Yes, I'm so green that I take pictures of the Green Room...this is from WGN studios in Chicago. I'm a total nerd...but ISN'T IT COOL??!!
It's fitting that on the last night of 2009, I had a nightmare about book publicity. In my dream, I was running late to an interview, and I didn't even know what station I was supposed to go to, or for that matter, whether it was radio or TV. When I woke up, I laughed (after reassuring myself that I wasn't late to anything except sitting down and writing this blog, which has taken me over two months to finish--I blame book exhaustion). The reason it's fitting is 2009 will go down in history as The Year of Book Publicity Misadventures. Four bookstore readings, three radio interviews, two TV segments, and more than one meltdown later, I come prepared with advice. So if you have a book on the horizon in this decade, heed my words before you pitch yours...
DO get there on time. For some reason, the big headliner of many a nightmare for me (see above) has been that pesky punctuality thing. I have good reasons for keeping one eyeball firmly on the watch. Of the three in-person interviews I had for this book "tour", only one of them came fret-free: My Portland TV interview, to which I was calm as a cuke as Sue the Subaru guided my way through the early-morning darkness to the station only a few miles away. Nothin' to it. My Portland radio interview wasn't as smooth sailing. My first glimpse of a problem was when I reassured myself "I'll figure out how to get there" because I had been there before. Bad idea. Bad, BAD idea. Because this radio station happens to be located in the evil empire known as South Waterfront. Evil not for the neighborhood itself--it's pretty cool, actually--but the fact that you cannot get to it via normal channels. Instead, you must immediately take a hard right after the bridge exit, jog to the left, do a U-Turn and then a figure-eight across four lanes of traffic--or something of that sort. I jest slightly, of course. But suffice it to say, I did many of these driving configurations while remaining frustratingly far from the station. And because the neighborhood insists on being so evil, if you miss the exit it's not like a "I'll just park and walk" situation, because there's a handy four-lane highway separating where you are and where you want to go (a highway I actually eyeballed for hightailing it 'cross at one juncture, until I saw that it's cut into a hill and there's really no way to plonk yourself miraculously on the other side, ack!). Put it this way: I left two hours early in order to drive 10 miles, and I arrived just in time. You ever see Chevy Chase in European Vacation when he's in that round-about in London? Yeah. (I'll leave you to imagine my mental state for that panic-filled hour). The following month, I managed to book a Chicago TV interview. Which would occur at 11 am. Upon looking at my flight times that morning from Denver, I realized that left me a grand tally of one hour from wheels down to "lights, camera, action". I promptly e-mailed my mathematician, Chicago-dwelling dad who practically pulled out a mathematical equation about how I would indeed get there on time (despite many reassuring e-mails pre-trip, he admitted to me that he was nervous all along, ha!). BUT, in a beautifully choreographed travel morning, it was to be. Between two notoriously snow-delayed cities (this was November, after all), my flight was right on time and my Denver trip was miraculously sandwiched between two huge snowstorms. Even my bag was patiently waiting for me at the terminal by the time I walked through O'Hare's long hallways to get to baggage claim (I mean, when does THAT ever happen?). I caught a cab immediately, and despite exactly one minute of Chicago traffic gridlock, I managed to waltz into the station early (okay, I wasn't exactly waltzing as I had three bags in tow, but work with me).
Lesson Learned: Sometimes, the time gods look upon you even when you're about to shit your pants.
DO turn things up to 11. It was my first in-studio radio interview on a popular afternoon drive-time show. I'd pictured lots of laughing and slyly nodding to each other and crazy stories. What I didn't factor in, however, was confusion and madness in all directions. Half the time (okay, I'm being generous with myself--actually, it's more like 75 percent if you're really getting exact about things) I didn't know what the hell was going on. To wit: While my headphones were mysteriously muffled, the radio hosts seemed to be listening to something. I looked to my left, as she doodled on a piece of paper, nodding. To my right, the other host was updating their Facebook page yet still seemed to be listening to something. After looking around, I decided to toy with this little thing called a "volume button." Just as I turned it up, I realized that yes indeedy, the hosts ARE listening to something, and they're called lis-ten-ers. I turn up the volume just as the caller ends her question and the host asks me what I think (luckily, she picks up on my clueless look and immediately asks me another open-ended question about the book). Other random tidbits circling in my brain throughout the entire interview included: whether we were "live" or not and therefore whether I was allowed to chat with the hosts, whether I was supposed to talk to the callers, and how long I should jabber on for when I was actually asked a direct question. After that, I decided to channel my inner Derek Smalls (of Spinal Tap), who decided his role in the band was as a "preserved moose" (i.e., don't speak unless spoken to). Let's just say it was a good thing it was radio, otherwise my furrowed brow would have been a problem-o.
Lesson learned: When you have no earthly clue what in tarnation is going on, just stay put and shut up.
DON'T equate tears with crying. I'm the first to burst into tears, I just don't tend to do it in front of a rapt audience. But during one of the bookstore events, a funny thing happened. One of the contributors had an allergy attack as she waited to read her essay. Since her essay was about a friend who had died, forgive me if I'm immediately thinking "sobbing" and not "pollen". I decide to do what's called "thinking on your feet," and even though she's due to read next I swap the order so she'll read last, all the better for her to dry her tears, I think. Only thing is, by the time she actually reads her essay, I'm quite verklempt myself. Because I know what her essay is about, and I'm putting myself in her shoes--mourning her friend who died. "Want a tissue?" another contributor, Anna, asked, as we're all lined up in front of the group and I'm clearly not holding it together. Luckily, I was told of many other tears in the audience later on, but at the time all I could focus on was steadying my flow and managing to get back up behind the podium to thank everyone. Imagine my slight sheepishness, then, to discover that she just had allergies! P.S.: For the record, so did I. There's a funny thing about bookstores that always triggers it, you see, it must be the book pollen...
Lesson learned: ask about the source of others' tears before asking for your own tissues.
DO remember your lines. The thing about not having "handlers" is that you are just kinda thrown into these interviews. And I'm two-for-two in the "throw Megan for a loop right before live TV" department. Yep, the exact occurrence is about 10.356 seconds before going live--right when they actually tell you what you'll be asked. The first time, I about choked (and when I read on host's cue card, I did the old "uh, can we can this question instead?" technique). The next time, the host rattled off her questions right beforehand, and I just nodded and smiled. And then I frantically brainstormed answers until we went live.
Lesson learned: when you're asked a question, remember--and TRUST!--that you have it in your brain. And if all else fails, wing it, because no one knows the difference!
DO laugh at yourself. Even if your book is enjoying a gentle free-fall on Amazon, even when a friend tells you that you seemed nervous on camera, even when another "friend" gives you a three-star review (out of five, people! I mean, that's like someone saying "I give you a C!"), relax. Because there's plenty on the flip side: fabulous contributors, a fantastic photographer-friend who came through with a bio pic and event shots, and everyone on Facebook who has NOT de-friended you through this whole me-me-me madness. Above all, be glad you're not a literary bigwig who has to be on the book-tour trail for months on end. On the other hand, said bigwigs do tend to have "people" which might be nice. Baby steps, baby steps...
Lesson learned: No matter what you do, there will be critics. Just perfect your best smile-and-wave even if you're slightly miffed inside. Pretend you're above it and you will be.
