Me swimming was even more terrifying than my kitchen…

When I received an email from a reporter from the local newspaper requesting an interview I was certain it was in regards to the Tucson Festival of Books. Why wouldn’t it be? I’d invited the paper to speak to the Romance Writers when they did a really flattering write-up of a mystery writers group several months ago. At that time they declined the opportunity. Ah well, I thought.

So this email was exciting. Ava and I met the young lady at a local coffee shop and chatted for an hour in the heat. The reporter was really young. I’m thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve. Actually she was freshly graduated from the University and was very excited about the article. We will say she was remarkably prepared and had really great questions. I was nervous so I talk a lot. A lot a lot. A LOT! That’s what happens when I’m nervous.

I talked up romance writing like you wouldn’t believe. I gave her two names of some fabulous writer friends who have had impressive careers and referred her to the Romance Writers of America website to get statistics and such. Yet she kept asking me questions about me.

Then she wanted to take my picture. WHAT? What the hell for? Writers are typically shy people. I know anytime I have to have my picture taken I’m practically besieged by my lack of self-confidence. I don’t photograph well. It’s a family trait. My grandmother was a gorgeous woman and it was never really proven in photographs. I wouldn’t go that far with myself, but there are very, very pictures of myself that don’t make me feel like simultaneously crying and throwing up.

At first they mentioned showing me writing. I was OK with that. I figured I could be hiding behind a coffee cup and a lap top.

Next they decided they wanted me with my kids and husband – doing family stuff like we normally do. They wanted pictures of me yelling at my kids? Why the hell would they want that? Like I need Child Protective Services getting involved with my writing interview. I mentioned this new scenario to My Honey and he said, “They want a picture of the kids playing video games, you on your computer and me asleep in front of the tv?” Right? Why?

They were hoping to take pictures of the dog I wrote into my first book. I informed them that would be better for Halloween time since sadly, that dog is dead. And no, they couldn’t come over to my house. There’s no way I’m letting a staff photographer into my crap-hole of a house. It was bad enough that they wanted pictures of my kids. I had a lot of trepidation about that. I make a concerted effort to keep my kid’s and husband’s name out of this blog because I dont’ think it’s fair to them. Ava brought me around to their point of view so I suggested the park. We could ride bikes or walk my current dogs.

“Do you ride bikes at the park a lot?” the reporter asked me.

No, but who the hell knows that? They didn’t like the idea of the park and brought up my house again. That was a clear and definite “NO.” I suggested my Mom-in-law’s house for pics of the kids swimming. That finally made them happy. I spent the next two days driving Ava insane with my fears and random freaking out. I don’t know why I bother having a break down over it. I know exactly how it’s going to work out. Why stress over it? Why? Because who wants to look like a yeti on the local newspaper? Sigh.

The staff photographer wanted to know why I wasn’t swimming while the kids and My Honey were splashing around in the pool. Clearly that woman was insane. The fact that I didn’t hire some model to come in and pretend to be me was a huge success, I thought. But in a swimsuit? Stupid skinny photographers.

The whole thing turned out better than expected. The article was lovely and very well written. The picture was atrocious but, honestly, I didn’t expect anything better.

Go read it here.