BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I hear that a lot.

And no, it’s not EKay’s way of saying “Are you through yet?” Sheesh, you people and your dirty minds…

Now, the truth is, I’m fairly certain I have waxed poetic, nostalgic, pedantic, and various other -ic sort of adjectives, on this particular subject in the past. However, I am far too lazy to go looking for that blog entry. And, since I am personally too lazy to look for it I can’t really blame anyone else for not chasing it down either. So, since I still get this comment tossed at me on a regular basis, I figure it’s time for a refresher answer.

So, here we go…

The “You Oughta Come” in question here is the countless number of times I am told by well-meaning folks, “You oughta come to XYZ festival/convention just to hang out,  have a good time, and relax.”

Now, before anyone gets their BVD’s lodged in the darkened recesses of their gluteus maximus, let me point out that I am NOT ranting, nor am I upset / angry / or in any way pissing and moaning at you about this. The truth is I sincerely appreciate the sentiment. I really do. The only point at which I become upset about this is when the person making the comment becomes upset with me because I won’t comply with their heartfelt advice.

So, allow me to explain so that maybe this makes sense…

As an author, yes, my “job” involves sitting behind a keyboard and typing. But, it also involves something else – promotion. This means I hit the road and travel across the country doing book signings and lectures. Many of these occur at the very events, or similar events, to the places I am being invited to come and relax. See where I’m going here? If not, please allow me to cite the following example:

I tried to go to an event one time, just to hang out and relax. True story. I arrived and wandered around as incognito as possible without going so far as to  disguise myself like Carmen San Diego in a trench coat and floppy hat. I bought a couple of things from merchants and chatted with folks about innocuous nothingness. Fifteen minutes into this endeavor I heard frantic whispering behind me. Then, I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned to face a person I had never seen before who said, “You’re M. R. Sellars!”

I lied and said, “You must have me confused with someone else.”

A nearby merchant picked up one of my books from her table, flipped to the author photo and held it up while laughing. “Nice try! But, you ARE him…”

I ended up doing a book signing and presenting two seminars, mainly because the organizers went around touting the fact that I was at the festival and was suddenly a special guest.

I went there to relax and hang out. Instead, I ended up working. Not that I don’t enjoy my work, mind you, but let’s think about it – I went there to hang out and NOT work… See the rub?

But, that wasn’t the worst part – Down the road, some other events heard about this. Then, I started being asked “Why” they had to pay my travel expenses and provide room & board for me to  headline at their event if that one didn’t. Obviously I was playing favorites and being an unfair, stuck up a$$hole… I’m here to tell you, it was kind of ugly for a bit.

And, yes… This really happened.

So, here’s my thing – There are a few basic reasons I can’t show up when folks say “You Oughta Come…”

1. As shown in the example above, it’s not very likely that I will be able to just hang out and relax, unless I spend all of my time hiding in my cabin / hotel room.
2. As amazing as it may sound, I don’t make that much money. So, I can’t just hop on a plane at a moment’s notice and fly halfway across the country to hang out.
3. If I show up at an event that didn’t pay for me to be there, then I torque off other events.
4. And last, but definitely not least, let’s look at the big picture – I go to countless of these events every year. They are more or less the equivalent of my “workplace”… So, me going there to relax is sort of like some guy who works at XYZ Widget Company taking his vacation and spending it in his office at, yes, you guessed it, XYZ Widget Company.

Now, this is not to say that I wouldn’t love to do some of these things. Believe me, I would. I have made some very good friends across the country and would dearly love to go hang out with them because they are a blast and I miss them.

I know. Sucks, doesn’t it?

More to (oughta) come…

Murv

Continued from: You Want My What?

Let’s see, now where were we?

Oh yeah… When last we left off, I had been drained of the majority of my blood by Hildegard Renfield at the behest of Vampirella, the evil Red Cross shill who had been sent to prowl through a Science Fiction convention looking for an unsuspecting author who had been working so hard that he wouldn’t be able to resist her offer of OJ and cookies. Oh, and I’d also been told to stay out of bright lights, make sure to not get myself wet, and whatever I do,  definitely don’t feed myself after midnight, correct? No, wait… those are Mogwai…

Oh, oh, wait, I know… I was told not to drink any booze!

Right?

Good, then we are all on the same page.

