Mary Kay Andrews

In the middle of the night I heard a strange noise–rain! We’ve had a terrible drought in Georgia. Every day we hear how low the water level at Lake Lanier has dropped. But rain was forecast yesterday, and in the middle of the night it finally came. Not for long. Not enough. But rain–blessed rain. So I’m thankful. This morning I turned on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Watching it while getting all the food ready for the big dinner was always a tradition in our family. My mom would be taking the pies out of the oven–and watching the Kilgore Rangerettes from Texas prance down Broadway. And she’d INSIST–“I can do that.” Picture an arthritic grandma demonstrating her high kicks–wearing her polyester pants and flip-flops.
And every year, no matter where we were, my sister would call, and announce “turn on the television. You won’t believe the hideous outfits the majorettes from Wisconsin (or wherever) are wearing. So I turned on the parade this morning–and sure enough, some poor unfortunate drill team girls from some band were dressed in GRAY one-piece jumpsuit things with white and puce green slashes–which made them look like prancing elephants. And I thought about Susie–and how she’d have been on the phone like a shot, to make sure I hadn’t missed them. So I’m thankful for all the years of parades. And pies. I’m thankful that my new kitchen is bright and easy to work in. I’m thankful for the old mister–who is my partner in everything. Last night we went to neighbors for their annual oyster and shrimp feast, and he made his amazing crabcakes. I made the remoulade sauce. This morning, he made the brine for our turkey–while I read him the recipe from Martha Stewart’s website. We’ll cook our turkey tomorrow, because we’re going to neighbors for dinner–and I still need my own turkey for leftovers. I’m in charge of mashed potatoes. They’re all peeled and ready to cook. When they’re done, I’ll pop them in my crockpot to take over to our friend’s house. That way I won’t take up valuable oven space over there. The scalloped corn casserole is mixed up and ready to bake. Last night I made a new recipe–cranberry salsa, which will be served with blue corn chips. I’ve talked to Katie twice this morning. In addition to going to finishing up school at Arizona State, she’s working for the athletic association, and they have a huge football game today against USC, which will be on ESPN. So Andy flew out to Phoenix, they had their dinner last night, and they’ll all go to the big game, which Katie has to work, and they’ll tailgate. I’m thankful that our children love each other, and love to spend time together. I’m thankful Katie found a wonderful husband like Mark, whose family has totally embraced her. I’m thankful for Wyatt, who is lounging on the kitchen floor, hoping that somebody will drop something edible on the floor. I’m thankful to be back home again in Avondale, with neighbors who pop in the back door to ask to borrow poultry seasoning, and I’m thankful for dear friends who have become our own extended family.. I’m thankful for good health. I’m thankful that the Lord gave me a talent for writing, and that I get to do this thing I love–writing. And I’m thankful for my readers–all of them everywhere, who allow me to make a living doing what I love. So. Thank you dear readers. In fact, as we say in the South–Bless your heart!

Did I mention our house is going to be on our neighborhood Christmas tour of homes?
Oh joy. Oh dread. Oh damn.
And why did I agree to this insanity? Because, dear reader, I need a deadline. The tour chairman called me way back in March, to ask if we would put the house on tour.
And as I put it to Mr. Mary Kay–“well, that will give us a deadline to get all those nagging little projects done.” And in a not-so-rare moment of insanity, we agreed.
So I drew up this long laundry list of projects, and we’ve been working towards completion. And now the tour is less than a month away, and I’m starting to get those middle-of-the-night anxiety dreams. Many of you have asked about the kitchen project. It’s very near completion. Bob the Builder has sworn on his skillsaw that he’ll have the awesome new cupboard done shortly before or after Thanksgiving. Other than that, it really looks great. The downstairs bathroom has swell new black and cream wallpaper, a chalky blue ceiling that exactly matches the funky 1940s blue tile, the old black and gold tole chandelier I had in the downstairs powder room in raleigh, and some spiffy antique french sconces. Also new crown moulding. The master bath has an elegant new creamy marble vanity top and a new tile backsplash. The big new mirrored medicine cabinet is wall-mounted, altho not complete. The tortoise-shell bamboo shades are up in my office. But, as with any extended project,little things keep happening. Like–the fabric for the armchairs in the living room turned out to be back-ordered and not due in til December. So we switched fabrics. And THAT
stuff was ten days late arriving here, so my upholsterer is in a swivet. And then some fabric for the living and dining room drapes came in-and was deeply, nastily flawed. And, of course, there is no more of this red and cream check to be had in the Western Hemisphere. So we had to run out and pick out some other, not nearly as cool red and cream check. And Bob the Builder put in the backsplash upstairs, but we are exactly one and a half pieces of tile short. So that had to be ordered from California. Due here Monday. And the sweet bamboo shades I ordered for my office? Turns out 2 of the windows are 2 inches bigger than the other windows, so I had to order two more shades. Which they swear will be here before Thanksgiving. And then I didn’t buy enuf lampshades for the chandleliers (yes, chandeliers plural. My design philosphy is more is better)so now I have to schlep over to Lamp Arts, which is on the dreaded traffic-snarled Howell Mill Road to buy 2 more shades. I’d been calling my interior designer for a couple days, and he hadn’t returned my calls. And then, this morning when I called, I got the recording that says the number’s been disconnected. And yes, I nearly lost it. I’d mentally composed the message I planned to scatch into the paint on his car: I’M OFF MY MEDS, I HAVE ACCESS TO FIREARMS AND I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. Fortunately, this was not necessary. Turns out he’d called last night while I was at a book-signing. He has not moved and changed his phone number. He is on top of everything. Which is good. Because, did I mention that I have access to firearms? And oh yes, the link to the tour of homes thingy, should you want to come over and laugh yourself silly at my decor–which could be described as eclectic excess meets five-and-dime festivity. Avondale Tour of Homes

