Judy Alter's Blog, page 337

Two very different books

Two books on my mind tonight. Late last night (too late) I finished Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die. I'd call this first in a new series a "non-culinary" mystery. Jordan McAllister is stuck writing personals for a small-town newspaper and dreaming of a career as a big-time sports reporter when she is suddenly asked to take over the food column. Jordan knows how to fry bologna and that's about it--her cast iron skillet is literally unused, though she puts it to good use here. In one of the funniest scenes I've read in a long time, she is sent to review an upsccale steak restaurant. She confesses to the waiter that she doesn't much like red meat, so he suggests foie gras, convincing her that it's chicken. Confronted with the look and texture of foie gras, she desperateley stuffs it in a borrowed purse and escapes the restaurant. Her review includes more than  you want to know about force-feeding geese.
Jordan, like a babe in the wilderness, writes her column with the help of her assorted friends and neighbors, one of whom is an outstanding cook. Potato chip casserole becomes Budin de Papitas Frites con Pollo, and pork chop casserole is Cote de Porc a'la cocotte.
But murder is deadly serious, and the waiter who served her the foie gras turns up dead at the steps to Jordan's apartment. She's suspect #1, and her amateur attempts to find out who really killed J.T. and prove her innocence drag her deeper and deeper into something menacing that she doesn't understand at all. There's suspense aplenty before it all gets straightened out, and you'll have as hard a time as Jordan does figuring out who are the good guys and who aren't.
The other book is Lone Star Leaders: Power and Personality in the Texas Congressional Delegation, by James Riddlesperger and Anthony Champagne. The Bookish Frogs, a lay support group for TCU Press, had a potluck supper tonight. For a while, I thought we were going to have a dessert buffet but it turned out there were plenty of delicious appetizers and side dishes--from pulled pork sliders to spanikopita and mac and cheese. The desserts were plentiful and delicious, and the wine flowed. The best thing about those evenings is the interesting people who attend--had fun, for instance, chatting with a Facebook "friend" that I don't think I'd ever talked to before..
Lone Star Leaders was written by two political science profs, but it's not the dull scholarly book you might expect. Instead it's a coffee-table book full of anecdotes and enlivened by photographs and cartoons. Tony Champagne spoke tonight and was both funny and interesting, full of facts about the Texas Congressional Delegation that most of us didn't know, from stories about well-known legislators like LBJ, Sam Rayburn and John Nance Garner to some about lesser known legislators who have had a great impact on our daily lives. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop when he spoke--everyone was completely engaged. I"m looking forward to digging into the book.
Two good books--take your pick.

Beta readers

This week I heard from my mentor--since he doesn't think of himself as a mentor, I think I should now call him my Beta reader. I was never sure about that term but I see it all over the writing lists, so I looked it up: a reader who readers with a "critical eye" with the aim of improving a work for a general audience. Well, my Beta reader, Fred, had several suggestions which kind of all boiled down to I have too many balls in the air in the current work in progress and should eliminate some. I know he's right about at least one plot thread and will eliminate it. Another one I must review. One I'm pretty sure I want to keep, and another solution he suggested I've already solved in a different way--though when I told him, Fred seemed to think that was a good idea. But the one I really should write out will wipe out everything I did yesterday morning, so it kind of set me back on my heels. I'm once again moving ahead  at a good clip, accumulating words toward that goal of a 70,000-word manuscript, so I was dismayed at the thought of writing out a good chunk of it. I tell myself, or try to, that it's quality not quantity that matters. The truth is my March 15 deadline is for a finished manuscript and this is a first draft, so if I stop moving ahead in word count and go back to rewrite and reconsider, it becomes part of the revision process which I will now do sooner rather than later.
But at the same time I found a promotional contest for a new culinary novel--well, really it's sort of a non-culinary mystery because the protagonist is a food critic who knows zilch about cooking or food. There are several steps to this contest: post on Twitter, post on Facebook, buy a copy and submit proof, and finally, write a review. The prize, though, is worth all those steps--fancy digital cooking equipment. So what the heck--I temporarily abandoned my own novel to read Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die and I'm having fun with it. And I tell myself thoughts about my own novel are simmering on the back burner of my brain. I truly do believe that theory.
Tonight was memoir class, and we had a stimulating evening of some profoundly honest and moving pieces and then one hilarious one plus some really interesting discussions about why you write memoir--one class member says she writes with such honesty she can't share it with anyone outside the class. A new member who says she doesn't know what she wants to write doesn't want to do memoir because parts of her childhood were difficult, she's dealt with them, and doesn't want to relive them. So there was a chorus of suggestions of what she can write about. Another member advocated that everyone has a story to tell and those stories must be captured and preserved. Each person has to decide how to approach memoir, but it sure was an interesting discussion.
Enough complex thinking--I have to get back to reading that mystery.

