Anna Scott: “Signed by the author, I see.”
William Thacker: “Yeah, couldn’t stop him. If you can find an unsigned one, it’s worth an absolute fortune.”
– Notting Hill, 1999
It’s an odd thing, the signing of books. It’s not enough to meet the author, to hear him read excerpts from his work, to see him in the flesh, in all his awkward, disheveled glory (no, not you, Jonathan Franzen; you’re pretty, so relax). It’s not enough that the author has already poured his soul and quite possibly several kegs of wine into his work. The reader wants more. The reader wants the voodoo of the signature, a piece of the author himself, a personal dedication, a pledging of his troth that this work, this mass-produced work, was in fact produced just for you.
But that’s cool.
From a writer’s point of view, there’s no greater compliment than a reader asking you to deface her book.
When last I was whining wrote about my two book launches, I was fretting that my jokes would crash to the ground like lifeless unfunny birds. I won’t lie; there were casualties. In Quebec City, about 40 strangers gathered to hear me read and watch me run around the room high-fiving the audience to wild applause (that I had requested they provide on cue). The fact that people didn’t run screaming for the exits and in fact stood around to purchase books and then have me desecrate said books, well, it felt all right.
Or at least it did at the time.
The next morning, though, I woke up in my publisher’s spare bedroom thinking, “That was terrible. I can’t do that in Stanstead. They’ll see I’m a fraud. I am a fraud. I’m terrible. The book is terrible. The fact that there is no coffee in this house is terrible.*” I was quite frankly sick of me. I was decaffeinated and sick of me.
Then, on the drive back home, it hit me: what if it wasn’t just me?
I had already invited a musician to perform. What about that piece about the conversation I had with my daughter? What if Abby actually read it with me? And the other dialogue, the one about the imaginary conversation at Canada Customs. What if I had my friend Annie read that one with me?
And so, this past Saturday, in front of about 40 friends, associates, people I knew, people I could not run away from forever, I quite literally straddled the Canada-U.S. border in the Haskell Free Library and, with the help of said friends and family, I oversaw a pretty wonderful afternoon of words and music and cupcakes and wine and amazement that a public building built on “the line” can still exist at all. It was a relief sharing the stage. Sure, there were feathers all over the place, but I realized, particularly later when I saw the photos, that I truly was among friends. I realized too that writers, readers, family, friends, countries, none of us are isolated, no one goes through this alone, but we are all intertwined and, what’s more, really, really need each other.
Afterwards, I sat and chatted and signed a bunch of books. And with this signature, we made our pledge…

My friend Annie played the comic Canada Customs agent to my straight-man American. I didn’t realize it at the time, but we were on appropriate sides of the border line.

Sarah Biggs was plain delightful.
Not one of those coffee ingrates!
The cupcakes look delicious, an it looks like a great time overall. Congrats and good for you!
It was a fun afternoon and the cupcakes were definitely (wait for it) the icing on the cake.
It’s never too early for a play on words.
awesome! Yes, as a fan, I want a bit of your soul in the signature.
And there’s always a song to express it…
I was sitting there in a comfortable chair
And that was all that I needed
Then my friend offered me a drink for us to share
And that was all that I needed
Well, then I felt at ease
But then I’m not too hard to please
I guess you couldn’t call me greedy
Then I was shocked to look up
And see rita hayworth there in a place so seedy
She walked into the bar with her long, red, curly hair
And that was all that I needed
And I said to my friend, “good god, we’re lucky men just to even see her”
Take, take, take
Take, take, take
Take, take, take
And I could not resist, I just had to get close to her
And that was all that I needed
I walked and loomed around her table for a while
And that was all that I needed
Then I said, “i hate to bug you, ma’am, but can I have your autograph?”
And that was all that I needed
She pressed her lips against a white piece of paper
And that was all that I needed
Then I saw what she wrote, my heart is in my mouth
And that was all that I needed
Then she handed it to me, and I think that she could see
That that was all that I needed
I started to walk away but then I remembered ‘hey, I forgot to get a picture’
So I asked her one more time, “could I have another favor?”
That was all that I needed
She was kind and posed with me
Then I knew my friend would see my celebrity meeting
Take, take, take
Take, take, take
Take, take, take
She turned and said to me, “I need to go to sleep,”
And it seemed so mean
It’s almost as if she could not appreciate how cool I was being
She said, “good night” and walked away
And I didn’t know what to say
I just couldn’t believe it
Well, it’s just not fair
I want to get a piece of hair
That was all that I needed
Or maybe a kiss on the cheek
I wouldn’t wash it for a week
That would be all that I needed
But she didn’t even care
That I was even there
What a horrible feeling
When I read “….associates, people….” for some reason in my head it looked like “associated press” and I was very impressed.
Sounds like a blast. Were the cupcake topping edible? Did you eat your own mini-book cover?
They were edible, except for the book cover, which was cardboard backed with icing. So I didn’t eat it, but I did lick my own backside. That’s a first. I think. There are some parts of my past that are a bit of a blur.
This reply makes you sound so flexible.
I’m fucking Gumby.
Wait. That sounded wrong.
Looks like you had a good time. It must be a great feeling to sell you own book and have people ask for your autograph.
It really is, and I don’t by any means want to sound ungracious about it. The best part is the short chat that goes along with it. It’s only afterwards, in the dark hours, that I feel unworthy, but then I remember that people don’t pay 17 bucks just to be kind.
Most people don’t, no.
This is really cool, Ross. It looks like it was fun evening. Are you coming to California, by any chance?
I’m going to Maine this coming weekend. Is that close?
I’ll start walking, now!
There are lots of songs about California but are there any songs about Maine? “Kennebunk Bop”? “I Saw Mommy Kissing Stephen King at the Bangor Piggly-Wiggly”? No, I don’t think so. Sorry, what were we talking about?
Maine, that’s the state where Hawkeye Pierce is from.
Good enough for me. That and “Bangor? Barely knew her!” make it a state worth keeping.
Good point. Since we’ve decided to keep it, I will withdraw my Congressional proposal.
LOVE. 🙂
It’s a wonderful thing.
Ohh, this is just great!
The cupcakes look delicious.
And I found this song about Maine.
Wow. That’s all I can say. Just, wow.
Well done! See, you’re not a fraud, what were you worried about? I think it’s hilarious that the library straddles the US and Canada. What happens if you inadvertently cross the line? Do sirens and bells go off? Are there US Customs goons standing around the perimeter with M-16s?
Nothing happens inside the library if you cross the line. And Canadians can cross the border without reporting to enter the library on foot (the books are back in Canada…). But you can’t drive across the border without reporting or you will get hauled away. In fact, you can’t drive across at all any more since they installed (yes) flower pots at the crossing. Border Patrol vans sit there, though, just in case. Crazy fun, eh?
Now I’m disappointed. I kind of wanted to go up there and cause an international incident.
Well, we have had our moments. The library tends to attack illegal border crossers, in particular Roma people.
Eep! Make that “attract”…
Very cool little story, Ross.
Sent from my iPhone
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Without a doubt, if/when I make it back to Canada, we have to at least bump cupcakes. I swear, that’s not some kind of northwestern slang for anything homosexual. It’s just a toast to your success. With those really fantastic looking cupcakes. I guess what I’m really saying is, will you save me one? Congrats, Ross. This looked like a lot of fun 🙂
I’ll put you down for two. It was a good time. Thanks.