Egads! First time I did a selfie I almost committed iPhone-icide by tossing the offending article at the wall, the immortal line from the movie “Sunset Boulevard” ringing in my head, “I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille.” It was that scary. Seriously. I think selfies are an evil plot by plastic surgeons looking to drum up business. Past a certain age NO ONE looks good in a selfie.
I’ve since learned a few tricks. Like that you have to shoot from above. First time I tried it, I looked like a still from a horror movie with my eyes rolling back in my head. “Sunset Boulevard” meets “Blair Witch Project.” I would shoot from an even higher angle, but then you’d be looking at the top of my head.
Brings to mind my very first TV appearances. I was the new kid on the block, coming out with my debut novel GARDEN OF LIES. The publisher was going full-throttle with the release and I was to do a media tour. They sent me to media basic training, aka boot camp. Like with military boot camp, it was grueling and spirit-crushing. The good news? I didn’t have to wear a uniform or get my head shaved. By the end of it I was crawling home on my hands and knees. You see, they had filmed me doing mock interviews. And I was terrible!!
Thank God my first TV appearance was for the Beverly Hills public library channel, which, by my guess, about three people watched. I rambled on and on, and before I knew it my four minutes were up and I hadn’t gotten in any of my talking points.
But I got better with practice. I became comfortable in front of the camera. I was in command. I learned how to get in my talking points without sounding like I was doing just that. I worked my way up the food chain from local channels to some national network spots.
Then came Mexico.
With my 3rd novel I was booked for a media tour in Mexico City of all places. I assumed I would have a translator, but something must’ve gotten lost in translation, because I arrived to find I was expected to do all these interviews in Spanish! Seems I’d made a mistake in exchanging pleasantries with my Mexican publisher in his native tongue at a book conference. In exhausting the limits of my high school Spanish, I’d given him the impression I was fluent!
I learned to my horror I was booked for 22 interviews for the two days of I would be in the city. One gig was for an hour-long radio talk show. I freaked! How the hell was I gonna pull THAT off? Luckily the publicist assigned to me was bilingual and able to step in at crucial points in communicating with members of the press. As for my flying solo in Spanish, all I can say is, I got through it without thoroughly embarrassing myself or my country. I bless my high school Spanish teacher, Senor Castaneda, for pounding enough knowledge into my gray matter for me to access in a pinch. I even managed to pull off an appearance on the Mexican equivalent of the “Tonight” show, watched by millions of viewers throughout Mexico and other Spanish-speaking countries. My Spanish might be rudimentary, but I know how to smile and act charming.
After that, I was never again intimidated by being on camera. As long as the interview was in English, I was fine. I sailed through my one-on-one with Barbara Walters on “The View,” even after three production assistants visited me in the green room beforehand, one after another, to say anxiously, “Now don’t be nervous!” How could I be? Barbara and I speak the same language.
Selfies…now that’s a whole other matter. “Vanity thy name is woman” and all. But here goes. I’m biting the bullet for the sake of FULL DISCLOSURE. Click. Erk. Omigod. I am SO not ready for my closeup.