A normal day?

I managed to write 3,000 words today--2,000 in the morning and another 1,000 in the evening. I have no idea how many words other authors accumulate in a day's time, but I was pretty darn proud of this. Whereas a week or so ago I was in the broken middle, I seem to have found a plot line to carry the story forward. I am actually full of ideas for tomorrow's writing, but  I think I'll quit for tonight. Running out of gas for one thing, and I want to start a cozy that I'm going to review in hopes of winning a contest--grand prize is some sort of digital fancy kitchen equipment that I probably don't undertand but it sounds wonderful. The book is Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die about a non-cook who ends up being food critic for a small paper.She also ends up in the middle of a murder--my kind of book.
Not that I've cooked in the past two days. Yesterday I had lunch and dinner out but managed to eat modestly. Okay, I ate chopped liver for lunch--but only a small scoop and I didn't have it in a sandwich. Last night I had a salad. Today I ate all three meals out and once again really tried to be modest--one scrambled egg and a half piece of toast for breakfast, one brat, potato salad and kraut for lunch (doesn't sound like diet food, does it?) and half a serving of meatloaf, black-eyed peas and green beans for supper (the other half of the meatloaf is in the fridge calling my name for lunch soon). If my social life doesn't slow down, I will be a) late with my manuscript, and b) fat as a pig.
Tomorrow, I speak at a monthly book luncheon at TCU for staff and then will fix a chopped steak dish for the Burtons. But Thursday, aah, I get to eat the meatloaf for lunch and Linda will come for supper before the memoir class. I think she'll get creamed tuna, but shhh! don't tell her.
Right now the weather in North Texas is beautiful. Great top down days, and I love the freedom of driving with the wind blowing my hair in my eyes so I can't see--a visor cap helps with that. By 12:30, the sun was almost too hot to have the top down but I soldiered on. By the time I got Jacob, it was too hot for the shirt I'd started the day in. He managed to create a mud puddle in the back yard--the puppy, thinking she's a pig, wallowed in it. I have laid down the law about turning on the water. Hope it works.
Life is good.

speaking to book clubs

There's been a thread on the Guppies (Great Unpublished) list lately about the value of speaking to local book clubs. I'm all in favor of it. Granted the audience is small, but if they like you and your book, they'll spread the word. Tonight I spoke to the "Berkeley Babes," a neighborhood group with a name that some acknowledge as incongruous. One said to me, maybe it was appropriate years ago when the club was formed and the members were indeed "babes."
Tonight they met at a  local restaurant on the patio--a lovely evening and perfect setting. The friend who invited me said they made it a rule that visiting authors could not sell books, which was a bit of a disappointment, so I took bookmarks. Turns out I needn't have worried: all but one of the fourteen women present had read (and presumably purchased) my book, which made disicussion all the much easier. We drank wine, ate salads, and they munched on pizza, which I declined. Then I spoke about the book, finding that once I've done it, extemporaneous was easy for me. I had some notes that the dog chewed and I was going to take them as a joke, but forgot--and the gimmick wasn't needed. I talked about how I got the idea for the book, the publication process, agents, etc.--talked maybe for 15 minutes--and then opened it for questions. They had lots of them, and there was lively discussion for at least thirty, maybe forty-five minutes. At the end, I had one prospective sale (she'd been traveling and hadn't read the book) and ten new friends (four of those present are in my writing class, and I may have picked up some intrest in that). But those ten new friends will, I hope, tell their friends about the mystery they read and the author who spoke to them.
I have three more book clubs and a university employees book group coming up shortly, with the probability of at least one more book club. . Small audiences, but worth the time. And good practice in speaking to promote my book. Word may spread from those and garner me more invitations. Lots better than sitting at a table in a bookstore watching people walk by and avoid looking at me--though I may do some of that too.
I always remember Jane Roberts Wood's Train to Estelline. Jane made it a hit by talking to every small group she could find. I think she's a good role model. If you really want to promote your book, no group is too small, no effort not worth making--with a smile.
A note of confusion: last night's post about Spam was meant to go on Potluck with Judy. I get mixed up easily between the two, and it ended on Judy's Stew. So I hope you enjoyed it. Yay, Spam!

