Tag Archive for: Susan McBride

Why It’s Always a “Great Day” when I Talk About Books on TV

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by Susan McBride

I had the pleasure of appearing on “Great Day St. Louis” again yesterday, something I’ve been doing about every other month or so for a few years now.  Watching myself on TV today compared to when I was first published in 1999 is a hoot.  Back then, when I was nervous, I tended to do bug eyes (aka “deer in headlights”).  The longer I spoke, the bigger my eyes got.  Although, come to think of it, I did that when speaking in person to others, too.  I remember one conversation with Charlaine Harris eons back when she finally shouted at me, “Blink, dammit!”  Thank goodness, I got over that.

Back to “Great Day” and the Great Reads segment from yesterday.  I always look forward to going downtown to the KMOV Channel 4 studios.  It means getting to play hooky from my current work-in-progress (and those pesky looming deadlines), so I jump at the chance!  Ed loves going with me, so he usually takes the morning off.  I never protest, as I don’t mind a bit having a “driver” drop me off in front of the building while he goes to park the car in the appointed lot a few blocks up (it’s especially handy-dandy when the weather is ugly).

I even have fun pushing through the revolving doors to get into the KMOV lobby, where I sign in at the reception desk and then wait for Sammi, an assistant producer, to come get me (and any other guests hanging around).  We enter the newsroom where various reporters, meteorologists, and even anchor-people are working on stories in their cubbies. Then it’s back through a hallway and into the studio, approaching from behind a wall and emerging right beside the Weather Center (Ed loves the Weather Center most of all).

Since it’s the holiday season, the anchor desk has lots of poinsettias around it, which looks so pretty.  The chairs for guests of “Great Day” are right beside it.  Ed and I always like to poke around, take pictures, talk to Jenn and Brooke, the producers (who are adorable!), or Matt Chambers (one of the “Great Day” co-hosts and one of the station’s most beloved weather dudes!), and also with other guests (that’s how I met Lisa Bertrand, Wade Rouse, and a whole bunch of other cool people that I like to keep in touch with, or at least keep tabs on!).

Yesterday, the owner of a gold, silver, and coin shop was on-set for a segment, and I got his card (I really want to sell my old jewelry from high school that I will never wear again or pass down to anyone!).  He gave us newly-minted quarters and a newly-minted dollar.  So cool!  You never know what’s going to happen on “Great Day”–I once got a fabulous cookbook from a visiting chef!  But I digress!

Once Sammi gets me settled inside, she hands me a script.  I find out which co-host will do the segment with me (yesterday, it was Matt) and what Matt will see running across the teleprompter.  That way, I have a good idea of what to expect when I sit down with him on the set, the camera rolls (and my mike goes live), and we start talking about books. The script also notes the approximate time I’ll be on-air, so I know if I’m early in the show or later.  For Thursday, I was on at 10:34, so Ed and I got to sit and watch the cooking segment (turkey pot pie!), an interior designer discussing her family’s “Christmas auction” (which they do in lieu of buying lots of gifts), and a therapist explaining seasonal mood changes (my mood only gets better the colder and snowier it gets!).

And then it was my turn!  Sammi had me miked up the back of my sweater, and I followed her over the camera cables to the kitchen area, where I sat on a stool behind the counter with Matt.  I’m usually on the other side of the set behind a glass-topped table (or, occasionally, on the sofa).  So this was something new!

Once the previous segment finished (we got to watch it as it aired), Matt introduced me and the Great Reads segment…and off we went!  Here’s the bit so you can see it for yourself (I gush about three recent books I loved, including our very own Maggie Barbieri’s PHYSICAL EDUCATION and recent Stiletto guest blogger Marilyn Brant’s A SUMMER IN EUROPE).  It only takes about five minutes, and then I’m done!  As always whenever I leave the “Great Day” set, I can’t wait to go back again!  😉

All I Want for Christmas is Escada Couture Swarovski Crystal Jeans

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by Susan McBride’s Second Cousin Once Removed, Tiffany Van Cleef Arpel

