- Bruce Campbell MD
- 20 hours ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 19 minutes ago
A writer-friend tracks me down at the national meeting and asks if I will autograph a copy of my book. “When I heard you were going to be here, I had my husband overnight my copy to me. Will you?”
When my book was published four years ago, I personalized and signed a copy for each of the friends and coworkers kind enough to purchase one. Most of those inscribed books likely still sit undisturbed on shelves, in piles, and in boxes. Each one occupies about 35 cubic-inches of paper and ink and holds glimpses of my long-ago and increasingly distant life.
Book signing requests are infrequent these days, but each opportunity revives the pleasant feeling I am drafting an enduring, heartfelt thank you note to a dear friend. “Seriously? I’m honored,” I say as I pull out my ballpoint pen. “And I want you to sign a copy of your book for me, as well.”
Right before my book launch party, I searched the Internet for “What is the proper way for an author to sign their book?” I learned most writers personalize their work near the bottom of the title page by including the purchaser’s name and a brief, appropriate greeting. I strive for a balance between the impersonal and the overly cute, hoping the book will find a second life someday. The Internet also recommended including the date as it helps establish provenance, makes the book a keepsake and, for first editions, adds value.
She hands me the hardcover edition of my book. The jacket is intact, the edges are sharp, and the volume feels fresh and new. I riffle through the opening pages.
I wish I was carrying one of my archival-grade book-signing Sharpies. They create a dark, smooth, distinctive script and, I believe, help improve my handwriting. It is no secret my signature deteriorated badly early in my medical career. Before the advent of the electronic medical record, physicians physically signed or initialed dozens of prescriptions, documents, lab results, radiology reports, and orders every day. My signature contracted and sputtered as I constantly raced past the back end of my first name and rushed through the middle and end of my last.
When signing books, however, I seek to revive the legibility of my youth by including each of the required loops and lines needed to fashion my full, complete signature. The process signals a sort of return. It becomes a coded message of love.
My thumb locates the title page. As I flex open the cover, my friend and I discover simultaneously this book already carries an inscription. We peer at the message. My carefully-wrought signature and the date confirm this one was purchased originally at the launch party by a wonderful colleague with whom I worked for decades.
“Oh, no!” says my friend.
I am a bit baffled about what to do next. “Oh, my,” I say. “This is new.” I suspect my coworker decided whatever duty she had to me had been fulfilled by purchasing the book then packing it off to Half Price Books. Even though the book shows no wear-and-tear, I know she received no more than a dollar from the bookstore. I smirk and consider how I will ask her whether she still has her signed copy next time I see her.
I compose my thoughts and put pen to page. For the first time, I add an inscription and my signature near the top the title page.
The magical experience of touching a specific copy of my book four years and over 700 miles from my last encounter with it reminds me how little control artists have over their work once it is released into the world. Painters find their work misinterpreted. Singer-songwriters discover their lyrics misquoted. Authors absorb brutal one-star reviews. Samuel Johnson reportedly said, “A writer only begins a book. A reader finishes it.” Johnson might well have included that the reader is also responsible for getting rid of the book, as well.
Catch and release, I think. How fun! The ballpoint’s inscription at the top of the page is not as dark and bold as the black ink at the bottom, but it works. I carefully add the date below my signature, press the cover closed, and return the book to my friend. Perhaps this copy and I will, someday, meet again.
Bruce H. Campbell, MD FACS is a retired head and neck cancer surgeon and author of A Fullness of Uncertain Significance: Stories of Surgery, Clarity, and Grace (TEN16 Press, 2021).
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The Author Resigns - A Book Signing Story
