A Slip of the Keyboard Read online

  Please make sure that whoever arranged this event is either there or at least has made it known to the rest of the staff. There’s going to be some icy looks if the author is greeted with “You’re here to do what?” and there will also be a feeling that if a shop cannot manage a stock signing that doesn’t leave the author feeling like a scribbling intruder, they may not get behind a full signing either.

  Fond farewells …

  Do make sure there’s someone around to say good-bye. Perhaps you’d be surprised at the number of shops who seem to think an author is an automated signing engine. My publicist and I have wandered mystified out of empty shops at the end of a long signing because the staff have all bogged off somewhere to count the money.

  Authors are impressionable, especially on tour. Some shops have impressed me so much that they are the shop I will sign at in that particular town. Organizing a good successful signing is part of that, of course, and that does not have to mean a huge queue, just a sense that the shop made an effort. What authors recall is “That was the shop where they did that really good coffee/cracking window display/were nice people,” and you get a reputation as a good shop to sign at (which spreads among authors, believe me).

  Sometimes shops shyly give little presents, like a bottle of wine. This is nice, but really, really is not required or expected by real authors (and may even be an embarrassment if the author is travelling light). If generosity sweeps you up, then suggesting that they select a book is a good idea all round. But a simple “Many thanks” works wonders.

  NO WORRIES

  SFX, 1998

  That wonderful, prestigious, and above all influential U.K. magazine SFX asked me for a signing-tour report on Australia. Actually, it’s composed from several “real” reports, just like it says.

  Oh, and the current PR lady in Australia is not fearsome at all, really.

  Australia had the best de facto national anthem in the world. Even people living in swamps in Brazil knew that if you heard the strains of “Waltzing Matilda,” you’d soon be swamped by young men and women with orange complexions and the heaviest knapsacks in the world. So, when Australians actually got the chance to vote in a replacement for “God Save the Queen,” what did they vote for? “Advance Australia Fair,” that’s what. Now, true, it’s more hygienic than most anthems, singing the praises of sunshine and fresh air rather than, say, bashing other countries, but it does sound so … worthy. Why didn’t “Waltzing Matilda” get chosen? Because it wouldn’t have been respectable. Australians care a lot about what other people think.

  I had this conversation with an Aussie on the edge of a swimming pool at Ayers Rock:

  Aussie: So what do the poms think about us wanting to kick out Queenie, then? (The “republic v. monarchy” debate was big at the time.)

  Me: Doesn’t worry us. We’ve been thinking along the same lines.

  Aussie: You don’t mind?

  Me: Nope. It’s fine by us.

  Aussie: So … you poms don’t mind, then …

  Me: Nope.

  Aussie: Oh. Right.

  I saw him once or twice again that day, and he was clearly uneasy. He wanted us to mind, so he could say that it was none of our bloody business.

  Because … well, Australia is still very English, down at bone level. You can see it everywhere, especially in the letters columns of its newspapers. There’s the same hair-trigger fear that someone somewhere might be getting more than their fair share, the same low-grade resentments, the same tone of voice … it’s just like being back home. I love the place, and must have been back at least a dozen times.

  I did my first Australian tour in 1990. It was a bit of an eye-opener. They talk about U.K. and Commonwealth rights in the contracts, and the author says “yeah, yeah” and signs—and then you go out there, and there’s all these real people. Let’s see, what were the highlights on that tour … oh, yes, going into a bookshop in some tiny place called Toowoomba and finding a huge crowd of people, and on the signing table was a Vegemite sandwich and a cup of Milo, corner-stones of the Australian Experience. One of the others is “a chunder,” which I didn’t have. Incidentally, an early Australian rival to Marmite was tentatively called Pawill, although the proposed slogan, “If Marmite, Pawill,” was never used as far as I know, possibly because of police intervention. I was also pissed on by a koala, because that’s what they do. A taxi driver ran after me in the street to give me my change, a thing that’s never ever happened anywhere else in the world. And we shifted a lot of books, in this huge continent hitherto known to me as a word in the small print on page 28.

