Mortification Monday

I was invited to my first real Con about four years ago. They asked me if I wanted to do a reading, and I said yes, of course I did. And a signing. Definitely! I came at the right time, walked up to the registration and got my badge. I found the room I was to be signing in and sat down. I was alone for a while. Luckily, I had brought someone else's book to read to myself.
So this is the story of my worst appearance/signing:

I was invited to my first real Con about four years ago. They asked me if I wanted to do a reading, and I said yes, of course I did. And a signing. Definitely! I came at the right time, walked up to the registration and got my badge. I found the room I was to be signing in and sat down. I was alone for a while. Luckily, I had brought someone else's book to read to myself. After about ten minutes, a lone preteen girl came in, ushered by her parents, who was clearly eager to get rid of her so that she could go off to an "adult author's panel." She told the girl that I would watch over her until she came back, and then looked at me. I wondered if I was supposed to show her my babysitting credentials.


Still, game, I read to the girl for a few minutes. Then the door opened. I looked up, thinking that perhaps more people had come to hear me reading. Instead, about a half dozen people came in, talking loudly to each other and began to set up for the next hour's presentation on--sewing costumes. I tried to keep reading over them. Then they left. I sighed relief until they came in--again! And talked over me--again! The third time they came in, I walked over to them, explained rather curtly that I was doing a reading and that I had the room until the next hour. They looked at their watches, claimed that my time was almost over anyway, and besides, they had to set up. What were they supposed to do?

I gave up, and walked over to my signing. There I discovered that the bookstore had not bothered to purchase a single one of my titles and everyone seemed to expect that I would bring my own books. I actually had three of them, which I had brought for the reading and to show people at any panels I attended. So I set them up as if to sell them. One of the conference organizers walked by and clearly, taking pity on me, picked up my book, looked at the back cover and asked me what it was about. I told him. He shrugged, said, "Well, that sounds like the kind of book I would definitely not like to read," and left.