Spam stix--no kidding

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The Texas State Fair is here, along with its weird deep-fried foods. Every year contestants try to outdo previous years—like this year fried bubble gum is edging out fried butter. One of the lesser known contests is for Spam recipes, but my friend Weldon Adams submitted his fried Spam stix—and didn't win. Still, his wife, Beth, insists that they are "embarrassingly good." We had them for dinner tonight. I found them like crunchy fish sticks, delicious dipped in ketchup. I was only cautious because the fat content in traditional Spam is pretty high. Christian, my fussy son-in-law, ate two helpings plus what was on his son's plate, and ignored the back-up hamburger I'd gotten him. We thought Jacob would like them but he didn't (ate a ton of purple-hulled peas with ketchup).
For those that might not know Spam is a canned lunch meat made of ham, pork, sugar, salt, water, starch, and sodium nitrite. Since it was introduced in 1937 over six billion cans have been sold worldwide. It was introduced primarily for the armed forces because, with all that sodium, it keeps well. They used so much of it at Pearl Harbor that Hawaii became sort of Spam Central, and the international recipe competition is held there to this day.
When I was a kid, Spam sandwiches were made much like ham sandwiches with lettuce and mayo or mustard. My frugal mother, who'd lived through the Depression and was living through the second World War in her lifetime, treated a whole can of Spam like a ham—she crisscrossed knife slashes across the top, sprinkled it with brown sugar, studded it with cloves, and baked it. Mom sliced the leftovers and fried them for breakfast meat. Weldon says his family ate chicken-fried Spam.
Spam has become sort of an inside joke these days. Lots of people who've never tasted it say, "Yuck! I could never eat that." (Count at least one of my daughters among them.) But it spite of the product's generally poor reputation, Hormel has a huge Spam Web site that you can explore for hours (http://www.spam.com). Much of it seems tongue-in-cheek. The Spam Museum, for instance, is a virtual museum. Listing visits per year, the site says, "As many as you'd like." There's a page devoted to Spammobile, a gift shop that sells T-shirts, coffee cups and mugs, drop earrings with SPAM cans, lapel pins, bumper stickers that say "I love Spam," a Spam fan club ("your membership lasts a lifetime"), and an endless list of things. The Book of SPAM is available online from amazon.com. Today Spam comes in a dithering array of flavors—original, hickory smoked, with bacon, with garlic, with cheese, lite, turkey. The Web site has recipes—Spam stroganoff, Spam meatloaf, Spam quiche, a speedy dip, croquettes, and a minestrone soup made with Spam. There are also suggestions for adapting the ubiquitous meat to various cuisines. Prefer French food? You can have your Spam in ratatouille or something called Ragin' Cajun Spam party salad. Asian? How about Speedy Cheesy Stir-fry? Spam a la orange? Sweet and sour Spam Cantonese? If Mexican is your preference, you can have Spam in chili relleños, ranchero eggs, chimichangas, or breakfast burritos. And finally, of course, there's Italian—pizza is inevitable, but you can also make turkey Spam lasagna, eggplant Italiano, spaghetti sauce, or fettucine primavera. The possibilities are endless.
It's no coincidence that spam has become the term for unwanted junk email. There's an explanation on the Web, but it went over my head.
Here's Weldon's description and recipe for his Spam stix:
French Fried Spam Stix are intended as a replacement for both sausage links and hash browns to help break the monotony on a breakfast plate. They are a tasty match with my special "Dippin' Sauce," especially when paired with scrambled eggs. And kids love them for breakfast…or lunch…or dinner.In addition, this dish is completely gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free, & corn-free.  (It can easily be made egg-free as well by substituting Almond Milk for the beaten egg.) Food allergies are such an issue today that Hormel Foods should highlight the fact that Spam is gluten-free. 