It was great getting out for a week and meeting readers and seeing the booksellers who have become old friends after 15 books, but nothing beats the feeling of sleeping in your own bed! My Low Country book tour was lots of fun. After my signing at SEASIDE SISTERS on Tybee Island last Saturday, I moved into downtown Savannah. The gals who work at E. Shaver’s Booksellers always make me feel welcome. In fact, it’s usually my first stop when I drive down from Atlanta–if for no other reason than to use their bathroom. I always end up buying books they’re recommending. Last time around I bought a gorgeous cookbook written by local caterer Susan Mason. Called SUSAN MASON’S SILVER SERVICEit’s full of great Southern recipes and beautiful photographs. I’m a sucker for home decorating books, so I also bought Bunny Williams’s AN AFFAIR WITH A HOUSE. Our little bungalow will never look like this famous New York decorator’s country home, but that’s fine with me. This week Esther Shaver’s girls recommended a new biography of Alice Roosevelt Longworth. Called ALICE: Alice Roosevelt Longworth, from White House Princess to Washington Power Broker. So far it’s fascinating reading. Tuesday I made the hour drive to Beaufort, S.C. for a signing at Bay Street Trading Company. If you’ve never visited Beaufort, you simply must go. Bay Street Trading is a bookstore that concentrates on old-time service. You can sit in a rocking chair out front and page through a book before buying. And you never know who’ll be dropping by the store while you’re there. Pat Conroy and his author wife Cassandra King live on nearby Fripp Island, so last time I was there, I ran into Sandra who was stocking up on books before a trip.This time around, my friends Nancy Pate and her cousin Meg Herndon–two-thirds of the mystery-writing team Caroline Cousins, met me for lunch. My other favorite shop in Beaufort is right across the street. It’s called simply M and is full of stylish antiques and gifts. I bought a great necklace for my friend Shay’s Christmas gift. Then it was back across the bridge for another signing that night, at Books-A-Million. Before leaving Savannah on Wednesday, I made time to stop at
@Home Vintage General. Liz Demos’s combination antique shop and gift store in a beautiful old high-ceilinged storefront on Broughton Street is just my favorite shop ever. I bought a vintage step-stool to reach the upper shelves of my new kitchen cabinets, and the sweetest vintage-style Christmas apron. Liz suggested her favorite junking spots in Brunswick, which was my next book-signing spot, so off I went to Gloucester Street. I swept through Downtown Antiques and Victorian Place, but ran out of time before I got to Piddler’s, which is right across the street. I got some great art for Maisy’s Daisy, and managed to pick up some stuff for moi . Like a vintage mercury glass vase that almost matches one I already own–for the low, low price of $12, and a Jadeite batter bowl (ok, there’s a chip on the spout–who cares?) for $18. I spent so much time junking I had to speed over the bridge to St. Simon’s Island for my last signing at G.J. Ford’s Books. Owner Mary Jane at Ford’s is such a wonderful person, signing at her store is like stopping by an old girlfriend’s house for a Diet Coke and some gossip. She even had chocolate-covered cream puffs and Christmas cookies for the event! I left behind autographed copies of BLUE CHRISTMASat every bookstore, so go now and buy ’em up!