My dear cousin, Ms. Susan, has to get cracking on a book deadline, so I told her I’d fill in on the blog today, offering my always fabulous holiday shopping tips. If I’d left Susan to discuss the subject, she’d be all about “Take care to mind your budget, blah blah blah.” Budget? Hello! That word’s not even in my vocabulary, unless my stable hand says, “Hey, Tiff, can’t seem to get Appletini’s ass out of the stall, even when I try to budge it.”
Look, I’ve done my best to pick out truly reasonable items for everyone on your gift list (meaning: me, me, me!); so don’t panic, even if your trust fund is tied up in litigation because your money manager finally got caught running his silly ol’ Ponzi scheme. I know how to spot a bargain, particularly if it’s really sparkly. So without further ado, here are my awesome recommendations!  No need to thank me.

A pink leopard guitar for a piddly $9,900. It’s, like, musical art with a mahogany neck, rosewood finger board, and hand-applied Swarovski crystals. Do I know how to play the guitar? Heck, no! Well, not any better than Brittany Spears knows how to sing without Auto-Tune. But I’m a rock chick at heart so I’d just wear this puppy around my neck instead of pearls.

While you’re pretending to play that guitar, you’ll need to look hot, right? So how about a pair of Escada Couture Swarovski Crystal Jeans, available at Neiman Marcus for a mere $10,000. Honestly, you can never have too many jeans, and why not have some that glitter like the Vegas strip when you’re caught in the headlights of your boyfriend’s Lamborghini? Just be really careful about wiping sweaty palms on your thighs when you’re wearing these babies, as you can cut yourself up pretty good. (Don’t ask.)

If you like something simpler, you can always go with the Dolce & Gabbana Astrakhan Jeans, which are incredibly priced at $3,950. It’s like stealing, I swear.

For the very special woman on your list who likes things soft and fuzzy (and that’s me, me, me!), how about a lovely and practical Louis Vuitton mink scarf, a mere pittance at $1,710. It can double as a mink pillow if you stay at a hotel where the sheets smell too bleachy (yeah, Paris Hilton, and you can tell you dad I said so!).


Not into scarves? Then go for J. Mendel silver fox vest (price tag: $5,475). Though I’m afraid my arms would get cold, so, please, spring for both. You wouldn’t want me wandering into Donald Trump’s Christmas Eve bash hacking up phelgm ‘cuz I’ve got pneumonia, now would you?

The perfect outfit for any holiday party is the little black dress, and Miu Miu has the cutest ruffled one for a paltry $820. I know. What a deal, huh? And since you’ll only wear it once, you won’t feel like you’re getting ripped off or anything.

You’re probably saying, “Tiff, my God! What fantastico ideas! Surely you can’t have more?”

Ah, but I do.

Like this little gem: Faraone Mennella for Carolina Herrera citrine, rose quartz and pink tourmaline brooch. It’s understated yet pretty as my picture. “But what’s that cost, Tiff?” I hear you asking. To which I reply, “You can easily afford it AND the mortgage payments on your villa in Tuscany without selling off those Rembrandt etchings.” $14,000. Yes, that’s right. Unbelievable, huh? So make it two, please!

If you’re wondering about New Year’s Eve ‘cause you’d like to bring a bottle of bubbly to that party Skip and Bitsy Vanderhaven are throwing in Greenwich, my suggestion would be to take them a set of Hermes cocktail glasses (just $400 a glass) and the Louis Roederer Cristal Champagne 1990 ($231). I guarantee Skip and Bitsy will be your pals for life, or at least until they run out of the Cristal.
And, finally, the perfect holiday present. One that will never be returned or re-gifted. Here goes (drumroll, please, Ringo): a yoga retreat at Hotel Tugu in Bali. At $2,590 per couple x four nights, it’s even cheaper than the jeans!
So there you are, my darlings. Just have your valet and/or your personal assistant wrap ’em up, and you can call it a day. It was a lot easier than you thought, wasn’t it? Because life is too short to waste a lot of time in places called “The Galleria” when you could be at the spa, getting high colonics and Brazilian bikini waxes and your eyebrows plucked to smithereens.
If you need further inspiration, just repeat this ditty (my personal mantra): “Gucci, Pucci, Prada, Fendi, nothing’s wrong with being trendy.”
Ciao, babies…and happy shopping!
Tiff
(Note from Susan:  Tiffany wrote this lovely piece for me a few years back so some of the prices may have changed, although I’m not sure if that matters much, if ya know what I mean.)

