When you’re a freelance writer who works at home, you have three
very important jobs: 1) making sure that the bathtub is immaculate,
2) mopping every last crumb off the kitchen floor, and 3) staring
meaningfully into the refrigerator.
When you’re a freelance writer who works at home, you have three very important jobs: 1) making sure that the bathtub is immaculate, 2) mopping every last crumb off the kitchen floor, and 3) staring meaningfully into the refrigerator.
Oh sure, there are little things to worry about like, say, meeting weekly deadlines, but generally that’s what life is like. That is, until now. You see, something happened that suddenly caused my peaceful existence to come to a lurching halt: I wrote a book. Oh sure, this may seem nice. And, well, it IS nice, however it means two things: I have lots of extra Christmas gifts handy and now all sorts of people are calling and asking me to speak. Yes, SPEAK.
They will call and say in a cheery sort of voice, “We’d love to have you come and talk to our (Mother’s Club, Church Group, you-fill-in-the-blank) Organization. Now some of you may think it sounds like fun. And, hey, so does karaoke and country line dancing, but I don’t do those things either. To me, they might as well being saying; “We’d love to have you arm wrestle several hungry sharks in a 2-by-4 tank while being suspended by cables over the Las Vegas strip.”
OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. After all, during dinnertime I’ve been known for lengthy dissertations entitled, “There Are People In This World Who Would Be Thankful For Meatloaf, You Know,” and, “Do Not Feed the Dog Your Leftover Yams,” and my personal favorite, “In 50 Years You’re Not Going to Care Who Gets the Bigger Piece of Cheese, Anyway.”
But, truth be told, I’m the type of person who can barely leave a phone message without passing out cold. And public speaking brings up all sorts of problems that I’m just not prepared to face.
Like, for instance, what do you say, exactly, to a group of people who are sitting down quietly without spitting or throwing food at each other?
Not to mention the fact that, due to the cumulative effect of severely limited sleep for the past 11 or so years, most days I’m lucky to be able to string two articulate thoughts together. In fact, I can imagine facing a group of well-dressed, educated women who are expecting me to say something deep and meaningful about raising children and instead I say, “The juice box is in the cake mix, don’t you think the PTA is lovely in the spring?”
And, oh yeah, on top of all that, did I mention that the mere thought of standing in front of a crowd brings sheer terror that makes my mind go completely blank?
So you can see why public speaking is on my list of Things to Avoid At All Costs. It’s somewhere above sky diving and below disco dancing. But the funny thing is that since I’ve written a book, this doesn’t seem to stop people from asking me anyway.
So I decided to do what any educated and desperate person would do: seek professional help. I joined a national organization known to help speech-challenged people like me. And, let me just say, the meetings are great. I was welcomed by a supportive group of people who gave me a standing ovation for just making it all the way up to the podium without fainting dead away.
And now, six weeks later, I’ve even worked up enough courage to give a few impromptu speeches. In fact, my latest one was called, “The Stuffed Car Seat is Winding the Applesauce Sifter.” Doesn’t make sense? Yeah. A few people noticed that.
This week, I’m working on a follow-up what I’m afraid will be called, “A Highchair Lost the Wet Macaroni Napkin.”
I figure at this rate, maybe I’ll be up to speed by the time my next book is out: sometime in 2017.
