A Writer's Journey Continued

It seems like it would be ever so simple to talk about your own book, doesn't it? The book that you worked on day after day, month after month...the book that you fabricated from thin air, the book that no one on earth knows better than you.

Oh, that it were so.

I've been to the extremes of interviews this week. A podcast interview yesterday lasted over an hour (73 minutes, to be exact). Another tarried for 20 minutes, and a live radio interview this morning was over in 4 minutes flat.

Which do you think was hardest?

If you said the quickie radio chat, you're right. I was nervous before it ever started, knowing that the time limit was five minutes or less. It's essential to be concise and well spoken in those cases, neither of which is my forte. I was even more feather-headed than usual at 9 AM for some reason, and it didn't help that I was scheduled to call the station instead of them calling me. After mis-dialing the number twice and dropping the phone on the cat, at the first "hello," I was put directly on the air without a format briefing or introduction to the co-hosts.

My brain immediately froze.

During the rapid-fire questions, I couldn't remember the name of my first book, my children, or how many pets I currently have (what does all that have to do with writing Mom Needs Chocolate, anyway?). Then I had a major tongue cramp and muttered "um" in six languages and three octaves before finally spitting out something semi-coherent.

It was a prime example of Mom REALLY needing chocolate. Or Prozac.

Anyway, now that everyone along the central eastern coast of the United States thinks I routinely hit the cooking sherry before my Grape Nuts, I'm sincerely considering canceling any further voice interviews before 1 PM.

Or calling my next book, "Godiva for Breakfast Melts Your Mind."