Peter Nelson's Book Tour Disaster Story

I did a signing at a bookstore in Manhattan (I want to say Benedettos or Bennitons or Brentonios or something like that --- I think it's out of business now) when I was nominated for an Edgar Award by Mystery Writers of America for a book I wrote called "Scarface," a YA about a kid who finds Al Capone's treasure. I was there with a large group of fellow nominees including luminaries like Elmore Leonard and Laurence Shames and Carl Hiassen, and felt more than a little flattered to be in the same room with those guys. I wasn't expecting anything like an equal amount of attention. In fact, more people stopped at my table than any other, because I was stationed on the landing by the top of the staircase, where several dozen people asked me where the bathroom was. Not one asked me about my book.

I did another signing in a cavernous exhibition hall at a place called The Big E, in Springfield, MA, which was home to what might be described as the western Massachusetts state fair. The room was full of booths with people selling lawn care services and Florida time-shares. Across the aisle from me was a man with a very loud microphone, selling miracle no-stick cookware. I almost bought a set --- he was very convincing. The woman who'd prepared my display (a professional author-escort --- I didn't know there was such a profession) had ripped the cover off one of my books and scotch-taped it to a piece of poster-board, upon which she'd written with a red Sharpie, "Author Signing." She didn't even form the scotch tape into concealed loops to stick to the back of the cover --- she just plastered a piece of tape across each of the four corners. For a while, she hung out with me and told me how she cuts up half a year's worth of onions and green peppers at a time and puts it all in her freezer because it's cheaper that way and why the hell not? More often, she left me alone a lot because she smoked three packs of Benson and Hedges cigarettes daily and needed to step outside for frequent "ciggie-breaks." She had a gravel voice and sounded a bit like Tom Waits or Louis Armstrong. Mostly I sat there, alone, and people would come up to my table, pick the book up, glance at the cover, make sounds of disgust and toss the book onto the table like they were throwing away a used Kleenex --- I don't think they realized I was the author. I did this for six hours.

I heard a story once the some university invited Stanley Elkin to come give a reading, but showed him very little respect or hospitality. Ultimately, after a lame post-reading reception at a dorm lounge, some young college girl dropped him off at his hotel and told him he could order dinner from room service if he was hungry and charge it to the university. According to the story, Elkin was so annoyed that he ordered dinner for 200 people and flushed it all down the toilet. I wouldn't do that, but I get it.


Pete Nelson writes books and magazine articles and lives in Westchester, NY, with his wife and son. For more info, go to: http://members.authorsguild.net/ipetenelson/