In case any of you out there are thinking about writing a book, I can now tell you that even if you are an amazing writer with a sparkling wit, it’s a rough road. Now imagine how much harder it is for me!
Even with a book about breast cancer, during breast cancer awareness month, a girl can’t get any attention. There’s just so much information out there…but then again there are so many media channels. Just as I’m consoling myself that there must be lots of delightful and charming authors out there who wrote a funny book about breast cancer, I tune in to one of the morning network news shows to see what riveting topics might have pushed my book to the back of the line.
This is when I see it; a 4 minute segment about a woman who is addicted to going to a Dry Bar and having her hair blown dry. Yep. Blow drying addiction. This makes me feel like crap because, really? And I can’t get 30 seconds to plug my book? Sigh. There’s the inevitable adorable baby story, adorable animal rescue story, blah blah blah. Nothing that I find to be nearly as interesting as myself.
But there’s still hope, because I sent a copy of my book to Andy Cohen, with a really clever little note about how much he and I have in common. For example:
- I am Jewish. This is a fact.
- I love all kinds of 70s pop culture.
- I love my mom.
- I am a gay man (trapped in the body of a straight woman).
- I’m a gingy (Andy loves redheads!).
- I love all things Bravo.
- I have an Andy Cohen bobblehead.
- I can rock a side pony if absolutely necessary (Andy loves side ponies).
- I have new boobs (gay or not, Andy loves boobs).
- Uh, well, there must be something else.
We’re nearly the same person, right? Separated at birth practically. So I send off my book and adorable note to Andy, c/o Bravo TV, and then I wait by the phone. Because Andy is going to call me any minute. Well, to be more realistic, Andy himself probably won’t call. It will be an assistant of some kind, someone who wears a headset and runs around telling people they’re late all the time. The way I see it, in no time at all I should be relaxing in the green room, nibbling on snacks and waiting to make my big debut.
Four full days of sitting by the phone. On day five, my package came back, “Return to Sender.” Unopened. My clever little note still nestled inside my book. No green room, no assistant, no Andy, no debut. And me with a pair of Louboutins on layaway. Just $10/week for the rest of my natural life.
Don’t cry for me Argentina. Just get me some publicity.