Wow! Saturday’s Holiday Open House at Seaside Sister’s Coastal Cottage was awesome. My friend Polly Stramm did a piece about me and the shop in the Saturday Savannah Morning News, and apparantely some people read it, because we sold out of 50 copies of BLUE CHRISTMAS in about 40 minutes. I met lots of cool people, and from what I hear, we also sold some of my junk, er, priceless antiques. The only downside to the day was that I was so busy I didn’t really get a chance to junk. OK, I did hit one estate sale in my old neighborhood, Ardsley Park, but I could only stay about 15 minutes. I got a rattan trash basket for three bucks. I missed out on a really great rattan set–including a sofa, settee and an unusual rattan dining room table. Damn. But since my rental is just a puny little Mazda, I couldn’t really have picked it up anyway. But still. I hate it when other people beat me to the good stuff. My husband and son came down for the weekend too, and spent a gorgeous cool, sunny Saturday fishing. They came home with a couple trout. If you’ve never been to the Georgia coast in the fall, you’re missing a beautiful time of year. We stayed in one of the most adorable MERMAID COTTAGES. This one was called FlipFlop, and it was so cute we hated to check out. Had a great screened porch to sit and sip at the end of the day, and a fenced yard for Wyatt. We had two great dinners too, the Bamboo Room on Friday night, where the guys had grouper and mahi mahi, and on Saturday night, we ate at Sundae Cafe, which is just about my favorite restaurant on Tybee.
Yesterday morning we had a meeting to nail down some more details about my

. I think it’s going to be so much fun. Y’all come!

Whew! Our neighborhood seemed like kid central last night during trick or treat. I had to make two emergency candy runs–and we still ran out of candy at 8:30–which is 30 minutes before official curfew in our town. Even though we turned the lights off, kids were still banging on our doors hoping for more loot. My favorite costume was the teenager who wore a rubber pig mask, a bloody butcher’s apron and carried a giant plastic meat cleaver. Tomorrow I leave for five days of signings in the low country–Savannah, Mt. Pleasant and Beaufort S.C. and St. Simon’s Island. Please come and keep me company if you’re in the vicinity.
Also, Saturday, I’ll be at Seaside Sisters on Tybee Island, where I have my antique booth, signing books from 1-3 p.m. during our Holiday Open House. Y’all come see me. I’ve been doing some xtreme junking to get new stock for the booth–hit six estate sales last Saturday, which might be a new record.
Also, if you have access to ATLANTA MAGAZINE, check out the November issue. I have an essay about the cake plate my sister Susie and I found at an abandoned house, along with the recipe for my lemon cream cheese poundcake. This is the same cake I bake dozens of every December to send to all the New York folks who make my books possible.

