PUNISHMENT NOW, ABSOLUTION LATER! THE ORDEAL OF BOOK SIGNINGS AND WHY DO AUTHORS ENDURE THEM!

PUNISHMENT NOW, ABSOLUTION LATER! THE ORDEAL OF BOOK SIGNINGS AND WHY DO AUTHORS ENDURE THEM!

James R. Fisher, Jr., Ph.D.

© February 22, 2014

It has been some time since I last had a book signing.  They have become camp for book publishers large and small, and crucial for self-publishing or semi-self-publishing authors.  I don’t exactly fit in these defined categories as I have had my own publishing company, been published by established publishing companies of long histories, and have most recently been published by what I would call a hybrid of these categories in that its primary business is self-publishing authors, but for some reason chose to give me a contract for ten of my books, nine second editions and one, first edition.

                           Long time friend, Janet, at the "book signing."

           

   This publisher has invested a great deal of labor intensive time and publishing acumen in this project.  My sense is that it took far more time than the publisher expected thinking republishing my books would be a slam dunk.  In other words, the publisher, once it received the copyrighted manuscripts, thought creating second editions would take a minimum of editing to put them between soft covers.  Implicit in this strategy was that the author would self-promote and self-market these books with its expert guidance.  Not apparently considered was that the author was in his dotage and not a fresh talent.

It mystified me from the beginning that this publisher wanted to enter such a contract with me, first, because my books span 44-years, second, because they are mainly to a niche market that chose mainly to ignore them when first published with rare exception, and third, because I don’t write to any choir but to an audience that may or may not relate to my empirical experience and my cut on that experience. 

I have had the benefit of some brilliant people who have done a yeoman like job to connect me with an audience, at some risk to their profession, reputation and own careers, yet they have done it, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

I am thinking in particular of an author, an academic and a mainstream editor and journalist.  I don’t hear from them anymore for I have a reputation of wearing people out as I can be quite demanding.   There is no bend or no give in my integrity, not even the width of a hair follicle.  I don’t say this with false pride or bravado.  It is just the way I am built. 

Yesterday, I had a "book signing," in which one person showed up and bought two books.  She is a great supporter of my work and a loyal friend.  Many planned on coming but were otherwise engaged, or simply forgot or just didn’t feel it was worth the effort.  In any case, I share this with you, my loyal readers from around the world, who reads my books and this blog.

By some curious happenstance, “Fragments of a Philosophy” that I occasionally post draws the biggest international audience and response.  My muse for these is Ralph Waldo Emerson, whom I believe knocked them off with equal alacrity and spontaneity that I do.  Consequently, I suspect when I am gone that they will endure if my works otherwise do not. 

My daughter, Laurie, drove me to the "book signing" in downtown Tampa in a crowded quaint little coffee and sandwich shop.  She is a model and although well into her fifties has not lost her beauty as the picture here shows.

 

Dr. Fisher with his daughter, Laurie, at the "book signing."

As we were sitting there with our one client, whom I have known for several years, Laurie, who is not known to be philosophical was just that.  She is tall, six-two, strong of will and thought, and of my four birth children, the second oldest but always the strongest, the mother hen of the four, the person who has always been there for the other three, while the other three have never been there for her, because she being strong and them being weak they never saw the need. 

Yet, she confessed that was not true, as she sat there with me and our one client.  She said that she often hurt, often felt alone, and could use someone to talk to, someone she could trust to say her mind, someone she could connect with, but alas, it seemed that others always had a greater need to share their woes with her and little time or inclination to entertain hers. 

Laurie is another reason why I have such a high regard for women.  I have never met a man in my life as strong as my daughter.

That said I wasn’t prepared this morning when I woke up to remember some words she said at the “book signing.”  I think she feared I was depressed or disappointed with only one person showing up for the book signing.  I was actually relieved.  I prefer being where I am here, right now, writing these words in the sanctuary of my study, contemplating, composing, constructing and creating a litany of words that rises out of my soul and finds a way before my eyes as they do now.

Laurie said to Janet, the lone client at this book signing,

“Authors are important to us.  They record our lives and tell us who we are.  They tell us stories of those lives that were they not to tell us those stories we would miss the joy of living.  I cannot imagine life without authors or without the stories they tell us about ourselves.  I’m glad they have the courage to write and record their thoughts when most of us simply take these thoughts for granted.” 

She went on talking to Janet while my mind drifted off into other things for, at the time, the wisdom and the insight her words conveyed bounced off my tympanic membrane without as much as a tinkle.  But somehow that vibrating mechanism penetrated my psyche to collect in my dreams and resurface as a sensation with significance as I woke up today.

The other thought was the title of this piece, “Punishment and Absolution,” which also came to mind as I woke this morning.  Writing is something akin to punishment because few things are more difficult, and yet people write and write and write some more.  I hope they enjoy something like the absolution that I experienced in my daughter’s words that rose, unexpectantly, from her dreamy eyes.