Alex J. Cavanaugh founded the blogosphere's one-and-only Insecure Writer's Support Group. We're posting monthly, exposing our vulnerabilities and/or offering support to one another. Please check out Alex’s blog to visit others’ posts. It’s a great group. Join us, if you haven't already! All that's required is an insecurity or two hundred.
Robyn: Ladies and gents, today we welcome Miss Pippa Middleton to our studio!
Pippa walks on stage in a tight-fitting low-cut royal blue silk dress that accentuates her perfect figure. Behind her, a broad shouldered bodyguard carries a gold pillow under one arm and uses the other to block Pippa’s derriere from any untoward squeezing or photo opportunities. When she reaches her imitation English Vintage chair ala IKEA, he places the pillow on it, pats it down, and signals that it’s okay for her to sit. Pippa shyly graces the chair with a smile.
A clump of mucous running from her nose, Robyn whisks her hand across her face before offering a handshake. Pippa attempts to hold her smile, as the two shake hands.
Robyn: Thanks for visiting today, Pippa. Oh, um, you prefer to be called Philippa so people will take you seriously, is that right?
Pippa: Yes, that’s correct.
Robyn: I see. Well, Pips, I invited you here during the Insecure Writer's Support Group because you recently published your first book. And I did too. It’s exciting, isn’t it?
Pippa: Yes, it’s quite celebratory.
Robyn: Yeah, I’m thrilled. It’s like I’ve crossed a threshold. It’s better than when I lost my virginity.
Pippa turns red, mortified.
Robyn: Don’t worry, Pips, we’re all friends here. Say, I hear your book about party planning has some nice pictures - pause - and 416 pages of idiotic advice like “put guests’ coats in the bedroom.” And you got a $600,000 advance for that *bleep*. And Penguin Books isn’t happy with you and -
The bodyguard approaches Robyn slowly and in a threatening manner.
Robyn: No, no, no, I’m going somewhere with this. Work with me. He steps back, cautiously, giving Robyn a chance to redeem herself. I want to say you should be proud. Pippa grins. It’s a book, a publication! And who cares about figures. Well, -- Robyn knocks her glasses off her face and onto the floor by her feet, as if by accident. Say, do you mind picking those up for me? Robyn lounges back, expecting to enjoy the view, but the bodyguard whispers to Pippa, “She’s a perve. Let’s go!” Pips stands up and grabs the pillow. The cameraman attempts to zoom in on Pippa’s posterior, but the guard blocks her entire backside as the two exit the studio.
Robyn: A disappointed cameraman turns back to Robyn. In the end, it’s not about figures, right folks? I’m trying to convince myself of this. Meanwhile, I’m checking sales numbers every two seconds, rather than basking in the glory of having published a nice little book. But how do I stop this obsession with figures, and just feel proud?