it with someone who might.

Key takeaways of the day:

• Approach bookstores early in the calendar year about doing signings if possible. They have limited slots that fill quickly, and many don’t hold any in November or December because of the holidays.
• Have something to give people for free (bookmarks with your cover, an endorsement or two, your QR code, and a call for reviews work well and are cost-effective). Besides ensuring they leave with an tangible reminder of your book, it’ll give you something to do with your hands.
• Tell everyone about your signing—community forums, events boards, local radio and newspapers. Leave a poster at the nearest coffee shop. Ask friends to stop by and be ice-breakers. It takes people to draw people.
• Offer a warm hello, briefly explain what your book is about if asked, then step back. Wait for them to initiate further (and then, don’t keep them waiting—ice breakers, kindly step aside at this point!). How can someone decide if they want the book unless you give them a chance to think/read about it?
• This goes without saying, but be professional and courteous to everyone at all times (even red plant guy). Staff and management debrief afterwards, and a good impression ensures you’ll be welcomed back (and/or invited to other locations).
• Where possible, give a talk or do a reading beforehand. It doesn’t have to be profound, and shouldn’t run too long. Just tell them a bit about yourself, the book, and its journey into the world. Horrifying? Yeah, me too. But you might find you prefer it to an afternoon of fishing for eye contact. People enjoy hearing about how books come to be (and they’re much more likely to support you once they do). A 20-30 minute talk about my author journey doubles if not triples my sales.
• Size doesn’t matter. No, seriously. Connection is all there is. I’ve now done signings at large box stores in metropolitan areas and independent bookstores in rural towns, and sales were higher at the indies. I did a library talk for eleven people, had a vendor table at a festival attended by thirty thousand, and sold the same number of copies at each. Foot traffic doesn’t amount to squat if you can’t make a connection—and often, those are easier to make in a more intimate setting.
• Bookstores don’t expect you to be chained to your table for the whole signing—but ask me, you kinda should be. You’ve got 2-4 hours, tops. Every break is potential connections (or momentum) lost. In other words, pee beforehand. If nothing else, you’ll be able to tell people where the washroom is.
• Box stores and independents alike have told me they consider a “cold” signing successful if you move five to ten copies (assuming you’re not a big name) and that it’s common for an author to sell fewer, or none at all. Keep your head up, be kind to yourself, and keep making those connections. The readers you do find could very well stick with you for life.

RACHEL STONE writes stories of hope and redemption, set against vibrant Canadian backdrops. Her debut novel THE BLUE IRIS has won multiple awards, and her acclaimed lyric essays have appeared in international journals, magazines and blogs. She lives near Toronto, Canada with her family. Join Rachel on Substack for The Launch Diaries: Reflections, Lessons, Real Talk and Confessions from a Debut Author.

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BLUE IRIS

“Such a unique and heartwarming story about found family…” -Tracey Lange, NYT Bestselling Author of We Are The Brennans

Sometimes, uprooting the thorn-filled past is the only way we bloom. . .

Tessa Lewis is set to embark on a Big-Time Career and marry Toronto’s fastest-rising lawyer, who loves her to pieces. But when a visit to a flower market from her childhood sparks memories of the mother she lost too soon, Tessa puts her bright future on hold to work there, determined to come to terms with her past.

At the Blue Iris Flower Market, everything is blossoming except the rag-tag crew, each hiding deep scars of their own. When Sam, the beloved but troubled man in charge, takes off and leaves the market reeling, Tessa and her unlikely new friends come face-to-face with their most uncomfortable truths, uprooting lives carefully cultivated-and just maybe, unearthing everything they’ve ever wanted.

Told from multiple perspectives, The Blue Iris is an intricately woven exploration of love tested beyond its limits, chosen family, and the beauty that grows in letting go.

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips