Has anyone but me
noticed that all the TV talk shows now consist almost entirely
of commercials-the usual paid product advertising interrupted
every few minutes by celebrities touting their latest book, movie,
TV show, CD, exercise video … and if you miss them on Today,
you can catch them an hour later on Live with Regis & Kelly.
They just dash from one studio to the next, usually without even
bothering to change their clothes, their hype, or their film clips.
And within a week, they'll be shamelessly pitching on Good
Morning America, The Early Show and Oprah, followed
by late night chats with David and Jay … sales of their products
soaring with each appearance.
Of course, if I could
get equal time this whole process wouldn't bother me one bit.
But since I can't, I think it's a lousy system. (Does a heaping
bowl full of sour grapes count as one of my daily fruit servings?)
Why do I deserve to
get in on all the fanfare? Because I have written some wonderful
children's books. That's not just my opinion. Gen, my school teacher
friend, read them to her first grade class — a notoriously
tough audience — and she reported that not one of them made
a face or gagged. Hey, that's high praise from that crowd. What's
more, many publishers to whom I submitted my manuscripts returned
them with letters filled with lavish praise ("Your story is charming….reminiscent
of Dr. Seuss… delightfully imaginative….") and regret ("Unfortunately,
we are in the process of publishing a similar story" … "We have
received 20,000 submissions for the year to date from which we
have chosen the three we will publish" … "Our budget does not allow
us to gamble with an unknown writer …")
That's me. An unknown
writer — not a celebrity like so many so-called authors who
are producing children's books these days. My name isn't Jamie
Lee Curtis, Julie Andrews, Jerry Seinfeld, John Lithgow, or Madonna;
and I was never married to the Duke of York. It's that old vicious
circle thing again — no one will promote me because I'm not
famous; and I can't become famous unless someone promotes me.
Does Katie Couric care?
Are Regis and Kelly bombarding me with calls begging me to appear
on their show? Did Oprah ever feature me on her now-defunct book
club? Would David Letterman give me a boost? Even Jay Leno, who
comes from my hometown, is ignoring me. It's not only my fabulous
children's books that are being ignored. My brilliant collection
of humorous essays has been rejected more often than a guy with
roast beef on his breath at a vegetarians' convention. How do
I know my essays are brilliant? Because my family and friends
say so. No, it's not because they don't want to hurt my feelings.
Lord knows they have no compunctions about criticizing my cooking.
As with my children's
manuscripts, publishers' reactions to my essays have also been
enthusiastic, but regretful. Apparently the main problem is that
unless your name is Dave Barry or Erma Bombeck it's almost impossible
to sell a collection of humorous essays. I can understand that.
I was Erma's biggest fan. I dearly miss her. And I absolutely
love Dave. In fact, in my next life I want to be either one of
them-or both, though the latter would confuse my neighbors and
require too many wardrobe changes and far more closet space than
I have. Of course if I was pulling in Erma's and Dave's incomes,
I could afford a larger house with multiple walk-in closets-heaven.
Ooops! There's the
phone. Maybe it's Barbara Walters inviting me to appear on The
View.
Right. And next week
I'm flying to Rome to become Pope.
Rose Mula was an executive
assistant, a public relations specialist, and an operations manager
for a New England dinner theater chain before discovering a passion
for writing. She has written business and trade articles to earn
a living, and humor for the fun of it. Her work has appeared in
Yankee, Modern Maturity, The Christian Science Monitor, The Reader's
Digest, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Miami Herald, and more
than six dozen other magazines and newspapers. She can be contacted
through email.
