Can't Win 'Em All

Deb's favorite Banyan tree from Billowing Sails

While emailing an award-winning journalist that I love, love, loved her recent article, I casually mentioned that I have a new book out and if she'd happen to like a copy, I'd be happy to send one right along.

I think I'm performing a little savvy publicity move, right? Maybe, just maybe, she'll like my book enough for a mention in one of her articles to her big - no, HUGE - readership.

I'm practically salivating over the possibilities, so when she responds in the affirmative, I'm dancing on sunbeams. Big woohoo!!

Fast forward four weeks. Still no word from my new ticket-to-paradise journalist BFF, but she's written another article that I wish I had. It's really, really good. So good that I'm back at my computer zipping off another congrats-on-a-grandslam-piece email.

Within an hour, I see in my inbox a reply. With heart dancing pitty-pat, I click on what I hope is a note stating, "I'm so glad you wrote again - it reminds me to tell you I'm planning a two-page spread on your exceptional writing career and this fantastic book, Fear, Faith, and a Fistful of Chocolate. When can the newspaper photographer schedule a photo shoot?"

But what I find is a bit different. It's a lone sentence thanking me for my kind words. And after her signature, a tacked on P.S. mentioning that oh, yes, by the way, she liked my book and is loaning it to her cleaning lady.

Sigh.

One can only hope her cleaning lady is a book reviewer for the New York Times.