When you speak before large groups frequently, as we Lady Killers do, you get into a groove. While you don't parrot the same canned speech every time, you do develop a repertoire of crowd-pleasing stories that you can trot out when need be. Like any job, this one gets easier as time goes by...except when someone throws you a curve.
Shortly after I was invited to speak at my hometown library, the librarian called and asked if I minded if she added another author to the program. "Of course, I don't mind," I told her. "The more the merrier."
"Well, you're still the guest of honor," she said.
When I arrived that evening, she said, "He'll speak first, because you're the guest of honor."
As I chewed on the delicious dinner provided by the Friends of the Library, the other author rose to speak...about his experiences as a prisoner of war in Vietnam. He told gripping stories about surviving a plane crash, then slowly healing from his untreated injuries. He told of torture, physical and psychological. He described ways that he and his fellow prisoners found to communicate with each other, at great risk to themselves. I sat there, enthralled, while the following thought circled through my head. This man sacrificed eight years of his life. He is a hero. I am by no stretch of the imagination the guest of honor here. What on earth am I going to say to these people?
I trudged to the podium, looked them in the eye, and said something like this: "What Colonel Hall has just told you is gripping because it is true and it is real. I just write books. Entertainments. Sometimes I think about whether that is important enough to spend my life on it. Here's what I think. Sometimes fiction is a useful way to tell the truth. In my work, I create a world where injustice exists...but it can be set right. I create a world where I can shine a light on the silliness of things that divide people, like racism and greed.
I define mystery fiction as 'the literature of justice.' In my work, I try to explore the idea of justice, and I take my readers along for the ride. This--along with the fact that writing is a whole lot of fun--is the reason that I do what I do."
In the spirit of keeping an eye on what's important in life, I'd like to offer you an updated version of an essay that I sent to my e-newsletter subscribers a while back. I hope you enjoy it.
Mary Anna
PS--to subscribe that e-newsletter, go to http://www.maryannaevans.com/Contests_and_E_newsletter.htm
.......................................................................................................................
EXTRAVAGANCE: Musings on the best ways to waste money and time
In my living room rests 900 pounds of frivolity. This massive object cost about as much as my car. And I can’t use it to drive to the grocery store, either.
My husband and I were both raised by veterans of the Great Depression. We avoid ATMs that charge fees. We wring our hands over the power bill. So why is there a 900-pound piano in our living room?
Wishing to delay the answer to that ticklish question another moment or two, I’ll confess to another
shocking extravagance. A couple of years ago, we left our nine-year-old with my mother and took our two college-aged children on the trip of a lifetime. We flew to Rome, traveled to Pompeii, Florence, Pisa, the Cinque Terre, and Venice, hopped on a ferry to Greece, toured Olympia, Athens, and Delphi, then flew home after three glorious weeks. And we were absolutely exhausted.
Being who I am, I got the plane tickets for free by using frequent flyer miles. I researched economy
lodgings, selecting the cheapest places I could find that met the needs of four soft Americans--in-room baths and air conditioning. We walked to save cabfare, which ensured that we saw a whole lot of all the cities we visited. We set up our own excursions, rather than paying for organized tours, while still managing to spend a breathtaking amount of money. And it was worth every last euro.
Our older children are practically out the door. They have their own apartments. We see them for dinner on Sundays, and sometimes in between, because they seem to like us pretty well. Soon enough, they’ll have jobs and spouses and kids. We may never again have their complete attention for three weeks, but we’ve climbed the Leaning Tower of Pisa together. We’ve looked out our hotel room window at the Acropolis and its thousands of years of history. On a rainy afternoon, we whiled away the time playing cards in a Venetian garret.
If you can manage the time and the expense, I highly recommend traveling with young people you care about. You’ll come to know them better and you’ll see the world differently. Many people have visited Venice’s St. Mark’s Square, but not so many of them have turned a sack of feed and a flock of pigeons into performance art worthy of Hitchcock.
We can't jet off to Europe every weekend, but the experience has made me think more carefully about how we spend our time and money. I’ll be much more likely to abandon my messy house and take the family to the lake on a Saturday. There’s also a lot of fun to be had for free at the park, while the cash for a trip slowly accumulates.
Returning to the question of the 900-pound piano--no, I didn’t need it. My old piano had come to the end of its useful life and I’m a fairly serious amateur player, so there was some justification for trading the old one in, but I went to the store with the sincere intention of shopping for a very small baby grand. But there, in the used piano section, stood seven feet and four inches of satin-black power and glory. There were other pianos in the room, all of them very nice, but this one sang to me. The action was so smooth under my fingers that I was a better player as soon as I touched it. And, because it was twenty years old, I could have it for only a little more than the new baby
grands I had come to see.
I’ll admit that I lost some sleep before I even told my husband I wanted this thing. Who, other than a professional, really needs a concert grand in their home? Fortunately, my husband really loves his
guitars and he knew how I felt. My new treasure came to live with us soon after that. Obviously, I play it every chance I get. Our youngest is taking lessons, so she’s putting it through its paces, too. I was surprised, however, at her sudden interest in playing duets with me, which has continued to this day.
Shortly after it arrived, our elder daughter asked me to show her the melody to a popular tune. Soon enough, our son, who was quite a fine pianist until somebody put a guitar in his hands when he was thirteen, sat down and knocked out a Chopin prelude. Then, my husband, who was apparently also a mighty fine pianist until somebody put a guitar in his hands when he was thirteen, sat down and played a duet with our youngest. I promptly assembled a collection of duet books at all ability levels, so that anybody who wanted to play with me could do it.
Music brings me a lot of personal pleasure, and I expected to enjoy my extravagant new piano. The personal connections with family and friends have been a beautiful dividend. These experiences have made me think about the difference between cost and value. When we were in Europe, I was often tempted to buy myself a trinket, but I found myself thinking, “You just bought yourself a piano. Keep your pocketbook closed and take some pictures of your kids. Those will be your real souvenirs.” When I consider charitable giving, I’ll have to admit that I find myself thinking, “You bought yourself a piano, so you can certainly find a way to be generous with somebody else.”
What have I learned from all this? Time spent with friends, family, books, and music is time I don’t regret. I wish those same things for you.