 Ingredients:
1 12-oz. Can of Spam (Several flavors will work, but I use the classic)
½ Cup Almond Meal (a.k.a. Almond Flour)
½ Cup Brown Rice Flour
½ Teaspoon Salt (or to taste)
1 Egg (beaten)
Extra Virgin Olive Oil (to fry in)
Note: if gluten allergies don't trouble you, substitute regular white flour and corn meal for the rice flour and almond meal.)
Kickin' Chicken Dippin' Sauce (So named for the chicken on the label of the Sriracha bottle)Ingredients:
1 cup ketchup
1 Tablespoon Sriracha hot sauce (or to taste)

French Fried Spam® Stix directions:
Set out two bowls in a line next to a deep pot you will use to fry in.In the bowl next to the pot, mix the Almond Meal, Brown Rice Flour & the salt.
In the bowl further away from the pot, thoroughly beat one egg.
Open and carefully remove the Spam from the can.  Rinse and gently shake off any excess water.
Your block of Spam will have score marks (indentation lines) on the sides and ends from the shape of the can.  Stand it upright.  There is a single score mark down the middle of each of the skinny ends.
Use a sharp knife to cut the block in half using those lines as guide lines.  Then divide each half the same way on your own, making 4 slabs of Spam.
Keep them stacked up and lay your Spam on its side.  There are 4 score marks on the sides.  Use them as guides to slice the SPAM® that way as well.  Then divide each of the thicker end pieces in half the same way.  You now have 28 almost uniform 'French fry' shaped pieces of Spam. Add enough Extra Virgin Olive Oil to your fry pot to cover at least half the thickness of these sticks and bring it to heat.

Once the oil is hot enough to fry, use the "wet-hand/dry-hand" method to move the sticks to the fry pot. Take some sticks in your "wet hand" (the one further away from the pot) and roll the sticks in the beaten egg.  Then drop them on top of the mixed dry ingredients.Using your 'dry hand', cover the sticks and roll them over to ensure equal coating on all sides and ends. Then using the same hand, lay them on a broad spatula and lower them into the hot oil to fry.

As you fill the pot evenly across the bottom, check to make sure the first ones are not overdone. They should have a nice golden brown on the sides and bottom.  If so, flip them with the spatula. Once all are done, remove them to a cooling/draining rack.Repeat the process until you have fried all 28 sticks.  Once all are on the cooling rack, you can mix up the Kickin' Chicken Dippin' Sauce.

Kickin' Chicken Dippin' Sauce directions:In a bowl, mix 1 cup of ketchup with 1 tablespoon of Sriracha Sauce.

 Paired with eggs, this serves four.

