Panties in a Twist
April entertained an audience at Left Coast Crime 2002 with this comedic glimpse into the writer's life.
Confessions of a Flack/Hack/Flipper of Flap Jacks
What happens when you try to be a mom, have a full time PR job and write a book a year?
It ain't pretty.
I'm on the go constantly, and as a result, I often leave my brain behind.
Housekeeping
In the flipper of flapjacks part of my life, I've become a not very good housekeeper or cook. I've learned you can clean pretty much any area of the bathroom with a wet piece of toilet paper. When she was three, my daughter told me we didn't have to pick up the living room, that we could simply "step over" stuff. This is my new mantra. And when it comes to cooking, well, let's just say there was the time I made my famous cinnamon rolls and grabbed the chili powder instead of the cinnamon. Did you know you can wash dough?
Becoming a New Me
Since being published, I have occasional fits of thinking I should undergo some kind of makeover and become a new, more glamorous me. These include the time I let some 16-year-old at the Nordstrom makeup counter talk me into lipstick which made me resemble Mick Jagger. Shopping for high heels, which led to my girlfriend telling me that when I wore them I walked like a transvestite.
Library Talk
I basically spend a good part of my life playing catch-up, never quite hearing what anyone says. I'm always multi-tasking. I was in the middle of doing something else a couple of years ago when someone asked me to attend an event. I was in the process of saying no, when she mentioned it was for adult literacy. My imagination caught fire. Now here was an event I could get behind: adults who had just learned to read. I said yes and immediately went to work preparing my talk. When I showed up, I was surprised to find 200 people. All of them looked middle class. I mentally berated myself for stereotyping folks. As I looked around the room, I was thinking, "Wow! Just a few weeks ago these folks couldn't even read a street sign." There was a bookseller there, and I was concerned that all of the books she had were novels. I asked why she didn't have some smaller, less intimidating books. This was about five minutes before I was to go on stage to address the crowd. I had my speech all planned out, one that praised their courage. The bookseller looked at me like I was nuts. The event, she explained, was part of the summer reading program. Any adult who checked out six books over the summer was eligible to come. It encouraged adults to read. So there I was, with a stack of index cards addressing the completely wrong issue.
Keys
In the three years I've been published:
Probably my stupidest driving trick was my very first signing. I drove from Portland to Eugene, a drive of a couple of hours. My husband let me borrow his precious car, but cautioned me just before I left that I had to keep an eye on the engine temperature. I immediately forgot this advice, especially since after a while I had to pee. Every time I saw a freeway sign saying how many miles to Eugene, I would translate it into how many miles until I could pee. I was afraid of being late, so I didn't pull into any rest areas. My first clue that something was wrong was when I started hearing a ticking sound coming from the engine. Then I realized I was rapidly slowing down, even though my foot was on the accelerator pedal. I pulled off the freeway, lifted the hood, and even to my untrained eye, something was seriously wrong.
I managed to arrange for a tow truck driver, using my husband's cell phone, which came with a free service called "Mr. Rescue." Mr. Rescue doesn't know the first thing about Oregon. Mr. Rescue is based in Florida. The dispatcher wanted to know what town I was near. All I could tell her was that I remembered seeing a sign that said Eugene 38 miles, and thinking, good, in just 38 miles I can pee. While I waited for the tow truck, with my legs crossed, I waved off all the people who drove by, waving their cell phones at me. I had to pee so bad I seriously considering opening both doors on the passenger side and crouching between them. The tow truck driver who finally came by told me he had been awake since Thursday morning. This was Saturday afternoon. He looked kind of like you would expect. I went to wait for him in the cab of his truck. The dash was covered with stickers that said things like "Don't hold my ears, I know what I'm doing." Fearing that I was about to be raped, I tried to bond with him. The amazing thing is that I actually managed to make it to the signing when my husband picked me up in my car. And he never complained about his car, not once, even though it cost thousands of dollars to fix. And the very first book I signed was for JB of Seattle's Mystery Books.That trip should have prepared me for what happens when you're on tour.
LA Rain
Last year, when I was in LA, I came in and it was raining. Or as we like to call it, Oregon sunshine. The escort asked me if we could wait a while to leave to see if the weather might change. He was seriously afraid to drive in the rain.
