This last two weeks, I’ve been amazed by the support of my family, and friends, both the ones I know and the ones who only know me through my book. I feel like Sally Field when she accepted her Oscar speech. “They like me, they really, really like me.”
Sure, I’m a likable person. That is if you use my measuring stick to judge “likable.” And my measuring stick is to judge likability by how a person treats animals.
I’m good to canines. Not only, do I not kick dogs, heck, my husband says he comes second to the real man in my life, my dog Jake. Of course, I denied it, but then hubby pointed out that Jake appears with me in my photo in the back of the book and not him. What could I say to that? Jake wasn’t the one who drove me through the Burger King drive through while I was in labor, or cut holes in my carpet. (See older blogs for those stories)
I’m good to felines. I share my pillow with my favorite cat—but I love all four of the rescued felines. The only reason Bob, my second-favorite feline can’t share my pillow is because he still thinks I’m hiding his mama’s breasts beneath my hair, and at night he sets out to find them. This leads to some very bad hair days, so I force Bob to sleep in the cat room. (Okay, I admit it, I might be a tad vain. Bad hair days set me off. Take off one likable point.)
I’m even good to undomesticated animals. I brake for squirrels. I’m real sorry the car behind me was too close and had to pay to have my bumper replaced, but I'm sure the squirrel was grateful. I even feed possums and coons. (How was I to guess Aunt Sharron’s fruit cake was lethal? But at least we gave the guy a proper burial. That might cost me another point.) I even fed a Great Blue Heron. Inadvertently, anyway. It was sad that it was Goldie, and Freckles, our pet gold fish, that the Blue Heron fed on when he mistook our water garden as an all-you-can-sushi buffet, but I’m working on forgiving the fish-breathed-pet-eating bird. And in spite of my trouble with elephants at the zoo, I don’t slander the big, thick-skinned, perverted, breasts-grabbing bullies, too much. (You can read that story on a past blog, too.)
So…I’m likable if you use the good-to-animals as a measuring stick, but the point is that a lot of my readers don’t know about my animal-loving side. And when strangers started emailing me and telling how they liked my book, well I just assumed the obvious.
The obvious being that some of my kin folks and friends were taking up pseudonyms and pretending to be other people. And yup, those friends and family have been great.
My dad, who is recovering wonderfully and is shown in the picture above, told all his visiting friends and nurses while in the hospital about my book. (And with the hospital gown and all, you'd better be glad I didn't take the picture from the rear.) One of his friends even brought me some pecans as a trade for an autographed copy. Hey, bartering in
During my autographing in my hometown, my dad’s girlfriend, Faye, worked the streets in downtown
My friend Terry Jennings, owner of Little Face’s Doll Shop in
Then there was a new friend I met at the
Yup. I feel well-liked. And I just want to take the time to say thank you. I don’t even care if you really are just all my distant relatives pretending to be fans. I’m so grateful that you are reading my book and my blogs. And please take the time to post a comment. Tell me how you measure likability in a person. Or tell me about someone who made you feel special. We don’t say “thank you” near enough. Oh, and I’m in charge of the gift this time—a nice little thank you from the Dorchester divas here at Killer Fiction. You’ll love all the goodies, too. Also check out
And again, because we just don't say it enough. Thank you!
Crime Scene Christie