Strenuous days, a five-year-old boy, and a rough dinner

I haven't been exercising lately because I had this puppy to care for, a full-time job that gave me plenty of exercise. But more and more she's getting self-sufficient. And I'm gaining weight and feeling the need (guilt?) to exercise. So today I did my yoga routine for the first time in two months. Not as bad as I expected--my muscles seemed to remember what they were supposed to do. Granted, I'm a little less flexible--not that I was ever very flexible--and my muscles quiver more in some exercises. But on the whole, I didn't do badly. I went from that to Sophie's first training session, which proved to be less hard on my body than on my nerves. I worried a great deal about being pulled down between the car and PetSmart, but I managed to control her efforts to run to every person she saw and we made it inside. Lesson was very valuable, from how to use treats to vocabulary. Sophie is, I think, part way through what she should have learned in this first lesson--for instance, she knows "sit" and "down" and I learned a super new technique for dealing with her jumping on me.
Jacob arrived shortly after I finished a hasty lunch--he was not in sympathy with my almost desperate need for a late afternoon nap. Woke me up to "love" on me and for several other reasons.  Finally he kissed me and said have a good nap. When I woke up it was almost six and suspiciously quiet from Jacob's playroom--he was sound asleep. I fed the dogs, started dinner, and then wakened him gently by scratching his back. He never wakes up from naps in a good mood but his bad, whiny mood took a while. Then he began to whine because I'd promised a picnic and it looked like rain; I suggested the porch; he cried and wanted his daddy. Finally he decided on the porch, and we carried our dinners out there, only to have him declare it was too windy. Back inside, where he spilled his dinner on the living room rug. Then he wanted to go back outside--carried our food back outside. Then he was sure there was a tornado coming, and we had to go inside. Long story not very short: I had a cold ground beef patty, salad was okay, he had 1-1/2 chicken nuggets, declared he couldn't eat the corn, and finished his meal with chocolate-covered raisins--half good half bad is my grandmotherly rationale.
Rain is in the air, praise be, and Jacob is obssessed with tornadoes, telling me about the ones he's experienced--yeah, sure--and predicting them outside. We have the weather channel on but it's hard for him to distinguish between videos of past tornados and anything happening here and now. He keeps wanting to go to the bathroom to hide but I have refused.
Writing the great American novel? What's that? I may get to read the John Grisham novel that I'm having a hard time with. My colleague Fred tells me it has a section about an inapropriate develpment project, relevant to my work-in-progress, but I haven't come to it yet and am finding, as I have before, that Grisham just doesn't captivate me. This one is The Last Juror.
In sum, a grandmotherly Saturday. Were my kids like this?
Most of the rest of my family is in Austin for a race of some sort--I can't sort out if it's an ironman or a muddy whatever, but I'm a bit sad not to be with them.

My day started with marching drums about 7:30 in the morn...

My day started with marching drums about 7:30 in the morning. Sophie got so excited we had to go out on the porch early and listen to the drums--which can get rather repetitive, especially before you've had coffee. But there's something really neat about an elementary school that puts on a neighborhood walkathon instead of selling candy to raise funds--there was so much school spirit. The majority of parents marched with their children, and the Paschal HIgh School Band led the way, behind police cars with flashsing lights. Parents and children alike wore their red Lily B. Clayton T-shirts, and you could feel the excitement in the air. Jacob is lucky to go to this very special school. It was a long day for him, because tonight was family fun night, complete with hot dogs, face painting, bounce house, super-high slides, and all that kind of thing. His mom is out of town on business and pouting about missing all the fun.
I on the other hand had a relatively easy day--after I could get my car out of the driveway, when the parade festivities were over, I ran a couple of errands, did odds and ends, ate an early lunch and had a good nap. Jacob spent the afternoon at the neighbors' playing with three-year-old Abby. They created sidewalk art, of  which he was very proud. I got to stay home and clear stray junk off my desk. By the time his dad arrived to take him to family night, I was able to settle down and get some good solid writing time. Just wish I knew where this novel is going.