The Fine Art of Juggling Time

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by Susan McBride

Although I consider myself pretty adept at a lot of different things, balancing my time wisely is not one of them.  No matter how old I get–and how much wiser in other departments–I don’t seem to have completely grasped the concept that you cannot agree to do 200 things in a finite amount of time and get all of them done. 
I always think I can do it.  Take this year, for example.  I told myself, sure, I can do revisions on Little Black Dress in the first few months, go through the copy edit, check the page proofs, and all else that the production schedule demands of me, PLUS write the first draft of Dead Address, the young adult mystery for Random House AND promote Little Black Dress upon release in late August THEN pen my next women’s fiction book, Little White Lies, all by December 1.  Oh, yeah, and that’s not counting all the real-life hoo-ha that comes in between (take my lovely encounter with skin cancer and Moh’s surgery in May, for instance). 

Piece of cake, yes?

Well, I imagined it would be.  I mean, I kept reminding myself I’d written two books for my two different publishers while going through my boobal crisis nearly five years ago.  I know I’m not Superwoman (at least, not one who doesn’t constantly trip on her cape), but I seem to want to play one on TV.  Or at least in my writing life. 

I used to always meet deadlines.  Heck, I’d turn things in early.  I was such an overachiever that at the first lunch I ever had with my agent and then-mystery editor half a dozen years ago, they remarked on how efficient I was.  “Like a robot,” one of them actually said (though I can’t recall which). 
But back then, I was single.  I had myself, two cats, and a condo to worry about.  It was like living on another planet.  Once I’d met Ed, bought a house with him, dealt with a health crisis, got married, and took on even more responsibilities, I told myself, “You aren’t a robot.  You’re human.  You can only do what you can do.”  That’s a mantra I repeat often, so I’m not sure why it hasn’t completely sunk in. 

I still want to say, “yes, I can do that!”  Even if I worry that it’s adding yet another ball to the ones I’m juggling.  “No problem!” I chirp when asked to do things spur of the moment when I realize I should be focusing on writing books and not scattering my energy and time all over the place.

In some ways, I have gotten better about time. I don’t travel nearly as much as I used to.  I do say “no” when an event isn’t doable.  I don’t do Twitter (and never intend to), I’m not LinkedIn or GooglePlussed or anything besides Facebooked.  I’m on two group blogs with other incredible women authors who are busy balancing their real lives and writing lives, too.

And, still, I find myself in binds over and over, where I know at least one thing won’t get done on time.  Where I realize I’ll have to ask for an extension in order to finish my work and do it right.  Man, I hate that.

I’m learning.  That’s all I can say.  Every year when I do too much, I understand the things that I need to cut out the next time.  It might be years before I’m a master at the fine art of juggling time, but I will get there.  So long as no one gives me a deadline.

Let’s Do A Halloween Meme!

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by Susan McBride 

Yes, I’m behind on my book deadline as so much stuff keeps popping up and stealing time (I know, I know, I need to play ostrich but it’s so darned tricky!).  Try as I might, I can’t come up with anything to blog about besides “1001 Ways to Procrastinate” or “Things That Distract Me,” which both hit way too close to home.  Then I thought, “A-ha! Halloween is in 10 days!  How about I devise a meme that everyone can answer?”  So that’s exactly what I did!

I’ve inserted my answers below, but I’m dying to hear yours!  Please, share, even if you only want to respond to a few.  All rightee, ghouls and goblins, let the games begin!

(1)  What’s your favorite Halloween costume ever?

Alice in Wonderland.  Although it wasn’t until my writing career that I actually fell down the rabbit hole.

