When I was a kid, my dad took pictures all the time and then did a slide-show, usually after a vacation or a summer or something like that. Now these were real slide-shows, the ancient Kodak carousel-type, with small squares of, yes, celluloid mounted in either cardboard or plastic. (My dad was and still is an inveterate camera-guy; he must have umpteen trillion slides. Some are so old, they’re starting to get that reddish tinge, which happens as the dyes begin to degrade. Some images are vanishing altogether. Sometimes, I have half a mind to grab those slides and get them scanned or corrected or whatever, just to hang onto that piece of my past a little longer.)
Anyway, I remember LOVING those shows, especially when I got a little older–say, early teens. There was something about seeing myself as a little kid (yes, even that embarrassing baby shot) that I found fascinating. I don’t mean to say that I was, like, oh, wow, look at me. It wasn’t really narcissistic; it was more . . . GAWD, that was me? If you understand what I’m saying.
I don’t know when that–the ability to see a picture of myself and not cringe–changed, but it did. Maybe it was the moment dad showed pictures of me as a 12-year-old to a crowd of strangers at my brother’s rehearsal dinner and my husband turned to me and said, ever-so-sensitively, “Wow, you were fat when you were a kid.”
Uhm . . . ow?
So the long and the short of it is: I really don’t like posing for pictures or looking at myself in pictures. I have a goofy smile; my eyes are lopsided; yada, yada, yada. Now, this is coming from a woman who has no trouble with public speaking whatsoever; has done a ton of theater and forensics; and at times can be, yes, a bit of a ham. But have my picture taken? Ugh. Get that camera out of my face. Really, there are far more beautiful people in the world.
Which made my television interview earlier this week kind of challenging.
I really wasn’t nervous, per se. I know I can speak to just about anyone; getting information and talking to people is kind of essential for any shrink. It was the fretting about stupid stuff–my hair, what color shirt I should wear, do I do lipstick–that got to me. I must’ve stood in my closet for ten minutes staring at shirts and hating each and every one, probably because I’d been staring at and wearing the same turtlenecks and sweaters all bloody winter (and it’s been kind of a long one; we got snow twice this week!). I finally ran out and bought the most colorful tunic I could find, like, two hours before the interviewer and cameraman were set to arrive. And, yes, I put on lipstick and even toyed with the idea of finding some kind of color wand to get rid of the bloody gray at my temples. Then, I thought: Whoa, babe, get a grip. DeMille, this isn’t.
Now, being interviewed for television is pretty interesting and different than a newspaper interview where whatever’s written is colored by whether or not the reporter correctly remembers what you said. Of course, on TV, especially for a news spot, it’s all about editing. (I’ve been on TV only one time before–years ago, when I won the Writers of the Future thing–and there it was a full half-hour interview, spiced up with shots of the book, that kind of thing. But whatever I said was what was aired. No edits, no zippy camerawork. Just me, myself and the interviewer.) This time around, the interview lasted, maybe, fifteen, twenty minutes and we talked in the kitchen first simply because we were doing this at the house and they wanted some variety, a place where I don’t spend the majority of my time. (Not that we didn’t talk a lot; we did–just not on camera. In fact, the half hour talking after everything was done was really interesting: all about where publishing’s going today, that kind of thing.)
Then, it was all camera-stuff: me at the computer, me talking about the books I’ve either written or had stories in, me wandering out to the compost pile. (I’m sorry, but I have an irrational love for my bin.) If I’d had hoeing to do, I’d have done that. A bunch of wild turkey were in the backyard right as I wandered out–which is why I say, “Hi, guys” because that’s what I always say to them. (Sidebar: three are tame enough now that they’ll kind of stand around waiting for the corn but, this time, they got one good look at the cameraman and took off. Ditto the cats.)
When it was all over and they–the TV folks, not the turkeys–had left, I kind of despaired. I mean, a compost bin? And how interesting could shots of me typing be? Crap, I have crummy fingers; I don’t wear polish; my cuticles were ragged! And my hair . . . I thought: OMG, this is going to be the most embarrassing, boring two minutes known to man.
So I didn’t tell anyone about the interview, not my friends or extended family or, even, my parents. The only people who knew were the husband and the kids (oh, and the woman who owns the store where I bought the shirt). I just didn’t want to inflict myself on anyone because, like I’ve said before, people who like and care about you will lie. (Well, unless one is your husband marveling that, wow, you were sort of a pudge.)
Last night, when the segment aired . . . well, I was kind of staring through my fingers. It was my brother’s rehearsal dinner all over again. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that the bit was quite nicely done: the piece was zippy, had some neat shots. (Hey, that’s my cat! And there are the kid’s sneakers! Wait, what’s the cat’s toy box doing in the frame?) They managed to make me look halfway decent. I even SOUND semi-articulate and that shirt does look nice. Definitely something you wouldn’t mind your mom seeing, you know? Okay, the JK Rowling part was a little over the top, but–hey–from their mouth to G-d’s ear because, yeah, I WANT people to read my books. Why write them otherwise?
