By Melodie Campbell (bad girl)
(This was the second half of my MC - Mattress of Ceremonies - address at the
Bloody Words Mystery Conference Gala in Toronto. Which was a blast and a half. I even have a photo of me giving this
address. It actually looks like me,
which will be explained below.)
We all know the highs. Those delirious times when you win awards and/or
get a royalty cheque that takes you and your family to Europe rather than McDonalds.
I’ve had a few highs, winning the Derringer and the
Arthur. And I’m exceedingly grateful for
them.
Because - thing is - authors get a lot of lows. For some reason, most of my lows seem to
cluster around that scariest of all activities:
the book signing.
Some people think the worst thing that can happen is
nobody shows up. Or when you’re on a
panel of 4 authors, and only three people show up.
But that’s not the worst.
1. Worse is when
five people show up for your reading.
And they’re all pushing walkers.
And half way through, when you’re right in the
middle of reading a compelling scene, one of them pipes up, “When does the
movie start?”
2. Sometimes, even large crowds don’t help.
I did an
event this year with two hundred people in the audience. I was doing some of my standup schtick, and
it went over really well. Lots of
applause, and I was really pumped. I
mean, two hundred people were applauding me and my books! A bunch of hands shot up for questions. I picked the first one and a sweet young
thing popped up from her seat and asked in a voice filled with awe, “Do you actually know Linwood Barclay?”
3. Another ego-crusher: I was reading in front of another large crowd
last year. Same great attention, lots of
applause. I was revved. Only one hand up this time, and she said, in a
clearly disappointed voice:
“You don’t look anything like your
protagonist.”
So I said, “Sweetheart, not only
that, I don’t look anything like my author photo.”
4. The Best thing about being a writer? Near the top, has to be getting together with
other writers to whine about the industry.
I was at The Drake in Toronto with a bunch of other Canadian author
friends, Howard Shrier, Robbie Rotenberg, Dorothy McIntosh, Rob Brunet, Pam
Blance…who am I missing?
We were whooping it up in the bar, moaning about the
book trade. Someone bought a round. And another.
And then I bought a round. And
soon, it became necessary to offload some of the product, so I went looking for
a place to piddle. You have to go
upstairs in the Drake to find washrooms, so I gamely toddled up the stairs,
realizing that I couldn’t actually see the steps. I was probably not at my best.
I made it to the landing at the top and scanned a
door in front of me. It had a big “W” on
it. That seemed sort of familiar, but fuzzy, you know? Then I saw the door to my left. It had an “M” on it. So I thought, ‘M for Melodie!’ and walked
right in.
Howard, I think you had probably gone by then, but
the guy at the urinal asked for my number.