(2)  What’s your favorite Halloween candy (or other treat)?

Snickers.  That’s all I ever wanted in my bag.

(3)  Name the scariest book you’ve ever read?

Salem’s Lot.  It made me jumpy and afraid to go anywhere alone in the dark for weeks after I finished it.

(4)  Who’s the best movie vampire ever:
(a)  Bela Lugosi
(b)  George Hamilton
(c)  Tom Cruise
(d)  Robert Pattinson

Boris Karloff.  I love him.

(5)  Who’d win in a fist fight?  Sookie or Bella?

Bella is a wimp!  It’s Sookie all the way, baby!

(6)  Are you superstitious?  How?

Yes.  I knock on wood all the time and have to wear a specific pair of earrings whenever I get on a plane.  I don’t avoid cracks but I do hold my breath driving past graveyards (unless they’re really long).

(7)  Frankenberry, Count Chocula, or Boo Berry?

Count Chocula.  No contest.

(8)  Will you dress up this year?  If so, as what?

I’m most definitely dressing up in my fleece jammie pants, socks, ratty T-shirt, and bedhead.  Oh, yeah, it’s my “writer” costume!

Boo!  Now it’s YOUR turn!

Another Year Sneaking Up On Me

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by Susan McBride

Yes, it’s my birthday month, and I’m turning 47 this year (a little over a week from today as a matter of fact!).  It’s amazing how quickly birthdays sneak up.  Kind of like blog due dates.  I think I’ve just finished with one and then another races around to bite me in the butt.

I remember loving birthday parties as a kid.  My mom used to go all out.  We’d think up a theme, send out invitations to my classmates and neighborhood friends.  Sometimes we’d have the party at home, playing games inside and out; other times, we’d head to a kid-friendly petting zoo or area park. I just remember being so excited for the day to arrive and very sorry (and tired) when it was over.

These days, I have to catch my birthday circled on the calendar to remind myself it’s approaching.  I worked through my birthday last year (yes, sadly, I told both sides of the family I couldn’t take the time off to do dinner or anything else because every writing hour was precious).  I’m on an equally insane deadline this year, but I’ve decided I will most certainly take off my birthday.  It falls on a Sunday, and Ed’s itching to get back to Pumpkin Land (since we haven’t been in a couple years).  He wants to do the corn maze (must remember to wear old “creek” shoes) and buy our pumpkins there (a lot more fun than picking them up at the grocery store).

Honestly, birthdays are still fun, but I don’t worry so much about celebrating them.  The older I get–and the more crap I go through–the more I think that every day is a celebration.  Yeah, I’m sure I’ve said that before (again and again), but it’s true.  If I see something I want to buy Ed–or a friend–I go ahead and get it.  I don’t care if a holiday is anywhere near.  If I want to treat myself to a pedicure or a cupcake, I’ll do it.  Life is one big birthday and the party should last as long as we’re around to take part in it.

So not this Sunday but the next, I’ll be tearing my fingers away from my keyboard and laughing my head off as Ed and I try to negotiate ourselves out of a crazy corn maze (I’ve seen corn stalks trampled when people get fed up and need a quick way out–but no short-cuts for us!).  I can’t wait to pick out pumpkins from a real farm and take them home to set on the stoop (I don’t carve them anymore–I just leave them out for the squirrels, who like to munch on them when they get hungry).

Whatever you do on my birthday, have fun!!!  And make like it’s your birthday, too.  🙂

The House Guests That Don’t Want to Leave

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by Susan McBride

I was talking with Maggie earlier in the week, and she kindly reminded me that this Friday was my blogging day.  I’m heading out of town for the Southern Indie Bookseller’s trade show in Charleston–um, like right about now–so my mind has been focused on that (what to bring, what to wear, if I’ll miss my connecting flights) and on getting more work done on Little White Lies, which I’ve barely started.  Little White Lies is my next women’s fiction book due on December 1 (yes, you heard right).  It’s been quite a juggling act this year, revising Little Black Dress in January and February, getting a first draft of Dead Address done by the end of July (my young adult mystery for Delacorte also due December 1, and it still needs a rewrite!), dealing with Little Black Dress promotion during most of August (with plenty more ahead of me), and now writing a draft of Little White Lies for HC/Morrow.  Needless to say, the days and weeks are going by WAY too quickly. 