The kind of day that makes me grateful

A boy and his dog after school--wait! I thought she was my dog! Guess not.Tonight Jacob and I went to meet Aunt Betty at The Tavern. He was delighted when I told him Aunt Betty and said, "At the Star?" The Star is the restaurant that Betty and Don own, but I said no, we were going to another restaurant. He gave me a thumbs down. But it was a beautiful evening, and we put the top down and loved the drive through a tree-filled neighborhood. Jacob decided he wanted mac and cheese and mashed potatoes for his dinner (glad his mother is out of town and so unable to say, "he needs a green vegetable" which has often been my mantra). I tried to talk him into choosing one or the other, but he was adamant (I think, as a grandmother, I should have been more firm but I get so tired of telling him no all the time). He barely touched either--they had "grass" (parsley or chives) on them. When his father joined us, he ate a good portion of both, and I ate a bit of the potatoes--so buttery and good.
As Christian and I talked, after Betty had to leave, I said one thing I'd learned from daily baby-sitting or day-care or whatever  you want to call it is that "famliarity breeds contempt." Jacob is a lot more likely to balk, ignore, etc., because he's here every day. I do get very tired of being the disciplinarian and yet if I don't, I"m letting him get away with bad habits and, worse, I'm letting him "be the boss" of me." (He's big on who is the boss and insists his mommy is but I explain, over and over, that when he's at my house, I am the boss.)"
In spite of all that, it was a lovely dinner. Christian and I had the kind of good visit we don't get very often. I loved the deviled eggs appetizer and seared scallop and salad entree that Betty and I split--our usual fare at The Tavern. And I drove home with the top down, reveling in the cool and fresh air and thinking how good my life is.
This was a kind of rush/rush day although it shouldn't have been. My compulsive nature kicks in when it shouldn't, but I wanted to get a TCU reimbursement form filled out and comp copies of my novel mailed to the three authors who had so kindly blurbed it. I went to the office, thinking I had to use one of their computers to fill out the form--absolutely boggled my mind and Melinda's too. She really tried to help me. Finally I made a series of "help" phone calls that landed me with a tech person in financial services. His best advice? Go home and do it on my pc. I did, and it took me less than five minutes. I had wasted over an hour at the office, trying to make the darn thing work. The Mac/pc war raged fast and furious in the office when I was there--I've never used anything but a pc but both my employees were die-hard Mac users. We had arguments about it, but I finally just left well enough alone. Turned out today it was a Mac problem. In the end I got my books packaged, ran to the post office, got a copy of my work-in-progress to take to my mentor, Fred, at lunch, and essentially got eveything done that I meant to. But I sure felt harried all the time. This is NOT the way retirement should feel.
Home from lunch, I had an extra hour because Jacob was taking Spanish and I didn't have to get him until four. Did I nap as I planned? No, I had all these nit-picky things to do, although I finally did get in an hour nap. And then I felt rushed again--getting Jacob to do his homework, feeding the dogs and getting them ready to be left, fixing my face, checking email.
My final verdict on the day? Where and what would I be if I didn't have all these things to do, all these demands on my time? I am so grateful to be so involved in life and so blessed with granchildren, friends and family, and animals, and work I really want to get to. No wonder I don't have blocks of time for great writing, but still: I am one lucky woman.

Amanda Knox Redux

Every other person on the web will be writing about Amanda Knox, but I feel compelled to add my two cents. I  became emotionally involved with this girl way back during her first trial. She seemed at once strong and vulnerable. During the appeals trial, at first it was obvious that she had matured during her prison ordeal and she seemed confident, participating in her defense. (I heard today that the prisoners and jailers where she has been kept were all very fond of her because she was, to put it simply, such a nice and good person.) As we watched the proceedings daily, we saw her crumble bit by bit, beaten down by prosecurtion threats and outrageous accusationss. Yesterday she had to be helpd into court and when the verdict came, as we all saw, she was near collapse and nearly carried from the court. Her lawyer said when he talked to her last night, she was joyful land grateful.
Her former boyfriend seemed lost in all the media focus on Amanda I didn't realize until this week that it was a joint appeals trial and his future too was at stake. Godspeed and a good life to him.
Amanda Knox tonight is presumably back in Seattle, safely hidden from the media, as she should be. She needs time, oh so much time, to process her experience, to realize it's over, to try to become herself again. Rosy endings aren't always rosy, and I can see hard times ahead for her and her family. In a way it may almost be like the caretaker whose patient dies--and then what do they do?
But a couple of thoughts occur to me--one day, I hope in the not too distant future--Amanda needs to ackowledge her debt to the media. If the media, mostly American but those from other countries too, hadn't focused on her, hadn't shown the spotlight on Italy and its legal system, she might well still be in prison--for a long time. Clearly she is innocent but if the case had remained anonymous, with no publicity, Italy and its legal system would not have been in the spotlight. As it is, they saved face by covicting her of slander but declaring the sentence fulfilled by time served. We're used to damning the media in this country for everything from politics to hero worship, but in this case we all owe a debt of gratitude--and Amanda Knox particularly.
My other thought is that she has been born again--not in the religious sense, but she surely has been given a second chance at life, and the world will be watching to see what she does with it. My sense is that she's become made of stern stuff, despite her courtroom breakdown, and I hope she will accomlish something big, again perhaps as a gesture of gratitude, of knowing she has been saved. Should she waste her life, it would be like all our angst was for naught.
I'm pulling for her. I think she'll make something of her second life. And those book deals that are bound to come along? I hope she stalls them for a long time. Yes, someday, there's a book there, and authors will be clamoring to write it. But haste...well, haste leads to bad decision.
Pray for Amanda Knox.

