Some years ago, a famous editor invited me to lunch at a Manhattan restaurant. She brought along her top publicist, and, over ridiculously over-priced food (I was glad it wasn't on my dime), they began to talk about me as if I wasn't there. Most memorably, the editor pointed directly at me and said, "She's presentable!" Well, I had been called many things but presentable was a new one. What I learned that day is that compared to many fledgling authors, I was fairly well pulled together. In other words, I didn't look like a bag lady. (The truth is that when I work at home I do look like a bag lady. But as we say in my family, we may not be exactly elegant but, hey, we clean up pretty good.) As the editor and publicist continued their rude assessment of my appearance, I tried again and again to insert myself in the conversation. Finally, I considered walking out of the restaurant. Instead, I came up with a sweet alternative: I ordered the most expensive dessert on the menu, and proceeded to enjoy every bite.
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