Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Show-off
Twenty minutes ago I discovered a new low to which I would sink in order to be the center of attention. But to be violated by three women — how could I pass up an opportunity like that?
Back to that in a moment. (Hopefully, by this evening, I’ll even have pictures for you.) When I was five, I got up in front of a pizza parlor full of people and belted out “Home on the Range.” I made my first grade teacher’s life a living hell, and I took a stab at Hollywood stardom. Old-timers here know those two stories.
I think it’s part of a lifetime trend, of which blogging is the latest manifestation. Is it the paradoxical product of low self-esteem (I need an audience to make me feel worthwhile) or am I merely an exhibitionist? Karen, don’t answer that. We already know what you think.
As much as I love the creative process of writing, I must admit that a teensy but vocal part of me looks forward to the book-signings. Most wannabe authors are content to fantasize about publication; I dream of appearing on The Daily Show.
Anyway.
I let three ER nurses jam a fiberoptic laryngoscope down my nose today so they could get a look at my vocal cords. They’re always telling me what neat toys I have, and many times I’ve told them, “Hey, you really ought to guinea pig each other.” I realized this morning they would never do it to each other. I had to be the guinea pig.
It hurt like hell. I didn’t numb myself up well enough, and then I made myself too numb. Now, the left half of my nose is asleep. I had tears streaming down and I had to suppress a gag two or three times, but you want to know something?
It was worth it.
D.
Words fail me, but a cry for attention this blatant deserves at least a comment. 😉
Egad – the things we do for love (in your case, love of the profession).
Were your ears burning the past week? Your RWA girls wished you were there and said nice things about you and the Mrs. *grin*
X treated me to my first lobster bisque and Alaskan King Crab in Atlanta. The woman even knows her wine. Have any terrific recipes for lobster bisque? I’m hooked now – lol.
Have a good week.
I’m with Karen. (She did vote for exhibitionist, right?)
Have you shoved in a feeding tube after beer and pizza and aimed it at a Republican yet? (Like I don’t know the answer…)
The feeding tube is next, Maureen. I have to experience everything first hand in order to verify the honesty of my writing. Karen can expect a tin of Cinnamon Altoids to appear beneath her pillow any time now.
Thanks, Darla 😉 And if you didn’t understand that last comment, you haven’t read far enough.
Hi Lyn. I need to be a published author first! Where will they be holding RWA next year?
Unfortunately, no, I don’t have a lobster bisque recipe. Well, I do (it’s in Julia Child’s cookbook) but I haven’t tried it. Sorry.
Hoff, sometimes I just don’t know what.
RWA next year is in Dallas, I think. If you go, I’ll go. We can keep each other sexual orientation tolerant.
I don’t know Doug. To me it’s more bravery to shove things down your throat than exhibitionism or low self-esteem. I don’t care if you’re a doc who could do it blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back, it still takes more guts than I have.
M
Dallas? Why do they have to have it in such a HOT place every year? I say based on my knowledge of N = 2.
I’m still puzzling over “We can keep each other sexual orientation tolerant.” This sounds like a good thing, but I’m not absolutely sure.
Bravery? Eh. I’ve done it before — but back then, I was hoarse, and my hypochondria forced me to take a look. (Reflux laryngitis, like usual.)
sexual orientation tolerant.
i.e. not become sorority homophobes.
M
‘Kay. I can do that.
Q: would all the women there assume I was gay?
Gallas is three to four hours north of me. Yes, it’s hot. Frequently hotter than here, for some reason.
Gay? I doubt it. That’s against RWA bylaws anyway. There are guys there, usually hubbies as there aren’t many male romance writers.
M
Doug — you don’t have to be published to go to RWA. It’s for unpubs, too. 😉
I refuse to say anything more about Atlanta on the grounds that I may incriminate myself. 😀
but if you go to RWA, do we have to call you Hoff?
I can’t wait to see what else goes numb (not)in your novel.
BG, I’ll not be callin’ him ‘Hoff’, maybe ‘Pool Boy’, but not ‘Hoff’!
Douglas, as t’pain; well, come down into th’brig an’ ye nose-scopin’ will seem tame…
Please, if you want to tick me off, it’s Doogie. I don’t answer to ‘Hoff.’
Doogie, huh? Do you have the DVDs? *ducking*