  Since then I’ve done a tour most years, sometimes linked up with SF cons either in Australia or New Zealand. And after every tour I do The Report, of things we did, things that went wrong (and right), and all the other stuff that might be useful in the future.

  It’d be sort of suicidal to print one. So I looked at all the reports, and tinkered with them.…

  In The Last Continent I tried to make it clear that the Discworld continent of Fourecks is not, of course, Australia. It’s just a bit … Australian. So this is a report of a tour that never was in some place that doesn’t exist. But it all happened, somewhere. I’ve just moved things around a bit to protect the innocent, which in this case means me.

  Day 1

  Off on BA009, 10:25 p.m. from Heathrow. Watched Mars Attacks; shame Mars didn’t attack earlier, like before this waste of space went into production. Rowan Atkinson and Mel Smith were also in the cabin, so there was understandably a genteel air of silent gloom which meant I could get some sleep.

  Day 3

  (Day 2 is confiscated by Customs when you arrive but they give it back to you when you go.)

  Arrived feeling fragile but okay, checked into hotel, slept for six hours, woke up feeling as though every sensory organ in my body had been wrongly wired. A vital piece of equipment on tour is a small torch and a notebook. Every night you’re in a new room. It’s not just that you don’t know where the bathroom is, you don’t even remember where the light switch is. Before the jet lag wears off, you don’t even know if you’re the right person. This is where the notebook comes in handy.

  Up and shower and do some local media and then it’s time for a talk and signing.

  This was something originally dreamed up by some fans as a little chat, got bigger at the insistence of the fearsome PR lady who likes my time to be filled edge to edge, and ended up in this big hall with four hundred people. Nice bunch. Someone congratulates me on my deadpan delivery. Haven’t the heart to say that this is because bits of my body think it’s 5:00 a.m.

  Day 4

  Morning doing more media, many of whom I’d met before. One keen guy conducts entire interview with the mike of his recorder plugged into the auxiliary power socket. I didn’t like to point this out, because it would be impolite, so when he found out by himself we did the interview again.

  Noon: Small Mainstream Bookshop signing.

  A very small shop—250 square feet or so, I’d guess, but with a very mixed and friendly queue that took up more or less the whole ninety minutes allocated. This is one of those shops where the owners seem to know half the customers by name, and probably ring them up to find out how they are if they don’t see them for a month. Couldn’t fault it. Banana daiquiri supplied, entirely unasked.

  Straight on to: University of Bananabendin, Worralorrasurfa.

  A good crowd that took two hours to get through. Pet wallaby brought along to see me, and a fan presents me with a bag of dried bush tomatoes, of which I’m known to be rather fond. Oh, and here’s a banana daiquiri. And someone’s holding a baby kangaroo.

  Then a phone interview with a journalist doing a preview piece for the signing a few cities down the line. She’s never read a Discworld book, but nervously admits to sharing a home with someone who’s read them all. And reads out bits to her.

  On to Small Family Bookshop, for a talk outside in the rather nice back garden. Nibbles and, hey,
a banananana dakry. Overhead, possums swoop from tree to tree, unless I mean wombats. Hard to get away from this shop because the owner is one of those lovely people who tries to give you his entire stock to take away, but I make it in the end.

  Day 5

  Damn—the cooling fan in the laptop has stopped working. Ring up local office of Wasabi Computers, who might be able to fix it tomorrow, except that tomorrow we’re somewhere else.… It might be a software problem, says the engineer, and there’s a fix on their bulletin board, but time is pressing.…

  10:00 a.m.: Bookshop in a Mall, Outinasuburba.

  Nice big queue and I eye the early arrivals carefully, espying a fan I’d met before. Explain problem. He nips off. An hour later he’s back, and slips me a disk with the freshly downloaded fix. I sign all his books. No worries.

  1:00 p.m.: Small Bookshop, Worralorrasurfa.

  Still enough fans around to take the queue to about seventy-five minutes. As a charity wheeze, they can have their picture taken with me. One lady has made me an entire box of origami turtles. No worries.