I tell myself to stay cool.  I’ve had to write two books in a year before, most notably during the latter part of 2006 and the first part of 2007 when I was diagnosed with my boob stuff and had to undergo surgery and radiation therapy while working on Too Pretty to Die and The Debs.  I’ve previously mentioned how going to my computer everyday in my jammies helped maintain my sanity and gave me an outlet for all the crazy emotions I was feeling.  But it was also tough.  I wanted to do the best job I could under the most stressful of circumstances at a time when I was supposed to be taking care of my health and NOT stressing out.  But that’s life, I think, and I did what I had to do, although both manuscripts were turned in about a month late.  Somehow, despite my fears, the world didn’t stop spinning. 

Thank goodness, I’m not dealing with any major health crises (knock on wood!) as the deadline for two very different books rapidly approaches.  Regardless, I’ve found myself in a sticky situation.  I need to be able to move from one project to the next without carrying a lot of baggage.  Only, I’ve come to realize I have unwanted house guests.  No, not real ones.  Imaginary ones. The kind of house guests that do not require clean linens or three square meals. They have no desire to visit tourist attractions or sit in my favorite spot on the sofa at night, watching TV.  They don’t even muck up the guest bathroom or drop their dirty socks on the floor.

Instead they intrude upon my mind.  When I started Dead Address late in the spring, I still hadn’t shaken my revision of Little Black Dress from a few months before.  It had been an intense period of about two months where I worked every day (and night), rewriting every page, moving things around, adding new chapters, and otherwise fully immersing myself in the world of Anna and Evie Evans and the magical black dress from the gypsy’s shop in Ste. Genevieve.  I could not get them out of my head.

When I needed to focus on Katie, Mark, and Lisa and their boarding school in Dead Address, I was still back in Blue Hills, Missouri, worrying about the sisters and Toni (okay, and whether the back cover copy did the story justice, or how the font on the cover would look). Somehow, I managed to send Evie, Anna, and Toni packing for long enough to write what happened to Katie after opening up the mysterious box with the severed hand.  But now it’s time to get my head into Little White Lies (and into the heads of Gretchen Brink, her daughter Abigail, and a mystery man from Gretchen’s past), and I’ve still got Katie, Mark, and Lisa hanging around, wondering when I’m going to start paying attention to them again because I haven’t quite finished with them yet.  Oh, and Evie, Anna, and Toni, won’t go away so easily either, not as long as I still have LBD events to do (throughout September and October).

Sigh.

If anyone knows a successful method for removing unwanted imaginary house guests, I’d sure appreciate hearing it.  For now, I guess I’d just better keep the sheets clean, the fresh towels handy, and the fridge full (um, figuratively speaking).  One of these days, perhaps, they’ll all go back from whence they came, and my house–um, my head–will be unnaturally quiet, at which point I’ll have to start inviting new imaginary house guests in.

