GETTING STARTED AGAIN

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

When I agreed to my first speaking engagement of 2009, I assumed I would probably be standing in front of or at least near a podium or somewhere I could place a few index cards with notes. Instead, the former radio host asking for the interview in January said the format was going to be a rendition of “Inside the Actor’s Studio with James Lipton.” When I arrived, I found a small table placed between two chairs in front of a grouping of seating for the audience. Somehow, the pristine table seemed to whisper a throaty imitation of Garbo’s “I vant to be alone.” It was just as well. I didn’t bring any notes.

Stacy worked for the Friends of the Library group, but hadn’t contacted me concerning my bio, so I wasn’t sure what type of questions she might ask. We’d shared one phone call when she originally asked for the interview. I hadn’t heard a word from her since. During that conversation, I commented I hoped she wasn’t going to ask my favorite curse word. Stacy promised she wouldn’t, so at least I didn’t have to worry about that.

The setting was intimate, and knowing the library doesn’t have funds for much advertising, I wasn’t that surprised to not have a filled room. It was the first Sunday afternoon following the last blitz of the holiday season. I had been selected to be the library’s January Whodunnit Author, but which Sunday was up to me. “Do you think you’d like to do this later in the month?” Stacy had asked.

“No, I have a new calendar out and those can’t sit on the shelf too long. Right after the first of the year is best for me,” I’d said. Besides, I knew after the hustle and bustle of the season, I always relished having somewhere to go that didn’t involve me having to rush. An afternoon talk at a library seemed like a nice diversion. I’d hoped others felt the same. When a smallish, but nice-size crowd took their seats, I felt both Stacy and the Friends of the Library were pleased with the turnout.

The library supplied refreshments, which is usually important to attendance at such gatherings. My TV anchor friend, Linda, says a certain organization’s meetings were always packed and they consistently served nothing except water and chocolate chip cookies. “Very good chocolate chip cookies,” she said. “So good that no one ever complained about the water being at best, wet.”

Sunday’s refreshment lineup was tastefully more spectacular with a variety of biscotti, fresh coffee, a tea assortment, and what turned out to be the hit of the goodies, a Froth Punch.1 So many people asked for the recipe that the librarian made copies. I have to admit, it was a perfect choice.

Stacy had obviously researched my web site and had garnered additional information about me from some of her other writer acquaintances. We eased into the interview with standard questions:

• Tell us about how you started writing. I always wrote, but mostly it wasn’t on paper, but gelling inside my head. My mother disagreed, insisting I told fibs. I said I didn’t tell out and out lies, I was just being creative. I always confessed if anyone believed my slanted-from-the-truth tales. That was more fun, having them know I had fooled them a bit. I suppose, I could have been a con artist if I’d wanted to go that route, but I’m too chicken to do jail time, so it probably worked out for the best. Crime pays better, but it’s too risky for me to attempt in the real world.
• What are your writing habits? I’d love to say I wake at the crack of dawn and write furiously each and every day, but I don’t. I like to stay up late, and although I have to get up early, I’m not usually ready to write. I’m best writing by the seat of my pants instead of an outlined person and I seem to like to just beat deadlines in the nick of time. I have been known to write a decent first draft of twenty pages in three hours, but that’s cutting it close when I need to have something ready for my writer’s critique group. More than once, my pages have been warm from the printer when I hand them out for others to read.
• What do you like to write most? That’s easy: I love mysteries. I guess I just like to plot murders and crimes, but like I said: I don’t want to get caught.

As the interview moved into full speed, Stacy asked, “Why short stories?”

To write short stories, the writer has to draw the reader into the make-believe universe quickly, shake him by the throat and not let go until the story reaches its end. To me, it’s an elixir, both writing and reading short works of fiction. I just love the short story format.

During the interview, I noticed a woman sitting in the front row, peering at me intently. She seemed interested in what I had to say and I felt slightly important. My pride reared its head, ready to accept the strokes she’d probably bestow upon me when we finished.

She said nothing while other audience members asked questions, but as soon as Stacy ended the session and invited the guests to help themselves to the refreshments and visit my books-for-sale table, the lady in the front row quickly moved to stand beside me. Someone was taking photos and I tried to pose in one of those let’s-pretend-it’s-not-posed poses, all while presenting my “good” side to the camera.

The lady stood patiently. When she finally spoke, I expected her to tell me she’d enjoyed the program. I thought she’d feed my ego. I expected to bask in her praises..

“I couldn’t hear a word you said,” she told me. “I could hear Stacy fine, but not you. I have trouble hearing sometimes. I really enjoyed it though.”

We talked for a few minutes about her twenty-one year old daughter who’d already been published and then she left to peruse the refreshment table.

I had a good time and it seemed everyone else did, too. I’m not going to let my self-importance go wild though. By the stampede for the refreshments, it could have been the punch and biscotti were more popular than I.

Sunday afternoon was a nice diversion. By the next morning – or rather after lunch, I sat down at the computer and wrote. I lost track of time and when I stopped, I’d written the first draft of a short story. I feel like my New Year has really started. I never know where the rollercoaster will take me as my car often leaves the track. I can’t wait to see where it veers this year. Wanta ride? Here, I’ll scoot over. I think we’re going to have a great 2009.

1. FROTH PUNCH

   1 gallon whole milk
   1 quart hot strong coffee (1 T. Coffee to 1 cup water)
   1/4 cup sugar
   1 cup Hershey syrup
   1 Tablespoon vanilla
   ½ gallon vanilla ice cream

   Mix hot coffee, sugar, chocolate syrup and vanilla together. Stir in the milk. Add ice cream just prior to serving. Makes enough to fill one punch bowl. [↩]