One of my favorite holidays, Halloween, is right around the corner, and for once, it’s caught me flat-footed. Oh sure, I’ve stacked corn stalks by the porch columns, and piled multi-colored pumpkins and gourds and mums by my front door. Yesterday, I even tacked up some scary window shades that make it look like a skeleton and a witch are peeking out of my second-story bedroom windows. But Andrew, our 21-year-old son who is “temporarily” living at home again, says I’m a slacker.
Time was, I spent weeks planning and executing our Halloween décor. We have a “Holiday Spirit” contest in our neighborhood, and at one time, we’d won it four or five years in a row.
Did I mention how much I love Halloween? I mean, what’s not to love about a holiday built around candy and dressing up in an outrageous costume? No gifts, no cards, no newsletters to write—just an orgy of chocolate and make-up. We always decorate the house, inside and out, and I make a huge pot of chili. Parents with trick-or-treaters stop by for a bowl of red and a cold beer, and friends in the ‘hood know to head over to our house as soon as they’ve handed out the last of the Snickers and M&Ms.
I’ve even written a Halloween themed mystery, STRANGE BREW, which was the fifth in my Callahan Garrity mystery series, which I wrote under my real name, which is Kathy Hogan Trocheck. Time was, I used to do always dress up in a costume to have a postcard made for each book. For HOMEMADE SIN, I was a nun. For HEART TROUBLE, I was the Queen of Hearts. And for TO LIVE AND DIE IN DIXIE, I rented a full Scarlett O’Hara green velvet rig. MIDNIGHT CLEAR meant I dressed up as Mrs. Santa. To promote my book-signings for STRANGE BREW, I had a costumer friend custom make me a gorgeous witch costume. The costume was black satin, with black and gold brocade insets, a full, flowing skirt, and a black and gold braided corded sash. The hat was enormous, with bold and black chiffon scarves billowing down from the brim. I had my photograph taken in it, and postcards made up.
My children swore I wrote that book as an excuse to have my very own witch costume.
I never denied it.
For the house decorations, every year I brain-stormed for days, trying to come up with a theme. Then, my sister-in-law, Jeanne, and the kids and I would build it. One year, we were the Black Cat Café, with giant black cats parading across our front porch. Jeanne, my sister Susie and I, dressed up in waitress costumes and handed out candy from the front porch.
Another year I draped the front porch as a fortune-teller’s tent, and Susie and I were gypsies, complete with crystal balls.
One year, I wasn’t even home, but managed to get the house decorated before leaving for a trip to California. The theme that year was Rock n’ Roll Heaven. I bought sheets for a buck from the Goodwill, then tie-dyed them blue and white and tacked them across the front porch. We cut out stars from cardboard, covered them with foil, and wrote a dead rock star’s name on each one—Elvis, Richie Valens, The Big Bopper, Janis Joplin, ect.
But our crowning achievement was the year we created our own Big Top Circus. I went back to the Goodwill and bought more sheets. I dyed half of them red, and half yellow. Then I cut them into strips and sewed them into red and yellow striped “tent” panels, which I again stapled all around the front porch. Over the porch entry, we made a huge clown’s head out of canvas stapled to a plywood frame. To enter the porch, you had to walk through the clown’s open mouth. On the porch columns, we tacked up signs–“See the Bearded Lady”—“Lion Tamer” and my favorite—“See the Elephant—5 Cents.”
We all dressed as clowns and had a great time with the hordes of kids and parents who always descend on our neighborhood every year. Because the word has gotten out that residents in our ‘hood always go over the top for Halloween, people drive over from miles away—sometimes bringing in vanloads of kids, to share in the fun.
The year of the circus, we’d given away what seemed like thousands of candy bars. We’d retired to the kitchen with the grown-ups, sipping beer and eating chili, while the kids were all camped out in the den, counting and swapping their swag, when my daughter came in with a look of alarm on her face. “Mom,” she said. “There’s a strange kid sitting in the den eating his candy.”
“Oh honey,” I said, “he probably came in with one of the neighbor’s kids.”
“No,” she insisted. “Nobody knows this kid.”
So I went into the den, and sure enough, there was a pint-sized pirate happily sorting through his bag of treats. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.
“Hi,” I said. “Whatcha doin?”
“Eatin’ candy,” he said calmly.
“Do we know you?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said.
“Does your mom know us?”
“No. But she said I could come in and see the elephant.”
“Elephant?”
“The sign said I could see the elephant,” he replied.
A hasty check revealed a car, parked outside at our curb, its hazard light blinking while the mom patiently waited on her pirate to check out the elephant.
Since then, we do try to monitor the crowds a little closer.
This year, sadly, there won’t be time to manufacture a circus, nor even a fortune-teller’s tent. But we’ll have the chili—and plenty of candy.

Ah the high-flying life of the best-selling author. It’s all champagne and caviar and air-kisses with the New York literati. Right? Not so much. Example: Sunday, at the women’s expo in Tennessee, while I’m waiting for my herbal belly wrap to melt inches off my waist, two fans came up to the table where I was sitting and stared down at the stack of books in front of me. Then up at me. Then back at the books. With deep suspicion and not a little hostility in her eye, the alpha fan said, “Is this you?”
“Yes,” I said brightly. “I’m Mary Kay Andrews.” They backed away a little and gave me the once-over. So I picked up a copy of BLUE CHRISTMAS,turned to the author photo and held it up next to my face. “See! It really is me,” I chirped.
They picked up the book and studied the author photo intently. “Your hair looks better in the photo,” the woman said flatly.
“Well, yes, that’s because they had a professional hair and make-up person at the photo shoot,” I said. “Also, they touch these photos up. But it’s really me. I swear.”
“You should do your hair like that all the time,” her friend opined. And then they left.
Now we come to Tuesday. My publisher flew me to New York for a lovely luncheon at Bobby Flay’s Bar Americain with all sorts of media types, in the hopes that said media types will write flattering stories about DEEP DISH . I felt so suave, so sophisticated. I had on my new cute Cole Haan shoes and the new eyeshadow from the women’s expo, and the control-top pantyhose. Really, I thought I was all that and a bag of chips. And I did meet some very nice media types, who did seem interested in me and my book. And the deep dish chocolate cream pie was to die for. It was all I could do to keep from picking up the plate to slurp it clean. I flew home, and this morning, my agent emailed me a link to the blog written by an editor at PUBLSIHER’S WEEKLY who was a guest at the luncheon. How excited I was, how enthralled. I emailed the story to a journalist friend, who quickly shot back an email, saying “nice job, Nancy Hogan Trochek.”
SAY WHAAT? Here’s the link to the story. You can read it yourself.
http://www.publishersweekly.com/blog/610000261/post/360016236.html
As you can plainly see, PW does not know my real name. They think I am named Nancy. And they don’t know how to spell my real name. But at least they got the Mary Kay Andrews part right. And DEEP DISH. They mentioned DEEP DISH. PW, however, does love my friend John Searles. They even know how to spell his name. But then, everybody loves my friend John Searles. Life is so unfair. As I told John in my email today, when I’m reincarnated, I’m definitely coming back as him. He’s thinner and has cuter clothes. He gets invited to all the happening parties and has cool friends. And you can bet your life HE never has to walk around in an herbal belly wrap under his control-top pantyhose.

