I've been writing ever since I could hold a crayon. Instead of boring you, though, I'll cut to a highlight: my Penthouse Magazine fame.
For my graduate research project, I explored Anti-Semitism on the UC Berkeley campus. In the process, I interviewed several professionals in Bay Area Jewish organizations and naively gave one of them a copy of my paper. In turn, and without my permission, she forwarded my work to Penthouse Magazine. Next thing I knew, I received a call from a Penthouse reporter for a phone interview.
Thus, I'm featured, no clothes (or picture) in Penthouse Magazine's 1994 Collector's Edition - the big 25th anniversary issue. I can't provide the direct link to the article, but you can purchase the magazine for as low as $5 through Amazon. Warning: copies have been "used," so handle with care.
“I’m um only buying this because I’m published in it,” I told the cashier the day it hit the shelves. She shot me a blank look that said, “I don’t give a crap. Just hand over your money and scram, lady.” But you didn't even ask for my ID, I thought, highly disappointed that (1) I looked my age and (2) I was committing blasphemy with such ease.
Upon flipping it open, I was shocked to find that my main quote was taken out of context. Further, the lettering was magnified to about 24 point font, with the quote centered in a humongous text box and my full name in boldly legible but smaller letters below. Still, I was excited. Everyone I knew was happy to buy a copy too, in support of my research. (The Journal of Jewish Communal Service published my work in the Summer of 1994, and I was interviewed by several other publications. Nobody expressed interest in those articles, though.)
It did, however, motivate me to keep writing about my miserable romantic life. It seems my dating turmoil brings others happiness and this makes me happy. The more I date and fail at romance, the more I spread laughter. It's a lose-win-win.
I'm currently struggling to write my first book, Woman on the Verge of Paradise. I don't know how to write a book, and I just hope to finish it someday. Moreover, I hope that, if I do finish it someday, I finish it before I die. And if it attracts a minuscule fraction of the Penthouse "readership," I'll deem myself successful. Especially if I'm still alive. Regardless, the journey's always interesting. Isn't it?
PS Tomorrow I'll post the winners of the Anti-Valentine's Day Chocolate Giveaway.