John Hancocking Your Books

Anna Scott: Signed by the author, I see.

William: Yes, we couldn't stop him. If you can find an unsigned copy. It's worth an absolute fortune. -Notting Hill

I've been thinking a lot about autographs and signed books lately. It usually comes full force to my mind when I'm sending one of my books to someone -- fundraising recipients, teachers, librarians, etc -- and just before sealing up the Jiffypack, I pause and consider whether or not I should sign the book(s). Typically, if they didn't specifically ask for me to do it, I usually err on the side of not doing it. Or I slip in a signed bookplate. That way, they can make their own decision whether or not they want to attach it.

"Why wouldn't you?" I hear you asking. "You're the author -- EVERYONE wants author-signed copies of books!"

But do they really? I'm on the fence about it myself. Maybe they don't want their pristine copy made less so by my signature. Maybe it's not something they care about or maybe it's something they care about only when they've met the author.

(This is why I really don't like walking into bookstores that sell my books and offer to sign them. I'm convinced they're going to look at me like, "Why would you do that?" And yes, that has happened.)

Personally, I kind of fall in the "only when I've met the author" category.

The first time I learned what autographs were, I was in a hospital. I was about four years old and recovering from having my tonsils and adenoids out. (This was back when that particular surgery wasn't out-patient, and I had to stay there for several days and nights.) One of my visitors brought me an autograph book they got at the hospital gift shop and encouraged me to get it signed by all my nurses and doctors as well as the other kids who shared my room.

Some people just signed their name. Others left me a little note along with their signature. One signature I'll never forget was from another "Stephanie" in my room. Her handwriting was so shaky, so tortured looking. She had doctors and nurses coming to her bedside at all times of the day and night, usually to take blood. I remember my mom feeling very sad for her.

The autograph supposed to be a memory preserver. A proof that I met and knew this person or that one (however briefly) at some point. A way to remember our meeting and a reminder to think about them every so often.

That's why people want celebrities autographs, right? Proof that they met them? A reminder that they had a personal interaction with them?

The first time I received a signed copy of a book was long before I was an author signing my own books. I was away at college and my mom had gone to a local bookstore event to meet murder mystery writer Anne Perry. Knowing how much we both loved Anne Perry, my mom sent me a signed copy of her newest book. Which was sweet, but mostly because I had a new book to read. Even then I felt that the signature meant little to me since I hadn't actually met Anne Perry myself.

This story took a bit of a turn a few years later. I was in the TV room at my sorority house and someone had on a true crime show talking about these two teens in New Zealand in the 50s who beat one of their mothers to death with a sock-wrapped brick because one of the teens was going to move away.

The show then went on to mention that one of the teens was the MURDER MYSTERY WRITER ANNE PERRY and I FREAKED out. Like, how are you an accomplice to a murder as a minor and then you go and live with your mom in England and write books about murder?

I ran up to my room, grabbed my copy of the book, and showed everyone in the TV room that I had a book signed by one of those teens. (The story later became a movie called Heavenly Creatures starring Kate Winslet and Melanie Lynskey and directed by Peter Jackson.)

I do still have that book because, of course I do, but it's an outlier in my practice of keeping signed copies by authors I haven't met.

I was recently listening to a publishing podcast that was talking about some author signing tens of thousands of tip-in sheets to be bound with the printed book before it was put on the shelves. Many people will buy those signed copies without ever having met the author. Tens of thousands.

One the one hand: good on that author for hitting so hard that you are commanding that sort of demand. On the other hand: so many signed copies floating around make each one so much less unique. It's just one of thousands.

For me, it's the experience with the author that matters the most. And some author experiences matter more than others, TBH. I will never, ever forget how completely lovely and warm and genuinely kind Henry Winkler was to everyone who came through his signing line. He was sincerely interested in talking to every single person, if even for just a moment. I will always keep his book on my shelves.

I guess another reason people want signed copies is because maybe they think it will be worth something monetarily? Someday? (A signed first edition of Anne Perry's Belgrave Square is going for $60 on eBay.) Personally, I am under no such illusion with regards to the books I've written. And that's not imposter syndrome, it's just me being realistic.

But when I think of those tens of thousands of books, I wonder if there's anything that could happen to make them valuable enough to throw up on eBay. It feels like we've really strayed far from that sort thing coming about when signed author copies are more and more plentiful.

Anyway, this is just a topic I have been turning over and over in my head for years and I finally decided to think it out in print. I fully accept that all of these meandering thoughts likely make me an outlier and that's totally fine. If signed copies of books -- under any circumstances -- make you love or value the books more, that's awesome. We all need to hold tight to the things that bring us joy.