Peeing in the Tupperware
Many authors finance part or all of their own tours, which means they look for ways to save money. An author who shall be nameless, but not a mystery author, was planning a Southern tour. On one of her stops, a friend had made arrangements for her to stay with an old friend from college, someone the author didn't know personally. The author's plane was late, so she didn't meet her hosts until nearly midnight. They drove back to their house, where they had fixed up a bed for her on the couch. It was a tiny little house, and to get to the only bathroom you had to walk through the bedroom. She went to sleep, but woke up around three in the morning having to pee. She went to their bedroom door, but heard unmistakable noises behind it. She was trapped. Over the next half hour the noises continued, and she really had to go. By this point she was desperate. Finally, she went into the kitchen, rummaged around in the dark, and found a cupboard filled with Tupperware. She was crouching on the floor, using the Tupperware, when the light came on, and their stood the male half of her hosts, blinking at her in astonishment. I understand the resulting rift was never mended.
Crotch Grab
It was on one of these trips that I had an unforgettable experience leaving the plane. I normally carry a backpack when I travel, because it's easier on my back. You have to stretch out one arm behind you to shrug it on, which is what I was doing after a recent plane flight as everyone crowded into the aisle. My hand briefly cupped something behind me. Something … soft and about waist high. I realized what I was touching and jerked my hand away. I turned around to the businessman behind me. His face was red, his ears were red, his neck was red. "I am SO sorry," I stammered. He would not look at me. He would not talk to me. He did not acknowledge me at all. To make matters worse, there was some kind of delay. I felt his hot gaze on the back of my neck for what seemed an eternity. My only consolation is that with luck I can turn this into something that happens to a character. And then it will be funny.
Panties in a Twist
On DorothyL, a listserve for mystery fans, there was a big argument a few years back. One person accused another of getting their panties in a twist. Others chimed in with different versions of this (in England they say "knickers in a knot"), while some felt it was a rude thing to say at all. In the middle of all this I was having one of those crazy days I often have. All day I had the nagging sensation that something was wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was, and I didn't have time to think about it. About three in the afternoon I was in the restroom when I glanced down between my legs. There was a tag in the crotch of my panties. A tag that is normally on the side. I realized I had put my Jockey underwear on sideways that morning. I had one leg in a leg hole, one leg in a waist hole, and one leg hole around my waist. Which was why I wasn't comfortable. But looking down I did realize one thing. It is possible to get your panties in a twist.
Confessions of a Flack/Hack/Flipper of Flap Jacks
What happens when you try to be a mom, have a full time PR job and write a book a year?
It ain't pretty.
I'm on the go constantly, and as a result, I often leave my brain behind.
Housekeeping
In the flipper of flapjacks part of my life, I've become a not very good housekeeper or cook. I've learned you can clean pretty much any area of the bathroom with a wet piece of toilet paper. When she was three, my daughter told me we didn't have to pick up the living room, that we could simply "step over" stuff. This is my new mantra. And when it comes to cooking, well, let's just say there was the time I made my famous cinnamon rolls and grabbed the chili powder instead of the cinnamon. Did you know you can wash dough?
Becoming a New Me
Since being published, I have occasional fits of thinking I should undergo some kind of makeover and become a new, more glamorous me. These include the time I let some 16-year-old at the Nordstrom makeup counter talk me into lipstick which made me resemble Mick Jagger. Shopping for high heels, which led to my girlfriend telling me that when I wore them I walked like a transvestite.
Library Talk
I basically spend a good part of my life playing catch-up, never quite hearing what anyone says. I'm always multi-tasking. I was in the middle of doing something else a couple of years ago when someone asked me to attend an event. I was in the process of saying no, when she mentioned it was for adult literacy. My imagination caught fire. Now here was an event I could get behind: adults who had just learned to read. I said yes and immediately went to work preparing my talk. When I showed up, I was surprised to find 200 people. All of them looked middle class. I mentally berated myself for stereotyping folks. As I looked around the room, I was thinking, "Wow! Just a few weeks ago these folks couldn't even read a street sign." There was a bookseller there, and I was concerned that all of the books she had were novels. I asked why she didn't have some smaller, less intimidating books. This was about five minutes before I was to go on stage to address the crowd. I had my speech all planned out, one that praised their courage. The bookseller looked at me like I was nuts. The event, she explained, was part of the summer reading program. Any adult who checked out six books over the summer was eligible to come. It encouraged adults to read. So there I was, with a stack of index cards addressing the completely wrong issue.
Keys
In the three years I've been published:
- I've lost my keys.
- I've left them in my car.
- I've driven my old Subaru, which has optional four-wheel drive, in four-wheel drive at freeway speeds, and wondered why it was handling funny.
- I once drove back from the mall, complaining loudly to my daughter about people who drove cars that obviously needed a tune-up, when finally my daughter pointed out to me that the bad burning smell was coming from our car. I had left the emergency brake on.
