And Now, Live from the Closet with the Sump Pump--

I don’t know if any of you have ever sold a house, but if you haven’t I have one word of advice: Don’t. It’s a major pain in the tushy. First of all, you have to fix all those little things you’ve let slide. Our house is for sale in preparation for our move to Washington DC, and I’ve been sharing my home with a constant stream of workmen. One particularly memorable day, I had a radio interview at the same time we had someone trimming our bushes, putting drywall in the garage, and fixing a small chip in our granite countertop. And of course, there were the cleaning ladies. You can't sell a dirty house.

Now radio hosts are pretty good sports, but they really like to hear their guests. They’re picky about it, actually. So, for the sake of peace and quiet, I took the phone into the farthest corner of our finished basement, the dreaded storage room with its closet built over the top of the sump pump. There, in blissful silence, I joined the queue for the recording.

Ten minutes to air time. I decided that a little Down Dog action was a good idea. Then I moved into Child's Pose. Nothing like a good yoga pose to get you focused and relaxed. Except I forgot that the carpet in the backroom hasn’t been cleaned in years. So. as I rested my head on the floor, my nose started to run like a water spigot.

Five minutes to air time. I needed a box of tissues…fast. I jogged out of the storage room. I made it up the stairs. I dodged the cleaning woman pushing the vacuum sweeper. Ducked into a bathroom. Pulled out tissues. Ran back downstairs.

Three minutes to air time. I am panting like a dog and mopping my nose. Time to review the interviewer’s instruction sheet. There it was: “We might ask you to read from your book.” Crud. Who knew I needed a copy of Cut, Crop & Die? I raced out of the storage room. I tucked the phone under my ear and searched my desktop, which looks approximately like a paper recycling bin after a tornado hit it. Found the book. Ran back to the storage room.

Two minutes to air time. I forgot my reading glasses. I run back upstairs. The man fixing the granite wants to discuss it with me. I can’t stop. He’s being paid $175 for a house call to fix three little chips. I pause long enough to watch. To one chip he applies the tip of a Sharpie black marker. Then he spits on it. Oh, goodie. This is more than I wanted to know about granite repair.

One minute to air time. I race back down to the storage room. I lock the door. I hear the host talking.

30 seconds to air time. A dull roar begins overhead. The cleaning ladies are now running the vacuum on the wooden floor directly above me. I could be standing behind a jet at Lambert Airport and it would be quieter.

15 seconds to air time. The doorbell is ringing. The dogs are barking in the next room. They are determined to protect the home that won’t be theirs much longer.

5 seconds to air time. I can’t even hear myself think. There’s the barking, the doorbell, and the roar of the vacuum overhead. I look around frantically for a quiet spot. I have only one option.

I gave an entire radio interview standing inside the closet with one foot on each side of our sump pump. Need I share that it smelled like a sewer?

Nah.

You know, being an author is really glamorous stuff. Or so I’ve been told.

Cut, Crop & Die Hits the Shelves

by Joanna Campbell Slan

Cut, Crop & Die, the second book in my Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series, has hit the stores. How do I know? Booksellers are emailing me to ask if I’ll come do signings. Scrapbook store owners are hearing from their customers. And gosh, what a difference it makes to be releasing Book #2 in a series! It’s so fun to be “known,” to not have to plow fresh ground, and to have folks who are clamoring for “more, more, more!”

Personally, I love reading books that are a part of a series. I like getting to know the characters, watching them grow, and frankly, watching the author grow, too. Each new book is like a visit with an old friend.

In Cut, Crop & Die, one of the subplots is how Kiki’s newfound independence is threatened by a new employee, Bama. Bama’s much vaunted high-falluting degree in art leaves Kiki feeling both jealous and inept. Concurrently, Kiki’s job has become ever more precious to her. For the first time in her life, Kiki is calling all the shots. She’s a “real” grown up, responsible for herself and her daughter, Anya. She’s living solo without a parent or a spouse to tell her what to do. She’s even decorated her home in her own personal style, whereas the gorgeous McMansion she owned with her husband was furnished to his taste by a decorator.

People ask me, “Is it true that authors need to write what they know?”

Boy, wouldn’t it be a boring world if we did? I’ve never been shot at. I’ve never killed anyone. But I write about those things. So, no, I don’t always stick to what I know…except when it comes to emotions. That’s where I use my knowledge. You see, I can remember living on my own after my first marriage failed. I had a great job selling newspaper advertising—a job that threatened my first husband’s ego so much he couldn’t stand it. Finally, I decided I couldn’t stand him, so we were even.

I got rid of 275 pounds of ugly fat. I divorced him.

I got my own little apartment, decorated with castoffs, but certainly reflecting my own style. I can recall what that time was like, the freedom, the fears, and the sense of finally finding myself. Those are the emotions I gave Kiki. Her relationship with Bama reminds me of how I felt when our advertising boss hired a woman he praised to the skies. I remember how he even bragged about paying her more than all of the rest of us salespeople, even though she was less experienced. He felt justified because of her stature in the community. I remember how that eroded my self-esteem and how I worried about my job performance.

I learned a lot from that experience. Fear of failure provides a marvelous incentive to work harder, to be more prepared, to think creatively, to hold nothing back. At least, it works that way for me.

And that new employee? She didn’t last long and she sure didn’t outsell me.

The neat thing about being a writer is nothing is EVER wasted. Those pains I felt, that sense of being “less than,” I don’t call them up every day. But they came in handy when I wrote Cut, Crop & Die.

Care to read an excerpt? Go to www.JoannaSlan.com