|That anorexic-looking stick thing on the right is my arm--shadowed on both sides so it looks like an anorexic-looking stick thing. Be ye not alarmed. It is an illusion.|
Yep. I believe I shall do very well dealing with everything that goes along with publishing an international best-seller--which is naturally what my book will be. If I can get my neighbors to buy it. And then get them to get their friends to buy it, and their friends to buy it, and so on. But yeah. International.
You want proof I can deal? Let's look at the Orson-Scott-Card's-brother-kiss-which-I-did-not-even-pass-out-from-and-hence-figure-I-can-totally-handle-fame-because-OSC's-brother-is-next-to-famous-thing. We were in a play together. "Finnian's Rainbow." I was twenty-three, he was older than that and had a wife and six daughters. Not. Awkward. At. All. I kissed him. And he kissed me. We kissed each other. As characters in the play. And I did not faint. (Of course his wife was in the audience. Every night. As was my new little husband. And my sister-in-law who was sixteen at the time and who, when OSC's bro and I locked lips stared at my completely self-confident and not bothered in the least by it husband, and said--loudly--BRUCE!) (Yeah. I heard it on stage.) But I'm serious. I did not faint. And OSC's brother has probably never forgotten my composure.
So, having to kiss the leading man when the movie of my book comes out and I am cast in it? I've got that.
And then there was the Stalking-Marie-Osmond incident, in which I was applying for a job as an aerobics instructor (Yes, it was the '80's. And yes I wore leg warmers. Problem?) I was in the crowd doing aerobics and awaiting my turn to go up and lead everyone. The little chicklet who was auditioning before me was up there feeling the burn and doing step ball-changes like nobody's business. But I could barely hear her. So I started sort of creeping forward without realizing it. Then I noticed I was almost trampling this name-brand-appareled, perfect-haired girl in front of me and I moved back. Annnnd pretty soon it happened again. So it was pretty much: jumpingjacksjumpingjacksjump--oops--movebackmovebackmoveback, over and over again. Name-brand-girl kept eying me in a worried sort of way and I had no idea what was going on.
Then it was my turn and I totally blew it because I was too nervous to breathe and couldn't project over the blasting music. Basically it was like Closed Captioned Aerobics. Except without the subtitles.
So I left. And as I drove off I looked inside the building and saw the little aerobicized, perfectly coiffed girl I'd crept up on turn and look at me. And, oh yeah, it was totally Marie Osmond. I saw fear flicker in her eyes as she stared. Clearly worried that I was overwhelmed by her. So, to show her that I wasn't the LEAST bit disturbed by my proximity to her fame, and there was therefore nothing for her to fear, I stared back. Without blinking. The whole way around the building. Whenever I ran into her after that--which I did a LOT of, oddly--I could always see that admiration in her eyes.
Dealing with the adoration of other celebrities? Yeah. I've got that too.
And this is how I know I can make it as a famous author and do just fine. Not only do I have memories with these people, but they would totally back me up if I needed them to. It's like that between us. As for Michael Chiklis and the time I nearly ran him down in a Vancouver hotel hallway when I was 89 months pregnant, psh. I'm sure he's forgotten that by now.
Oh yeah. I got this fame thing in the bag.
My back-of-the-book photo. Note the deep humility.