The Earring

Book 4 Part 7

Ten publications sent a favorable response. They all agreed to a six-month contract with an option to extend if they received a positive reader response. They all stipulated that they wanted humor, like the column on cold feet. They told me they already had enough serious writers. All of the publications renewed after six months and numerous others chose to pick up the popular column that resonated with readers.

We had been in Billings a year when the first call came asking me to speak at a conference.

"My husband is the public speaker in the family," I told the caller.

"We don't want him. We want you," came the reply. "Your stories are so funny. All you have to do is tell a story or two, deliver a moral, and everyone will be thrilled."

"I need to talk this over with David and pray about it," I equivocated. "When do I have to let you know?"

"I'll call you back in two days."

I was excited and scared at the same time. I couldn't wait for David to get home. I checked his schedule and then called and invited him to lunch. David had always been my biggest cheerleader, and he didn't disappoint this time.

"You can do this, Syd," he said. "When you make up bedtime stories for the boys, you keep them in stitches. I can give you a few pointers on organization, but if you stick pretty much to the stories in your columns, everyone will love you."

"I don't know, David. I do okay in front of a classroom, but this is entirely different."

"Just picture them in their underwear. That's a time-honored gimmick. It's hard to be intimidated by someone in their underwear."

He had no idea how counterproductive that advice would prove. Obviously his imagination was less vivid than mine.

Luckily, I tried the gimmick when I did a sort of trial run for the seniors' group at our church.

There was an overweight country bumpkin in the second row with a beer belly and a triple chin. I pictured him with his rolls of fat resting on a protruding belly that sagged over a pair of American flag boxers?

An anorexic-looking woman was sitting behind him. I imagined her wearing a stretchy sports bra because she didn't have enough fat on her bones to fill out a real one. I could count the ribs leading to the concave place where a normal abdomen would be. The tiny briefs I pictured on her bony hips looked like they were designed for a toddler.

There was an extremely old couple nodding off in the first row. I'm not even going to describe what might sag and where you might find unwanted hair, but the gander at his knobby knees next to her dimpled ones was enough.

You get my drift. Few of the bodies in the audience calmed my nerves when imagined in their skivvies. By the time I worked my way through graphic pictures of bikini briefs on the wrong guy, boxers with florescent designs, whitey-tighties a size too small, and bras and panties from sexy lace to faded granny-style briefs with holes, I was ready for the loony bin. Somehow I stumbled through my speech, but never again did I try picturing my audience in their underwear.

Another suggestion David gleaned from those who teach public speaking is to pick a spot or object on the wall behind the audience and speak to it. I tried that in front of a mirror. I had a really difficult time generating enthusiasm while talking to a wall. It caused me to violate another tenant David espoused, maintaining eye contact. When I was speaking to the mirrored wall I was imagining behind an audience, I looked like a zombie tuned in to an unseen master. I knew I would make no eye contact and so give the impression of insincerity, at best, and evil intent, at worst.

I finally decided that I would just talk to my audience as though I was telling a story to my kids. David's natural talent was relating to his listeners on their level. He could enthrall people of all ages by keeping his sermons simple and using lots of illustrations. I didn't know if treating adult audiences like they were kids who wanted to hear a good story would work, but it was my only shot. After all, that's what Jesus did. He told tons of stories.

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Faith laughed. Leave it to Mama to find a parallel with Jesus that she could use. But she had been a great storyteller. All of Faith's friends loved to spend the night because they knew Sydney would put them to bed with a story.

"My favorite was Junkyard Bear," Faith said aloud.

Mama had made up a story about a bad little bear cub that wandered away from his Mom to explore the junkyard. It took place in Alaska, where Aunt Joni said you could usually find a bear rummaging through the city dumps.

"I wonder why she didn't ever write a children's book?" Faith thought.

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