She's Not Me by Deborah Sharp
Whenever I start feeling a
little too full of myself, the universe yanks me back to earth. Say you'd sold a few books, got a couple of nice reviews, managed to snag an interview on the TODAY show (!) You'd be puffing up just a tiny bit with pride, no?Well, yes. At least until reality smacks you upside the head. Case in point: I was thrilled to be invited to BookMania in Stuart, Fla. Prestigious event: New York Times bestselling authors, famous memoirists, kick-ass suspense novelists. And me, the newbie.
My sister Charlene convinced me to climb out of my usual grays, browns, and khakis, and really dress. ''You're an author now! People expect you to have a little flair.''
So she loaned me a fancy red shawl and shiny red earrings. She added some oomph to my makeup. I have to say, I was looking pretty fine. There I was at the authors' cocktail reception, sipping my soda water. She coerced me into heels, too, which definitely don't mix with alcohol. I was exuding what I thought to be an authorly air, when an older man walked up.
"I loved your book,'' he said, big smile on his face.
Now, this is what it's all about. This is how an author feels, I thought. I smiled warmly, ready to dazzle him with my literary bon mots. (Yes, I know I've written a redneck romp set in middle Florida, but I can fake it, oui?)
And then he clasped my hands in his and stared into my eyes: "Hallie Ephron, I have waited so long to meet you!''
Crash.
"Uhmmm,'' I said as nicely as I could, "I'm not Hallie Ephron. She's standing over there with that crowd of people around her. She's the OTHER woman in a shawl.''
He hesitated a moment, looked from me to Ephron, of the famous literary family, and then back again. "Oh,'' he finally said, not at all embarrassed. "Then do you think you could introduce me?''
Double-crash. Back to Earth.
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