Probably my stupidest driving trick was my very first signing. I drove from Portland to Eugene, a drive of a couple of hours. My husband let me borrow his precious car, but cautioned me just before I left that I had to keep an eye on the engine temperature. I immediately forgot this advice, especially since after a while I had to pee. Every time I saw a freeway sign saying how many miles to Eugene, I would translate it into how many miles until I could pee. I was afraid of being late, so I didn't pull into any rest areas. My first clue that something was wrong was when I started hearing a ticking sound coming from the engine. Then I realized I was rapidly slowing down, even though my foot was on the accelerator pedal. I pulled off the freeway, lifted the hood, and even to my untrained eye, something was seriously wrong.
I managed to arrange for a tow truck driver, using my husband's cell phone, which came with a free service called "Mr. Rescue." Mr. Rescue doesn't know the first thing about Oregon. Mr. Rescue is based in Florida. The dispatcher wanted to know what town I was near. All I could tell her was that I remembered seeing a sign that said Eugene 38 miles, and thinking, good, in just 38 miles I can pee. While I waited for the tow truck, with my legs crossed, I waved off all the people who drove by, waving their cell phones at me. I had to pee so bad I seriously considering opening both doors on the passenger side and crouching between them. The tow truck driver who finally came by told me he had been awake since Thursday morning. This was Saturday afternoon. He looked kind of like you would expect. I went to wait for him in the cab of his truck. The dash was covered with stickers that said things like "Don't hold my ears, I know what I'm doing." Fearing that I was about to be raped, I tried to bond with him. The amazing thing is that I actually managed to make it to the signing when my husband picked me up in my car. And he never complained about his car, not once, even though it cost thousands of dollars to fix. And the very first book I signed was for JB of Seattle's Mystery Books.That trip should have prepared me for what happens when you're on tour.
LA Rain
Last year, when I was in LA, I came in and it was raining. Or as we like to call it, Oregon sunshine. The escort asked me if we could wait a while to leave to see if the weather might change. He was seriously afraid to drive in the rain.
Peeing in the Tupperware
Many authors finance part or all of their own tours, which means they look for ways to save money. An author who shall be nameless, but not a mystery author, was planning a Southern tour. On one of her stops, a friend had made arrangements for her to stay with an old friend from college, someone the author didn't know personally. The author's plane was late, so she didn't meet her hosts until nearly midnight. They drove back to their house, where they had fixed up a bed for her on the couch. It was a tiny little house, and to get to the only bathroom you had to walk through the bedroom. She went to sleep, but woke up around three in the morning having to pee. She went to their bedroom door, but heard unmistakable noises behind it. She was trapped. Over the next half hour the noises continued, and she really had to go. By this point she was desperate. Finally, she went into the kitchen, rummaged around in the dark, and found a cupboard filled with Tupperware. She was crouching on the floor, using the Tupperware, when the light came on, and their stood the male half of her hosts, blinking at her in astonishment. I understand the resulting rift was never mended.
Crotch Grab
It was on one of these trips that I had an unforgettable experience leaving the plane. I normally carry a backpack when I travel, because it's easier on my back. You have to stretch out one arm behind you to shrug it on, which is what I was doing after a recent plane flight as everyone crowded into the aisle. My hand briefly cupped something behind me. Something … soft and about waist high. I realized what I was touching and jerked my hand away. I turned around to the businessman behind me. His face was red, his ears were red, his neck was red. "I am SO sorry," I stammered. He would not look at me. He would not talk to me. He did not acknowledge me at all. To make matters worse, there was some kind of delay. I felt his hot gaze on the back of my neck for what seemed an eternity. My only consolation is that with luck I can turn this into something that happens to a character. And then it will be funny.
Panties in a Twist
On DorothyL, a listserve for mystery fans, there was a big argument a few years back. One person accused another of getting their panties in a twist. Others chimed in with different versions of this (in England they say "knickers in a knot"), while some felt it was a rude thing to say at all. In the middle of all this I was having one of those crazy days I often have. All day I had the nagging sensation that something was wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was, and I didn't have time to think about it. About three in the afternoon I was in the restroom when I glanced down between my legs. There was a tag in the crotch of my panties. A tag that is normally on the side. I realized I had put my Jockey underwear on sideways that morning. I had one leg in a leg hole, one leg in a waist hole, and one leg hole around my waist. Which was why I wasn't comfortable. But looking down I did realize one thing. It is possible to get your panties in a twist.
