I am tired, and I smell like a birthday party. On a positive note, if anyone has a need for a pied piper for children, I think they'd follow me anywhere at the moment.
I've been trying all day, so far, to prepare petit fours. Yesterday, I baked a cake and nine mini-loaf cakes. Today, I've been trying to cut and decorate the petit fours. They're not attractive, but they're good. I know because I "messed one up" and ate it. I put that in quotations because, in actuality, they're all messed up.
I made them to take to a book club meeting tonight. You see, the book club chose my book Murder Takes the Cake to review. I was flattered and thrilled. Then came the half-hesitant, half-hopeful request: "One of the girls said maybe you'd make us a cake."
As I believe most of you know, the heroine in my book is a professional cake decorator. I am not. I enjoy decorating cakes, and I have a few--very few--of the many I've done on "Daphne's" website. I do my children's birthday cakes; and while I never feel they turned out good enough, I can usually do a passable job. But to make a cake impressive enough for a book club expecting one of "Daphne's" cakes...I'm afraid I'm simply not up to the task.
As I was laboring over these petit fours and the cake my family will get to eat, I wondered if other fiction writers face similar challenges. Do people ask Stephenie Meyer if she would literally "fly them" somewhere? Do they wonder if Janet Evanovich would go after their bail-jumping cousin?
Don't get me wrong. I desperately want to impress this group and live up to their expectations. But I don't think I can...unless I do it with a bakery-bought cake.