I’m officially on the road for the re-release of BLUE CHRISTMAS. Friday I flew to Detroit and then Saturday I gave a talk at a library fund-raiser in Grosse Point Farms. This is a verrry chi-chi town. The only thing I knew about it was that darkly comic movie Grosse Point Blank with John Cusack. The fund-raiser was held in a beautiful 1910 building, the War Memorial, which sits right on rolling green lawns on Lake Michigan. At least–I think it was Lake Michigan. Also on the lunch program were mystery writers Nevada Barr and Stuart Kaminsky. A swell time was had by all. I didn’t know if I’d have any readers as far away as Grosse Point Farms, but turns out I do. As I said in my talk, I write about women. Although I’m from the South and have never lived outside the South, I believe that underneath all our big hair and Lee Press-On nails, we’re just like those gals up north. Bless our hearts!
On the way back to the airport, I had the driver cruise up and down the streets, but tragically, there were no estate sale signs anywhere to be found. I hung around the Detroit airport for four hours waiting for my flight. I discovered the Northwest Admiral Club–score! They have a fireplace and cheese and crackers and serve-yourself bar. As I was getting on a plane–either in Atlanta or Detroit, I overheard a guy in front of me talking on his cellphone. Here’s what he said: “I been drinking in the lounge for a couple hours, and now I gotta piss like a racehorse. But I never use the bathrooms on planes. Instead, I got a plastic bag with me. I’ll just get me one of those blue blankets…..” Can I just say EEEEEWWWWWW! Can you imagine sitting next to this bizarro?
Then today I went to the Women’s Expo sponsored by the Kingsport, Tenn. paper. They had all these vendors selling perfume and makeup and Pampered Chef stuff, ect. And a whole bunch of authors. In between selling and signing books, I got to looking at the booth opposite ours. These women were selling these fat-wrap systems. And they had a show special–$20 for a tummy wrap. You know I totally went for it. Of course they advertise that you can lose 4 inches in 4 hours or something. Personally, I think it’s probably a bunch of hooey. But I’ll try anything once. So I’ve got this swath of herb-soaked goo wrapped around my belly, and that’s wrapped with Saran wrap. And when I walk it sounds like I’m wearing Depends. But I’m totally counting on having my pants zip a little looser tomorrow. So later on I waddled over to the Belks’ booth and had some Clinique makeup slapped on. I bought some new eyeshadow and got myself made up with full-tilt spackle. So now I’m wearing my herb depends and I’ve got great make-up, and I’m sitting in my hotel room watching chick flicks on TBS. Pretty soon I’ll dial up some room service dinner and startle the waiter with my beauty. Not a bad life. Tomorrow–off to New York.

The new, improved edition of BLUE CHRISTMAS should start appearing in stores tomorrow. Which means you should all run right out and buy a dozen or so for your nearest, dearest, friends, relatives, book club buddies, carpool partners, bunko pals, ect. You can see the new improved jacket above.

Even if you bought BLUE CHRISTMAS last year, you should still go out and buy it again this year. Why, you ask? The most obvious answer to this question is that you should buy it so that I can make a quick buck. But wait, there’s more! This year’s edition of BLUE CHRISTMASis new and improved, with added, original material penned by moi.