Unfortunately, although I saved this to a DVD, I have NO IDEA how to upload this to YouTube just yet, so all I have are links for now. Anyway, enjoy.
The transcript:
http://www.todaystmj4.com/features/specialassignment/118682979.html
The TV spot:
Oh, and the best news for last: my husband didn’t make a single crack about my waistline. Clearly, the boy can be taught.
And I figured out how to upload to YouTube! (Conquering the Internet one megabyte at a time.)
Not to worry. Your interview was just fine…and I say this as a TV producer.
You can’t Imagine my excitement upon hearing about a successful local writer, a science fiction writer no less. I rushed from my study where I was finishing the tenth attempt at a layout for the cover of my first Sci-Fi novel to watch your interview. I guess it can be done. Congratulations on all your success.
Behind me as I write this are dozens of autographed and first editions from my favorite “classic” science fiction and fantasy/horror authors, not the least of which are those of Robert “Psycho” Bloch who also worked and wrote in the Milwaukee area (for my grandfather) before moving to California where he also wrote for Star Trek, a couple TV scripts he’d refer to as “Star Drek”.
I will check out a few of your books this week. Writing is such hard work and it’s always a pleasure to discover those that that have been successful. Perhaps someday, we can chat.
Bob
Wow, Bob, I didn’t know that about Bloch. What did he do for your grandfather and was this before or after Psycho? If I remember correctly, Hitchcock couldn’t get ANY studio to take on the project and financed it all himself. Now THERE was a man with vision.
Yeah, isn’t it amazing how many of the now well-known sf writers of that day wrote for that show? I had the opportunity to meet Robert Justman years ago when they had that big Trek exhibition at the Air and Space Museum. Very nice guy who told extremely funny stories about Harlan Ellison and some of the other writers. His wife was a hoot, too, but they were also pretty philosophical about the whole thing, too–in terms of the taking-yourself-too-seriously factor. Their take was, you know, this is television; these are actors and other temperamental sorts; you put up with a lot of silliness to get the job done.
Thanks for your kind words, too. I’m pretty friendly with Dean Wesley Smith and Kris Rusch, and their take is that this is a very exciting time to be a writer, especially given that you can go the J. A. Konrath route (and now Barry Eisler) and bypass a lot of traditional publishing to get your work out. Persevere! The fact that you’re working on a layout is impressive. Me, I’m going to try the great e-experiment with some shorts and see what happens.
I know some people think that traditional publishing will crater, and quickly. I’m not so sure about that. Crap, I hope not; I’m just getting published!!! Ebooks are a delivery vehicle, period (just as Stephen King says) and there’s nothing inherently evil or bad about one vehicle versus another (well, unless you count trees). So get your book up there and out into the world!
Chatting would be nice. Are you in Milwaukee? If you’re around in June, I’ll be down in Waukesha for the Southeast Wisconsin Festival of Books. Maybe then? Check out the site: http://sewibookfest.com. Nothing to keep you from checking in via email either 🙂
Thank you again!
Bloch was a copywriter for the Gustav Marx Advertising here in Milwaukee and a member of the Milwaukee Fictioneers, a writers’ group that met after work. My grandfather was invited to read and discuss their work, but never wrote anything of his own. I guess he left that to me. Bloch wrote Psycho after he left Milwaukee. He wrote other books and stories while employed, papering his office, according to my father, with note cards of character profiles and plot points.
Funny famous writer story: Years ago I attended a professional conference in Palm Springs. Across the street was a small book store, which I visited. In the window, a small sign announced that Ray Bradbury would be there the next day signing books. Excited, I left the conference early the following morning to insure that I would be near the front of the line in order to meet one of my childhood idols.
When I got to the store, it was deserted. I, the proprietor, and a lonely quite elderly Ray Bradbury were the only ones there. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I purchased every Bradbury book I could find, most in hardcover, but one, I could only find in paperback. I took them over to the famous author and he began signing them for me. When he got to the paperback, he looked up with a hint of a smile and asked me whether I’d run out of money.
After we had a brief conversation, I thanked him and headed for the front door, taking a minute to pay for the books. I asked the owner, “Where is everyone?” He explained that Bradbury lived nearby and did this quite often. All the locals were understandably blase.
I’ll be sure to find you at the Southeast Wisconsin Festival in June.
Thanks
I bet you’ve got some good stories, Bob. Your anecdote about Bradbury was sad, actually. You realize that he’s 91? I cut my teeth on Bradbury; read all his shorts, although either I changed or something else did because when I got to I Sing the Body Electric, I remember not liking it as well. That being said, this guy is a powerful writer, and The Martian Chronicles is still a favorite.
I’ll look for you in June.