Facebook, Ye Hardly Know Me

I keep reading all this angst over how Facebook is mining details of users' personal lives. The social networking site is supposedly studying its zillions of 'bookers with cyber-microscopes, all the better to target us with smart-bomb niche marketing.

Well, I have proof that Facebook doesn't really know me after all.

An ad just popped up on my profile page from a company offering discounts in Fort Lauderdale. They got it half right: I do live in Fort Lauderdale, and I do love a bargain. But I'm way too lazy to click on a link, download an ad, and run upstairs to my printer to print out some lame discount. So, that's a big strike out, advertiser who is paying Facebook to market to me.

But here's even more evidence that Facebook doesn't get me,. Guess what the ad was touting. Pole-dancing lessons. As in, Let's pretend to be a stripper. Hello? Don't you have my date of birth, Facebook? Do you really think a 56-year-old woman wants to swing around a stripper's pole wearing scantly nothing? Plus, have you not seen my marital status? My husband of 21 years would probably bust a gut laughing if I ever put a pole in our bedroom. Either that, or he'd pull a muscle indulging his own fantasy of being a fireman.

So, I'm going to put off worrying about Facebook being an all-knowing Wizard of Marketing until I get some proof they REALLY know how to target me. When I see ads popping up promoting ibuprofen and hair coloring, AARP and retirement communities ... well, then I'll know that Facebook REALLY gets me.

Working Without a Net

Have you ever had a moment where you just knew you were going to screw up?

It happened to me the other day, at a presentation at the St. Lucie (Fla.) Family Reading Festival. The event was at the Digital Domain Stadium (A.K.A. Mets Field, where the New York Mets hold spring training). I was scheduled to speak at 1:30. The day was warm, and a brisk wind whipped through the upper breezeway of the ballpark, where the authors were.

Just as I took the microphone, the wind gusted. It lifted my little note cards off the seat where I'd stashed them. I watched as the cheat sheets for my presentation danced away and over the balcony, tumbling end over end toward third base on the field below.

I just knew I was going to screw up. I felt a gnawing in the pit of my stomach. I heard a buzzing in my ears. And then, amazingly, I felt free.

"Just wing it,'' my husband had advised, when I began doing these book appearances a year and a half ago.

"No way in hell,'' I'd answered. "I am not a just-wing-it person.''

The funny thing is, it's been a long time since I really needed the notes. I'm talking about my books, and my own life. I know this stuff, cold. But I always wanted those little note cards nearby, for safety. Suppose I forgot where I was going, heading off on some wild tangent? Suppose I never found the point I was trying to make?

I could always count on the notes to lasso me back. Until I couldn't. Until I saw them fluttering away like fallen leaves against that green ball field. It was scary. It was exhilarating. After a year and a half of never knowing whether I could get up and speak without those notes, I discovered I could.

Suddenly, I was winging it. I was working without a net.

Watch Your Step

Always one to elevate the tone of literary discourse, I did a radio essay today about cow patties.

Yep, you can count on me to really step right up --- SQUISH --- and reveal the truth about the glamorous life of book-touring.

Check it out if you have a minute (Two minutes and 11 seconds, to be exact.) Here's the link, from my favorite NPR station in Tampa. for
Finding Old Florida.

Long Time, No Cyber-See

What kind of a shameless, self-promoting author am I?

Not a very good one, apparently. It's been months since I've gotten around to updating my blog. In my defense, I HAVE been writing. I'm about halfway through my fourth Mace Bauer Mystery, MAMA SEES STARS. Woo-hoo!

But the big news tonight ... the reason I felt compelled to post ... is that the galleys are ready on No. 3, MAMA GETS HITCHED. It's up and available for pre-ordering with a simple click at Amazon or my publisher, Midnight Ink (Ah, yes ... there's that blatant self-promotion coming out: BSP, for short.)

The cover's another winner. I've been so lucky: Incredible designs for each of my three titles. They just keep getting better. Take a look at the cover, pictured above, and tell me what you think. (Nice touch: My name on the whiskey bottle!)

So forgive me a bit of BSP this evening. I'm a bit like ''Mama,'' who is convinced it's not at all tacky for her fifth trip down the aisle to have a Gone With the Wind-themed wedding -- complete with parasols and Southern belle gowns for her bridesmaid-daughters, and satin top hat for the Pomeranian bearing the rings. Like Mama and her nuptials, I've deluded myself into thinking it's not at all tacky to be out here in cyberspace, blowing my BSP horn.

Watch out Bouchercon! Here I Come ....

I'm as nervous as a high school girl before the big prom. I'm going to Indianapolis this week for Bouchercon, a huge conference for all things mystery.

How's my dress? Will I get a corsage? Please, please tell me this little bump on my nose is not turning into a pimple!

I'll be among 400 or so other authors and more than 1,000 fans in attendance. I'm sure I'll feel lost in the masses, a nameless face in a bustling crowd. If I believed in the power of positive thinking or those self-affirming exercises, I'd be standing in front of the mirror right now repeating these words: ''You're a wonderful author. You'll be discovered. People will form long lines for the chance to buy your books.''

(OK, I actually DID say those words this morning ... just hedging my bets)

I got a slot on a panel, so that's the good news. 1:30 pm on Thursday, Southern Voices, with my friend and fellow author Vicki Lane, and the wonderful, funny Cathy Pickens moderating. The bad news: We're on against a program by the head guy for author relations with Amazon.com. So I know where all my writer friends are going to be, especially if Mr. Amazon is giving anything away. (And it's not sitting and listening to us drawl, y'all).

I'm looking on the bright side, though: Bouchercon gives me the chance to connect with people I might not have met otherwise. Indianapolis will be a nice break from the never-ending summer swelter of south Florida (It's October, for crying out loud. Can we get some relief from temps in the 90s and 2,000-percent humidity?) And, since there won't be a prom date with a powder blue tuxedo and a low tolerance for alcohol, I won't wind up with throw-up on my dress.

Unless I get REALLY nervous, that is.