Tongue-tied before an audience

Jungle Red Writers, one of my favorite blogs, had a segment today on the various members experiences on TV and radio--most had funny stories to tell of disasters. I've had my share of those too. In a small town in Missouri in the early '60s I used to host a program called, I think, "The People's Health." I'd interview doctors about various health problems: "Tell me, doctor, if I have a pain inmy side is it apprendicitis?" Generally it went fairly well, and I was comfortable. But that was radio.
I've been interviewed on local TV and done a few interview programs myself--30 minutes talking with an author. When someone interviewed me, I was fairly comfortable with it. But when I was doing the interviewing and they'd flash that "15 minutes" card, I'd think, "Omigosh, I"m only halfway through." Somehow I always muddled along the rest of the way, and it went fine, but I don't leap at TV opportunities.
My children, on the other hand, were seasoned TV personalities at an early age. They appeared, twice I think, on a program called "Hobab," which somehow means helper. Once they all sat in a row, and the hostess asked them what they did to help their mother. The older three jumped in--they made their beds, the cleaned their rooms, they helped with dishes. I mean, they were really angels. Jordan, who couldn't have been more than four, looked at them all as if she'd never seen them before. When it was her turn, she said, "The maid does all that." Later, the hostess asked if they knew policemen were their friends. Again, the older ones gave the pat answers, but Jordan said, "And if you don't have a Cadillac or a Mercedes,they will help you get one." Honest! The days of maids, Cadillacs and Mercedes disappeared quite soon after when I became a single parent, but I've always loved remembering that show.
In truth, my son-in-law Christian is the pro in the famiily, having been a child model and appeared in various TV series--Christian, so sorry I can't remember the names of them but you were charming. Besides, I knowo he doesn't like talking about it a lot now.
Lord knows I've done a ton of public speaking in my time but to this day it makes me nervous. I am quite comfortable with a book club or other small group, and I love doing q&a but I get bored listening to myself talk for 20-30 minutes. I get part way through and think, "How far is it to the end/" A good friend of mine always protests, "You do such a good job, I don't know why you're so reluctant." For a while, I just turned down speaking engagements, but now, with Skeleton in a Dead Space, to promote, I'm getting out at it again. Tomorrow night I will speak to an expected audience of 75 women at University Baptist Church, but it will be an interview format, and the interviewer is a good friend who does a great job at that. She has interviewed me for programs before, and we always have a good time. So I'm dipping my toe in the water.
But today I spoke in an entirely different setting. A good friend died on Thursday and her daughter asked me to speak at the service. At first I waffled, but my youngest daughter and my brother both said, "Of course you will." Jordan pointed out that Connie was so precious to me I had to speak in her memory. And I knew it was an honor to be asked. So with nerves on edge, I spoke--briefly--which I think is appropriate in that situation. I only stumbled once--by somehow starting to substitute the name of the protagonist in my current novel for Connie's name--but Jordan said I recovered quickly and nicely. I was glad to be able to honor Connie with my memories of times with her--good times, mostly lunches that we both enjoyed. But the relationship goes way back and involves another story--not for here.
I have two additons to this post: one is that I am relieved beyond measure by the verdict in the Amanda Knox case. I wish her godspeed back to her old life which, of course, she'll never be able to recover. But I hope she can move on to a new and fulfilling life. Someone said they see a book deal in the future--I sincerely hope publishers don't start hounding her right away and that her family continues to be her advocate and protection.
And finaly, this picture. Kindergarten homework sure wears a guy out--and his grandmother.