The exact nature of this new material is top secret stuff, but trust me, you’ll enjoy it. And the re-issue gives me an excuse to go off on book tour again, which means fresh opportunities for subsidized junking. Subsidized junking is a term I just this minute made up. It means that my publisher, HarperCollins, flies me around the country and puts me up in much nicer hotels than I could afford on my own. And in between the scheduled book signings, I skip around from town to town, and junk. And then I take all this fresh-picked junk down to my booth at SEASIDE SISTERS ANTIQUES on Tybee Island, and sell it to unsuspecting junk-lovers. What’s in it for you, dear reader? As far as I’m concerned, it’s a win-win situation for everybody. Harper gets me out on the road, selling books and meeting and greeting fans. Mary Kay scams some free nights in cool hotels, does some junking, and oh yeah, meets and greets fans and autographs books. You, dear reader, get to buy a fun book and get me to autograph it. Also, we exchange confidential information about hot junking spots, memories of dysfunctional holiday family reunions, and recipes for highly fattening foods. What’s not to love about that?

Your first formal opportunity to schmooze and buy books comes up this Sunday, at the Kingsport Women’s Expo in Kingsport,Tenn. I’ll be there from 1:30-4:30 p.m. Watch this space for upcoming appearances, and, of course, you can always check my website at MaryKayAndrews.com for the full schedule, and to sign up for the ultra-cool HarperCollins authortracker.com function which will automatically ALERT you to new books and signings.

On Tuesday I attended a huge meeting of booksellers who work for a well-known national chain. A couple thousand of them convened in Birmingham for their yearly seminar. I love booksellers. All of ’em. But sometimes they make me laugh or shake my head.

Like the guy who approached the table where I was signing FREE books. He picked up one of my books, looked at me and shook his head sadly. “I didn’t think you’d be this old,” he said.

EXCUUUUSE ME??? All three of my chins trembled in righteous indignation.

“Dick,” I said, batting my graying and thinned out eyelashes, “That’s not really something you want to say to a woman author.” (His name wasn’t really Dick, but that’s how I was thinking of him right at that moment.)

“What I mean is, your books read like they were written by someone much younger,” he blurted out.

“Again, Dick,” I said, in my most kindly, school-marmish manner, repressing the urge to kick him in the crotch with my orthopedic black lace-up nun shoes. “Not tactful.”

So that’s how I roll.

Later, another bookseller who was clutching a huge satchel of free books eagerly confided in me that she’d shared all my FREE books that she’d scored last year with her mother, sister, sister-in-law, neighbors and parole officer. In fact, dozens of people had enjoyed the free ride down Mary Kay Andrews Boulevard.

“Heidi,” I said, gnashing my wooden teeth. “If you give free books to everyone, they won’t want to buy my books. In fact, they’ll EXPECT you to supply them with free books for the rest of their lives. And that would not be good for me. Or bookstores that sell books. Or you, since you depend on people buying books so you can earn a paycheck.”

“Oh,” she said. “I never thought of it that way.”

People mean well. They really do. But sometimes they say the most outlandish,inappropriate things to authors. So, in the spirit of public awareness, I’ve prepared this little primer of things NOT to say to an author, should you encounter one at a cocktail party, book signing or arraignment.

1. “I’ve always thought that if I didn’t have this incredibly important career as a a.brain surgeon
b.rocket scientist
c.trial attorney
d.certified public accountant
that I could have been a novelist.”
Ah yes, this statement seems to say. Any boob with a word processor can get a book published. Just look at you, for instance. And by the way, I’ve always thought that if this writing gig doesn’t pan out, I might take up brain surgery in MY spare time.”

2.”I see you write (mystery,romance,erotica,horror,whatever). Have you ever thought of writing a real book?”
“No,” I always want to say. “These fake books I’ve been writing seem to be paying quite nicely and filling up space on those imaginary library shelves behind you.”

3. “So you’re a writer. Have I ever heard of you?”
This is just one of my all-time favorites. “No,” I always say politely. “But don’t feel bad. ‘Cuz I never heard of you either.”

4. “Hey–I’ve got a great idea for book. How about I tell it to you, and you write it down and sell it and we split the multi-million dollar advance between us?”
“Hey,” I always want to say. “How about you step away from the clam dip and go back to boring people with those same old wildly amusing anecdotes about your childhood in Omaha?”

5.”A writer, huh? Can you really make a living doing that?”
Usually I glance meaningfully out the window at my shiny black BMW when somebody asks me that one.