All Dressed Up With Nothing to Say

Friday, March 13, 2009

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

All Dressed Up With Nothing to Say

By J’AMY PACHECO

Every now and then, I get a call from somebody who wants me to come and talk to their group.

Usually, I’m the one calling people and asking them to talk. When that’s the case, I get to ask all the questions, and I just write down what they say. But once in a while, somebody – for reasons beyond my comprehension – becomes interested in the fact that I make a living with a pen and wants me to talk about the experience.

Don’t get me wrong. I think making a living with a pen – proverbial pen that it is – is second in coolness only to getting to be the boss of Disneyland. Since it’s highly unlikely that I’m ever going to find myself at the helm of the Happiest Place on Earth, I remain happy and grateful that I get to do what I do.

The reason I’m baffled when I get these calls is…well, to be honest – I just don’t think my story is all that interesting. But I always agree to go, mostly because the people doing the asking are always so darned nice about it.

So now I find myself in the painful position of having to speak to a roomful of writers in a couple days. At first, I thought I’d just go in, give a quick recap of some of the things I’ve done, throw out some anecdotes, take a few questions, and head for home. Then I found out I have to speak for almost two hours. Holy cow.

It’s not the talking part that’s a problem. I talk to myself all the time – in the car, at my desk, in public places – it seems my mouth rarely stops moving.

Talking to others presents more of a challenge. That’s because I’m pretty sure that when I talk to other people, I’m expected to hold their interest and make sense – at the same time, if you can believe that.

I haven’t spoken to a group for over a year. The last time I did so, I faced a classroom full of fifth grade students. They were kind to me – but that might have been because I brought each of them a little notebook and a pen so they, too, could write stuff down. Bribery is an instant icebreaker, I’ve discovered.

But the group I’m about to face is made up mostly of adults. I’m not sure little tablets and pens will win them over. I thought about bringing a blender and making margaritas, but since the meeting is in a public library, I suspect the grinding ice might not be a good idea.

So I’m down to trying to figure out what I can say that won’t leave ‘em nodding off or walking out.

I decided to dust off something called my “Whole Life Resume.” The idea wasn’t mine – it came from a writer named John Vorhaus. I was lucky enough to get to have coffee with him once, and while he didn’t offer me a pen or tablet, he did suggest I create one of these.

The idea behind the whole life resume is to create a list of things that makes its creator feel like their life hasn’t been a complete waste of time. It’s supposed to give us something we can look back on and say, to quote John, “That’s what made it all worthwhile.”

I’ve been keeping one for several years now, and it’s got enough on it that I should be able to at least sound interesting, even if I’m actually not.

For example, I once drove a police car. This is significant, because I am not now nor have I ever been a police officer. I drove the car because the guy who should have been driving it told me to, and I hardly ever argue with a guy wearing a gun.

When I was driving the car, a woman tried to flag me down. I pretended like I didn’t see her. She followed me all the way back to the police station where, thankfully, real officers intercepted her and she never found out that she was trying to flag down a reporter.

I once was in a beauty contest, but didn’t win. I did, however, win a pillow by singing in a talent show. For a couple years, I twirled a baton for my school’s band. I’ve slept overnight on a vintage tall ship, been scuba diving in the dark, flown over an erupting volcano, written stuff for Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and once got to hug Gil Gerard. (That belongs here, because I had a huge crush on Gil Gerard at the time. I still might.)

Come to think of it, some of what I’ve done is weird enough that I could probably fill two hours reading the list aloud, and then taking questions. I suspect there would be a few.

But just in case, I think I’ll pick up a case of pens – and maybe some tequila…