Life in the fast lane

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.
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.

3 thoughts on “Life in the fast lane”

  1. Well they ought to be ashamed of themselves…both the “fans” and the New Yorkers! Where were their manners?!

  2. Loved this post. Love your books. (Oh, god, I’m gushing.)

    I don’t have time to read more blogs, but this is going to the top of my list. Thanks, Kathy! (See, I knew your real name!)

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