  Day 6

  8:10 a.m.: flight to Arthur.

  11:00 a.m.: Interview with Big Radio Journo (said to be first-division media). I was prepared to dislike the man but in fact we got on pretty well; he avoided the usual dumb questions and we had a decent twenty minutes. Sometimes it’s a bit embarrassing to be interviewed by a journalist who’s a fan because fan-type questions don’t work well on air (they say things like “So … is Rincewind coming back, then?” and you can hear a hundred thousand people looking at their radios and saying, “What the — is he on about?”).

  On to Small Yet Seriously Worthy Bookshop, Innasuburb.

  This shop is seriously behind all aspects of Discworld. They sell the Clarecraft models and had even imported the videos. Don’t know how many people there were, because everyone was keen and wanted to chat and a bunch of actors in costume from an upcoming production of Wyrd Sisters also turned up. A fun event; every tour should contain at least one. I was allowed to kiss Granny Weatherwax. Few people can say the same. Not without having a very croaky voice, at any rate.

  On to Big Specialist Bookshop.

  Big Forbidden Planet type of queue, heavy with carrier bags. One nice lady had brought a banana daiquiri in a thermos. Another one opens the violin case she’s carrying and it turns out to contain a polished scythe blade on a black velvet lining.

  Will I sign it so’s she can have the name etched on? What would you do, boys and girls?

  Signing overruns, so the tail end of the queue follows me down the road to Big Mainstream Bookshop and tags on to the end of the one already there. Among the people waiting is Ruby, who describes herself as my biggest fan and may well be, and a lady with some books to be signed to her psychiatrist. I sign them, advising her to change her psychiatrist.

  Nip back to the Specialist shop to sign orders, and we spot a young lady fan surreptitiously walking out with the empty lager can that I’d been drinking from earlier. We shall never know why and dare not ask.

  Check into very posh small hotel. There’s a letter from the manager, assuring me of his attention at all times.

  Go out with publishers to a fish and chip supper. Ah, but this is Doyles Fish Restaurant, where they serve barramundi and chips, and a barramundi is what a cod becomes if it’s been a good cod in this life.

  Back to the hotel, where there’s a letter in the room from the deputy manager, assuring me of his attention at all times. I wake up at 2:00 a.m. at the sound of an envelope being pushed under the door. It’s from the night manager, assuring me of his attention at all times. I think if you stay in this hotel for more than a fortnight you have to marry one of the staff.

  Day 7

  On to Large Mainstream Shop, Nothersuburb.

  Eighty or ninety people, I guess. One guy turned up as Death and was rewarded with a big poster. At least, I assume it was someone dressed up as Death, but who knows?

  On to New Specialist Bookshop, Yettanothasuburb. Big queue. Lady surreptitiously attempts to bribe me to put her son in a future book. Trouble is, he’s called John (or Sam, or Tony … can’t quite remember). Explain that if she changes his name to Sweevil or Chalcedony she might be in with a chance.

  Off to airport for flight to Vulcana …

  Signing-tour hotels are like a box of chocolates—you never know whether you’re going to get the nasty hard one that someone else has already sucked. Sometimes you get one lit by forty-watt lightbulbs, sometimes you get a suite where you have to phone reception in the end to find out where the bed is. I’m in luck tonight—this one’s got a bath so big you can lie down in it, completely flat.

  Day 8

  Media in the morning, then on to University for big talk in their lecture theatre, organized by the librarian, who is a fan. Make ape-like gestures behind his back while he’s doing the introduction, then give him a “Librarians Rule Ook” badge. Sign for queue afterwards, and get hit by a drive-by manuscript dumper. That is, when it’s over there’s this unexpected brown envelope on the desk, with a note asking me to read it and send my comments to the author. Sigh.

  4:00 p.m.: Small Yet Lovely Specialist Bookshop. The owner knows her stuff, so it’s always a pleasure to sign here. Long friendly queue, and there’s a bowl of black jelly beans on the signing table; it is impossible to eat only one black jelly bean. One lady had travelled more than fourteen hours on a train to get to this signing. Sent her a poster when I got home.

