An Awkward Situation

The last time I attended the festivities surrounding the Edgar Allan Poe Awards, given out yearly for the best in crime fiction, I was working for A&E mysteries.com as their online mystery book moderator. As such, I was responsible for choosing an author to read and discuss each month. I’d chosen a variety of wonderful writers, but it was suggested I try to book a big name for one month, to interview and discuss. I thought I had chosen some very big names–Michael Connelly, Peter Robinson, Jan Burke, Laura Lippman, Harlan Coben, but maybe they were still at a point that the average reader wouldn’t recognize their names on sight. They wanted a house hold name, or as close to one as there was, so, I was to contact a certain famous suspense writer and ask her to do an interview, and the followers of the site would read the interview and talk amongst themselves, with me directing them. It had worked very well up until this point.  After managing several bookstores, I either already had personal contact info for most current crime fiction authors, or I definitely had their publicists e-mail or phone number. In this case, personal was not an option. The lady in question was too big to be contacted via a quick friendly e-mail, and heaven knows that calling wasn’t an option. I would confirm an author a couple of months in advance of the actual date to make sure that all the questions had been answered, and there was enough time for the chosen book to be read.

The week of the Edgars arrived, always at the very end of April, and there was to be a variety of activities before the dinner itself. One of these gatherings involved an appearance of the author in question. I thought, well, here’s an opportunity to kill a bunch of things at once. I arrived at the event, the author was either naming nominees for a special award, or announcing the winner, I can’t remember which–or if it was that subject at hand. I only know that she was within reach, and I needed to ask her to be our author for an upcoming month.

After she had done her duty, she was talking with individuals and I didn’t dare interrupt, so I wandered off, keeping an eye all the time hoping for a break in conversation so as to politely direct her attention towards me and my proposal. This went on for quite some time. Too long. I needed to move on to the next event-and time was ticking by. So, I stood within a couple of feet of her and an individual she was chatting with, and waited for an opening. And waited. And waited. And yes, waited. It seemed as though time had stopped or there was some kind of warp, because I swear I stood there looking as daft and ridiculous as possible for eternities. When the conversation finally concluded, someone on her other side engaged her, and the waiting began again.

Now here’s the thing. She saw me there. She knew I was trying to speak to her. And she deliberately ignored me. Turning away, animatedly speaking with whomever was not me. And here’s the other thing. We were not strangers. On the contrary. I had worked with her on signings quite often. I’d seen her at one bookstore many times, she was great friends with the owner. And, at another Edgar ceremony, perhaps one or two years before,  she had her picture taken with my mother. My husband was doing photos for the Edgars themselves, and days later, she contacted him for some prints of pictures he had taken with fellow authors. He had her address–her home address. But, this was not something I would utilize in any way. That was a private thing, only disclosed for the purpose of sending something, not for a book moderator to contact her.

So as I literally sweated it out, standing like a statue, feeling like a complete idiot, I debated with myself as to whether or not to ditch this attempt, and try for a dignified retreat. But by now I was rooted there, as the humiliation grew, so did my anger, or stubbornness, and I was damned if I was going to leave and try to contact her some other way. Finally, the people had dwindled to myself and her, and I spoke.

“Hello, I’m blah blah, you remember me from blah blah.” A more sour look could not be found in the universe, at least in my eyes. She acted impatient, as if the the non stop conversations never occurred, and she was desperate to make a train on time, or something. And I understood, or at least I thought I did, why the attitude to  me. There was some ill will remaining on the part of her friend towards me, and I gathered she had assumed that attitude as well. The book world is such a small place, especially when it involves crime fiction, everyone is looking either to avoid a stab in the back, or to be the one who shoves the dagger between the shoulder blades. I felt some back discomfort at the moment, for certain. I had no idea what she thought I wanted of her–I was nothing to her, why not politely take my question without the icy poise?

So, with all this in mind, I started my spiel. I explained about the book discussion, the need for an interview, and during these bits, the icicles didn’t thaw a smidgen. When I got to the part where I informed her that she and her book would receive free 30 second commercials several times a day for an entire month, oh how the frozen tundra evaporated, and the genuine fake facade she carries like a purse came out, and all was honkey dory peachy creamy. Of course she’d be more than happy to provide an interview, how lovely, that’s splendid, etc etc and do you have my publicists contact info? I’ll tell her about this, and you two can work out the details.

Finally. Fin-al-ly! I believe I may have sweat a couple of pounds off during my exile next to her, not that that’s a bad thing usually. I was spent. Spent, relieved, and still humiliated that it took so long to be acknowledged. Trust me, if it had been up to me, I would have ditched her from consideration toot sweet. And to give A&E their due, they let me have a free hand on almost everything, they were wonderful to work with. Just this one teeny suggestion mucked up the smooth mystery machinery.

Thinking this episode over from time to time, my thought that she held some grudge towards me seems less likely. That’s just a little too egotistical of me. lol. Chances are, she didn’t have a damn clue as to who I was, and just found my standing there like some kind of stalker, very irritating and maybe even hostile, who knows? The cold hard facts are that many many people probably bother her on a regular basis with, ‘oh please, if you could just read my manuscript’ and ‘where do you get your ideas’ and ‘oh, I’m your biggest fan’ and on and on. And unless a friend, she didn’t want to deal.

Whether she recognized me as someone she vaguely remembered, or knew absolutely who I was, or didn’t know me from Adam, the encounter for me was downright traumatizing, lol, and something I’d rather not repeat ever again.

The interview was e-mailed to her, she sent the answers back, and all was well. She went on to make a billion more bucks, and I faded into the woodwork, which is where I wish I could have been that particular day!