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My signature has changed at key turning points in my life. When I learned cursive in school, my name changed from blocky print to deliberate strokes. I took my husband’s last name when I got married. Yet, I still answer to my maiden name without hesitation. I practiced my pen name before my book was released. I expected to sign my new name only a few times, mostly for my family.

The first batch of author copies I purchased quickly went to friends and fam. I knew they were buying books to support me more than an interest in the material (and I’m okay with that). Paranormal Romance is a niche genre. I signed their books, often with a personal message, because they bought it for me.

My husband took a number of copies to his work. His co-workers all claimed to be buying books for their wives. (However, their familiarity with the plot and characters suggest otherwise.) I was privately amused by the image of so many burly, blue-collar guys reading a steamy romance. I am embarrassed to say, I didn’t think to sign those copies. I completely underestimated the value of my signature. My new emerging fan-base found me out, and brandishing their copies, demanded my signature. All those practice lines were wasted, as I penned a natural ‘B. C. Sirrom’.

The importance of a signed book is different from writer to reader. The kind people who bought my book, wanted a tiny piece of me, proof they knew the author. And I, as the writer, should want to give them that.


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