  Rush off to airport for flight to Bugarup. Dinner on the plane is Chicken Congealé. No worries. Well, perhaps one or two.

  Day 9

  Breakfast with a journo, who’s really a fan in disguise who has come up with a good way of not having to wait in a queue, some down-the-line interviews, and on to:

  Book signing, Bigmallsomewherea.

  They’ve really tried, but somewhere someone came up with the idea that fantasy = horror = coffins, and obtained an actual coffin, on wheels, for use as a signing table. This raises a few problems. One of them, of course, is of good taste, but more practical is the fact that coffins are made for lying in or kneeling by, not sitting at, and since this one is on casters it gently slides away as I sign until it’s at arm’s length. In the end we settle for a dull but practical table and they save the coffin for Anne Rice, who knows how to do this stuff.

  On to:

  Another Big Specialist Bookshop, Citycenta.

  Nice place, this. Been there on every tour. Despite this, loads of people with lots of backlist. And a banana dakry. Oh, and a Goth. Fourecks seems to have a thriving Goth culture, if thriving is the right word. I think Goths are fun. It’s not a proper signing queue unless you get at least one Goth. In Worralorrasurfa they’ve got surf Goths.

  Back to the hotel where, hooray, I have a suite with extensive views of the curvature of the earth.

  Day 10

  So’s I don’t get bored on my day off, there’s a set of proofs been sent here from the U.K. Read them and make three pages of corrections. Plan is that, since hotel has got a Business Centre, I can use one of their printers and then fax the pages back.

  … except that today the person who knows how their setup works is away. Spend an engrossing hour until I find out that their printer switch box is wired back to front. Oh, and the default printer on the network is not, in fact, the one next to this machine. I find this out when someone rings down and says, “There’s some rather odd stuff coming out of the LaserJet in the manager’s office. Who is Captain Vimes, mate?”

  Day 11

  Fly to Purdeigh Island.

  Noon: Busy signing at general bookshop; foreign authors don’t often come here, so everyone’s got everything.

  And down the length of the island to:

  Evening talk/signing organized by local bookshop in the Country Comfort Hotel. What a lovely name for a hotel.

  And then a real early night because:

  Day 12

  Up at 4:30 a.m. for flight to
Crowtown. Aargh! There’d been a much more sensibly timed flight, which got cancelled. This isn’t life in the fast lane, it’s life in the oncoming traffic.

  Crash out for an hour or so at hotel. Today we’re going to try four signing sessions with bits of media in between, just so no shop feels hard done by. This means starting signing at a couple of shops a few doors from one another, splitting about two hours of queue between them. Then down to some mall for sushi fast food, which Eckians have really taken to. That’s something you don’t see in England—ladies who look like your great-grandmother scarfing California roll and sashimi off a fork.

  Then round the corner to a Small Specialist Bookstore, which is another one that makes an effort. They got someone to ride his Harley into the shop on the Soul Music tour, and for the Feet of Clay one they built a 180 kilogram golem in the shop. This guy knows his stuff—he’s provided a bucket of ice cubes to combat wrist ache, too.

  6:00 p.m.: Off to a talk organized by one of the morning’s shops, which has managed to browbeat enough people to fit a large hall. And more signing. A few MSS dumpers, but one guy has brought in a flask of Wow-wow Sauce, made to the recipe in The Discworld Companion.

  And then off with the shop manager to a meat-pie floater wagon to sample this most famous local delicacy. Forgoing, for reasons of economy, the Gourmet Pie Floater (containing named meat) at $3.60, I opted for the basic variety at $3.30.

  It was piquant. No worries.

  Day 13

  Long flight to Sand City. Got a suite in the hotel, wow. But it’s sort of odd. There’s this huge room but the furniture is arranged as if it’s a small room, so there’s the sofa and chairs and table and stuff and then an acre of carpet all around.