I Yam What I Yam

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by Susan McBride

A few months ago, I read an essay by Marilyn Brant that resonated with me.  She delighted in a talk Jennifer Crusie gave at this year’s RWA conference about being yourself when you write.  The point she made was that, while there are only so many stories to be told (and endless variations thereof), only you can tell a story in your own voice, in your own style, with your own points of reference and experience.
I love that message.
Not staying true to yourself in your work would be like writing a book in a genre you don’t read.  The fact that you’re not feeling it or understanding it is going to shine through like a lighthouse beacon.  I’m not saying “only write what you know,” because I believe that telling stories allows us to explore people and worlds we don’t know, first-hand anyway.  It affords us a chance to get in other folks’ skins and learn what it means to be them.  But we need to feel inside that sense of “ah, yes, this is right.”  Because when it’s wrong, it’s impossible to fake well or for long anyway.
It took me a while to learn this.  The first manuscripts I wrote were traditional romances. I had read a few, admired them, but it wasn’t my thing.  I had to try my hand at other genres that more deeply engaged me, like mainstream fiction, family sagas, and mysteries before I really got that “ah-ha” feeling.  Once I was finally published, I realized getting my foot in the door was only the beginning. 
When you’re thrust into the big, bad world of promotion and put yourself out there—whether it’s doing social media or standing in front of people in small groups or large, sometimes speaking on panels and sometimes all alone on a stage for an hour or more—it’s important to be yourself.  Whatever that is!  For me, at first, it was all unpolished awkwardness.   
At 34 when my first novel debuted, I still looked like a college girl with headbands in my hair and flats on my feet. I had zero experience in public speaking.  I typed up word-for-word speeches until I realized that wasn’t comfortable for me or anyone listening. I bumbled around on panels, hoping to be funny but coming off as sarcastic instead (well, I am pretty sarcastic so that wasn’t hard to do!). I wanted to be Mary Higgins Clark, glamorous in her Chanel suits, pearls, and pumps.  She looked so poised and spoke so eloquently. 
It took me a few years to finally realize the cold, hard truth:  I will never be glamorous or elegant any more than I will ever be MHC.  I yam who I yam, to quote Popeye.  And sometimes it ain’t pretty.
That sunk in deeply when I went through Crappy Health Crisis, which began at the end of 2006.  When you hear a frightening diagnosis and wonder if you’ll ever get your life back, you suddenly strip away all the pretenses. You say bye-bye to the meaningless. You shed responsibilities that aren’t important.  You even shed people who seem to tug at your emotions in all the wrong ways.  You realize it’s vital to say “I love you” and “thank you” and “you’re the best” to people who lift you up because you never know what’s coming ‘round the bend.
My mom has often told me, “Only do things because you want to, not because you think you’ll get something out of it,” and that’s some of the best advice I ever got.  I decided that “only say things because you want to, not because you think you’ll get something out of it” applied, too. It’s refreshing to feel like you’re not out to impress anyone. You enjoy everything more if you stick to doing things you love and saying things you mean.  It makes you all the more grateful for people around you who do the same things.
I guess I’m thinking about all of this with Little Black Dress out last week and my publicist asking, “Do you want to do this?  Do you want to do that?”  These days when I do anything—whether it’s promotion or going out for dinner—it’s solely because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. Every day, I strive to be more positive in my life.  So when I put something out there, I want to know my heart is behind it, whether it’s talking on the phone to a dear friend or writing a new novel.

I Will Survive Alien

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What? you’re muttering to yourself, that title makes no sense.  Ah, but it must to someone (or rather, a couple of someones) as it’s one of the search phrases used to find The Stiletto Gang.  My best guess is that there’s a post somewhere in the archives mentioning that classic disco tune, “I Will Survive.”  Not so sure about the “alien” part.  Unless the searcher wants to know how he or she will survive an alien visit, or perhaps they’re feeling feisty, like they want to tell the galaxy, “I will survive, alien!”  Okay, I give up.  Your guess is as good as mine.
Another search phrase that had me reminiscing was “hissing garter snake.”  It brought back memories of several springs ago when I was cleaning leaves out of a window well by the patio.  A tiny garter snake reared its pinky-sized head to hiss at me.  Yes, I screamed, but then I took the dustpan, scooped it in, and flung it into the ivy.  Ah, good times.

How about this one:  “obese belly dancer.”  Hmm.  I don’t remember anyone writing a post on the subject.  Maybe I was on vacation (wait, I don’t take vacations). 

A handful of curious people found Stiletto by looking for “caramelized hair color,” which intrigues me.  I’ve always thought I’d love to have caramel-colored highlights in my tresses.  From the looks of things, I’m not the only one.
Then there’s the seeker of “outdoor ground cover w/ 7 leaves and flowers.”  Ah, how fortuitous that such a search led them here!  Because we’re all about, um, ground cover.  And what ground cover is better than that with seven leaves and flowers?  Although if you need to know the right type of mulch to use, I’m guessing a blog about plants might have more answers.