So, there I was, booted out the back of the Blood Mobile by Vampirella’s evil henchwoman, with only an Amazing Spiderman band-aid, some stale cookie crumbs, and an eyedropper full of OJ for my trouble. And, on top of that, I was a pint low. I still say it was really more than a pint, because I caught Hildegard chanting, “Two for the boss, one for me… One for the boss, one for me… One for the boss, two for me…”

However, if that wasn’t bad enough, Chunkee – remember Chunkee? – was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, it wasn’t because he was armed with wooden stakes as he prepared to storm the rolling exsanguination station in order to rescue me. Nope, it was because Hildegard had spent so much time bleeding me (apparently she didn’t have an adequate vacuuming system <– gratuitous Firefly reference) that we had no time to spare. He already had the ChunkMobile warmed up and sitting nearby so that we could race downtown to Union Station and have a confab with the show hosts before going on air.

So, that’s what we did. The Chunkster drove like a madman, taking out old ladies with the door, honking his horn, and generally driving on the sidewalk when necessary. And, with a bit of time to spare, we arrived. We apologized profusely for the obvious rush and disorientation we were displaying, and explained the situation. It was no problem. Terry and John were all good and understood perfectly. In fact, they even said, “Hey, we have this sponsor who dropped off a bunch of energy drinks for us. Want one?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

So, one of them ran out and then came back with an armload of these little silver cans with red, blue and yellow logos printed on them.

Now, while this particular “energy drink” had been around in the United States for about 5 years, it hadn’t really been on my radar. To be honest, I’d never even heard of it. But, what the hell. I was game.

I looked at the can and said, “No alcohol, right? This is just an energy drink?”

I mean, after all, Hildegard told me I couldn’t have alcoholic beverages, right? She never said anything about energy drinks.

“Yep, just energy drink,” they told me. “No booze at all.”

“Okay,” I said, then popped open the can and downed it.

A few minutes later they led us into an empty studio they were using as a “green room” so that I could wait until it was my turn to be on the air. Upon depositing us there, they left an armload of the silver cans too, saying, “Here. Have some more.”

So, I did.

Now, I need to point something out to you folks. If you have read my blogs you know I’ve spent plenty of time behind a microphone. Just a couple of blogs back I talked about my days at my High School student run station. I did the college station thing too. In later years I  even did guest spots on local stations to answer technical questions for callers. So, I had plenty of experience behind a microphone AND in front of crowds. Hell, this wasn’t even my first rodeo as an author being interviewed. I’d done that plenty of times as well. This was no big deal. It was old hat. I could do it in my sleep…

But, for some odd reason, I simply couldn’t sit still. I was pacing, fidgeting, and doing everything but bouncing off the walls. Actually, that’s not entirely true. There is a good possibility that I did, in fact, bounce off the walls once or twice… At any rate, Chunkee sat watching me in wide-eyed amazement for several minutes before finally asking me what was wrong.

“I dunno,” I told him.

“Are you nervous or something?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I can’t imagine why I would be. It’s just a radio talk show. I’ve done more of these than I can count.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “So what gives?”

“I really don’t know,” I said, giving my head a shake as I paced from wall to wall 14 more times in the span of 5 seconds. “Gimme another one of those drinks.”

And, he did. And, I drank it.

Before long, Terry and John retrieved me and brought me into the studio where the magic was happening. It was reminiscent of some of my old, late-evening talk shows back in high school – the lights were off, everything was laid back and just plain cool. We did our sound checks, came in from a break, they introduced me, and BAZZINGA! It’s off to the races we went.

I was scheduled to be on for 20 minutes that evening, and I came on at the bottom of the first hour of a 3 hour show. When it was time to say farewell, they didn’t. Instead they went to a commercial break, turned to me and said, “Holy crap, you’re the liveliest guest we’ve had in months. Want to stay on for the rest of the show?”

I thought about it for a second, then looked at them and said, “Got any more of those little silver cans?”

“Oh hell yeah,” they said. “The sponsor dropped off a friggin’ truckload. Want some more?”

“Line ’em up,” I said. “We got some dead air to fill.”

And so, the moral of this story is – Don’t listen to Hildegard Renfield. She doesn’t tell you the whole story when it comes to this exsanguination thing. Oh, and yeah, Red Bull is kinda like crack if you drink it right after giving blood…

More to come…

Murv