New York hasn’t been book country since the tragic day of 9/11, in my opinion. Because of the security risks, a tradition died. Every year the city would have a street fair full of books, authors, publishers, and people wandering up and down a particular part of Fifth Ave in late Sept. Although the fair did try to reestablish itself for a couple of years, after moving to The Village, and then Central Park, it lost much of its luster and girth and finally petered out.
My job of making sure authors signed books, no matter who they were or when they could come in, extended to one Sunday when the store I was working at usually closed. It was the only day Baroness P. D. James could make it to sign hundreds of her newest title . And we needed that … Read more
To inscribe, or not to inscribe, that is the question. Whether tis’ n0bler to splatter your name indecipherably across the page, or to write a heartfelt little ditty. . . In days long ago, mystery authors did not sign as many books as they do today. The publishers didn’t demand they be their own publicists … Read more