And last but surely not least, there were over 30 interested parties seeking information about being “naked at the mall.”  I do, in fact, recall writing a post called “Walking Naked at the Mall,” after Maggie and I had a discussion about dreams that mean you’re feeling vulnerable.  There were no photos of naked mall walkers inserted nor any physical descriptions, which I’ll bet left most of those interested parties feeling a wee bit let down.  What this tells me is that using “naked” in your title will draw readers who normally wouldn’t visit a book blog.  (I know, you’re thinking, brilliant theory, Einstein.)
Now I’m wondering, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever searched for online?  Or if you have a blog, what are the strangest search terms that have led someone to it?  Inquiring minds want to know!
  
P.S.  Little Black Dress is out next Tuesday, August 23…squeeeee!  You can pre-order online from booksellers and e-booksellers now!  Here’s a helpful link.  Or you can Google “book with magic black dress” and see if that’ll lead you to it.  Seek and ye shall find…something.

Dear Gentle Reader

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I am but a hopeful author with a new book that will appear in the marketplace eighteen days yon.

I realize you may not know me from Adam, and we’re not likely related (although my ancestors did sow ample seeds across the Middle West so if you reside amidst the corn and wheat, we may be distant kin). It’s highly probable you could bypass my name on Ye Olde Bookshelf, skipping straight from Queen Anna Maxted to Sir Alexander McCall Smith. But if you pause because you admire the comely cover of Little Black Dress—and perhaps even read a page—I would be in your debt.

Though I am no fledging scribe, each new book feels akin to a new child. After all, when I toil, I shut myself up in the tower like Rapunzel. When hard at work, I barely remember to let down my long hair so Prince Edward can send up a basket with bread and water so I won’t starve. Meanwhile, the rooms below get thick with dust, the weeds grow tall, and Prince Edward wonders, “Will I ever see my fair maiden again? Is she lost to me?”
As much as I can’t wait to finish scripting THE END and send off my tome to my publisher (tied to the talons of my falcon, Leonard), it gives me jitters just the same. I know that once I let loose those words, a crew of magical elves will descend upon them. Some of them are wizards in worlds called Marketing and Publicity. Others do mystical things in a land called Production. You must have a special passkey to enter any of those, or so I’m told.
Oft’times I’m tempted to remain in my tower forever. It’s a cozy spot, to be sure, and I spend so much time in a made-up world where I have some control that the forest beyond seems truly scary. There be dragons with fiery breath and claws that may tear my words apart. There be angry townsfolk with pitchforks who may oppose the language used to tell my tales. There be trolls who scrawl messages on the sides of the bridges, telling weary travelers: BEWERE OF THIS BUK. IT BE AWFUL.
Despite my misgivings, I will descend from my tower when my opus is launched. It is both my duty and my curse. So, be kind, Gentle Reader. Know that I have done my best to spin a tale that entertains you and your kinfolk. Believe that I have dripped sweat from my brow and drained emotion from my heart to compose a yarn that pleases you. And if I fail, I fear I will have to try again.
For those who have bestowed kind words upon my works, I am forever in your debt.  Should I ever have a pig to spare, it will be yours (and the apple in its mouth as well).
As Ever,
Susan McBride 

The Follow-Up Question

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My picture pops up every few seconds above…does this look like the face of someone you should tell everything to?  No?  Well, if so, you’re in the minority, because everywhere I go, I hear at least one life story in a day.
No kidding.
My husband always remarked on my ability to make small talk with people around me, perfect strangers even, and wonder what it was that made me a magnet for people who have stories to tell.  It was our friend, a retired New York City Police detective named John, who came up with the only theory to explain this phenomenon.
Apparently, I ask the “follow-up question.”
What is the “follow-up question,” you ask?  Well, seemingly, it’s that one extra question that will get the person telling you the most intimate, darkest secrets of their life despite the fact that they’ve never laid eyes on you.  It’s the question that I guess lets the teller know that you want to hear every single detail of their story—of their life, even—and that you won’t rest until you do.  It’s the question that keeps you molded to the same spot in the local pharmacy or in the parking lot at Target or on the phone with “Marco,” in India, who is helping you reconnect to the internet after a recent storm.  It’s the question that separates me, just your average writer/housewife/mother/textbook editor from anyone else I know.
A less generous friend calls me a “psycho magnet,” but I don’t think that’s what I am.  I am just a person who is interested enough in some lonely—or maybe just talkative—person’s life to ask the one question that will set the monologue wheels in motion.  John, the detective, said that if the textbook thing (my day job) ever went south, I should apply to the police department and focus on interrogations.  Jim says that if assigned to the terrorism task force, I would be busting terrorists left and right.  People tell me stuff even if they’re not supposed to.
Unfortunately, I usually hear a lot about intestinal trouble or a diatribe about the horrendous service at _________________ where the person telling me tried to buy ___________________ only to have no one wait on them.  That usually dovetails into a more personal story about their spouse, or their children, or a wayward niece of nephew.  Don’t ask me how we get there, but somehow, we always do.
But there are other, more interesting stories that come out of the follow-up question.  Case in point:  the day my first book, MURDER 101, was published, the only place that had copies was a local gift store which was owned by a dear friend who had placed his order early and had what seemed like the first copies printed.  He had set the books up on a large round table in the middle of the store, announcing their arrival with much fanfare.  He called me the minute the display was up and I headed over to the store to see what it looked like to have fifty copies of your first publication displayed in the middle of my favorite store in town. 
It was fabulous.
As I was gushing over the incredible display, a woman sidled up beside me.
“These your books?”
They were, I assured her.
“What are they about?”
This was back in the day before I had perfected my “elevator pitch;” you know, the one-sentence description of the book and the series that would perfectly describe what it was and let the potential reader know if it was right for them.  I set about describing the book from start to finish. 
The woman held her hand up to stop me when I got to around page fifty.  “So the murder is fiction?”
Rather than tell her that I thought it was compelling and leapt off the page, despite being “fiction,” I let her know that it was and asked her what she liked to read.  She shook off that question.
“I know about a real murder,” she whispered, clearly dismissive of my character, Alison Bergeron, and the body in the trunk of poor Alison’s car.  (In the interest of full disclosure, this was not a confession on her part.)
By this time, my husband and the owner of the store had wandered off to peruse the latest men’s offerings from Crabtree and Evelyn and I, despite my internal warning system, said, “Really?  Who got murdered?”  Most people, when confronted with a woman with wild hair, and even wilder eyes, would have probably joined Jim at the Crabtree and Evelyn display to see if their razor balm really did cut down on razor burn, but to me, this was too good to pass up.  The woman proceeded to regale me with stories of her “research,” and how she kept it all in a safe deposit box lest someone else get a hold of her ideas and the story.  It was just that good, in her mind.
I let her ramble on and then the kiss of death: I asked the follow-up question to the follow-up question in the form of “have you started writing?” which led her to a list of reasons as to why she hadn’t. (She, apparently, was very busy.  At the time, I had two children, a husband, a dog, and a full-time job.  Oh, and daily chemotherapy to attend to.  I wasn’t busy at all.)
I never did find out who got murdered and I also don’t know if she ever wrote her story, never mind get it published.  I used to see her around town and she would always give me a look that would either say “Do I know you?” or “Now that you know about the murder and the safety deposit box, I have to kill you, too!” but I couldn’t tell which it was.
 So there you have it, one example of where the follow-up question can lead.  And trust me:  it’s never good.
Hey, Stiletto friends…are you one of those people to whom others tell everything?  Do you ask the follow-up question to your own detriment?  And thanks to my friend and fellow Stiletto blogger, Susan McBride, for prompting the topic of this post.  After reading about her sharing with her A/C repairman, it dawned on me that I, too, had this special gift called “tell me your life story.”  Thanks, Susan!
Maggie Barbieri