XoXo has offered me the chance to highlight
one of my books here this week, but I’ve had a hard time choosing which one.
They’ve published so many of my books….
I finally narrowed the choice down to two,
and I hope nobody will clobber me for introducing you to two very different
books of mine. They are Life Behind the
Office and I’m at a Loss for Words.
Life
Behind the Office is humorous nonfiction and is my
answer to all the Erma Bombecks, Jean Kerrs, and their “sisters,” who wrote
about the grass growing greener over the septic tank of the house where the
author lived with her husband and 2.5 kids. You see, I had mishaps and
misadventures too, but I didn’t raise my child in a suburban cul de sac. No, we
lived in a city apartment that we shared with the business I was then running.
In an eight-room professional-and-living apartment, we had four rooms of office
space and four rooms of living space—and frequent clashes when the office staff
barged back into the living quarters to use my daughter’s bathroom, eat her
last banana, or simply seek refuge from the madness that reigned up front in
the office on Deadline Day. (I was publishing a weekly all-advertising
newspaper.) The book deals not only with these misadventures but also with others of life’s twists and turns.
Simply put, it’s funny.
In a totally different vein, I’m at a Loss for Words is a compendium
of suggestions for what to say, either aloud or in writing, on a variety of
occasions ranging from complaining to your neighbor to writing a letter of
recommendation for a college-bound student to that toughest of all letters to
write: a condolence note.
How about an excerpt from each book?
First, a bit of Life Behind the Office. Some background before you start reading:
This chapter takes place in the 1970s, before computers, when cable TV was in
its infancy, and when I was co-publisher of an all-advertising-format
newspaper, Apartments for Rent. This chapter deals not with life at home but
with my first foray into being a TV host. (I have since hosted a “real” TV
show, but that didn’t happen till many decades later.) Come with me now as we
revisit public access cable TV’s early days, and my attempt to use it to
publicize my newspaper.
HAIL
PIONEERS: ROUGHING IT ON THE TUBE
My name will never go down next to Milton Berle's in the annals of
television, but I can honestly claim I was a sort of video pioneer. When New York City got wired up for cable TV,
part of the deal was that the two cable companies serving Manhattan would have
to provide Public Access channels, which anyone could get time on. Anyone.
Even me.
I first became aware of Public Access when the slow process of cabling New York finally reached
our building. Twisting the dial to see
what came in on the lettered channels that appeared on the converter they'd
given us, I discovered the curious amalgam of lunatics, egomaniacs,
cause-promoters, and self-proclaimed stars that graced, and occasionally disgraced, channels C and D. The roster of Public Access programs included
such offerings as "The Ugly George Hour of Truth, Sex, and Violence"
and "Waste Meat News."
I knew I was no Johnny Carson, but I also was no dope. People with cable time were getting the names
of their organizations, or causes, in front of the camera. Advertising was forbidden, but couldn't I get
the name of Apartments
For Rent in front of the audience?
I wanted a good time slot, and one that was available on both systems so
my show could be cablecast to both uptown and downtown through the
interconnect. I signed the necessary
papers, cleared the time on Channel C of both systems, and booked studio time
for taping. I was told there would be no
time for rehearsal at the Public Access studio, and only one take. There would be no stopping the tape. I was
also warned that the facilities were simple.
"Simple" wasn't the word.
"Primitive" would have come closer to it. The studio was a storefront up in Harlem, divided into three rooms: front, back, and
all-the-way-back. Up front were a
reception desk, a tape deck, a quantity of chairs, and not much else. On the other side of the glass partition was
the studio itself, an area smaller than the average living room. There were folding chairs, a table, and a
plant. That was the set. There were fixed lights, one camera, another
tape deck, and some microphones. That
was the equipment. There was one man. That was the crew.
No lighting man was there—or needed.
The lights remained on when the studio was in use, off when it
wasn't. There was only one camera,
therefore only one cameraman was needed.
There was no stagehand or propmaster.
The cameraman moved the table, chairs, or plant as needed before each
show started taping, and there they remained.
There was no director. It was
permissible to bring one's own, but the directing had to be done silently, and
the director had to make it his or her own responsibility to keep out of camera
range.
The third section of the storefront, all-the-way-in-the-back, contained two
bathrooms, which doubled as dressing rooms.
They opened off a little dark area behind the partition that served as
backdrop of the set. This was
"offstage." If you needed to
"wait in the wings" till your cue, you entered from there. If you lingered too long in the bathroom
changing clothes after you finished taping, and nobody counted heads before the
next show started, when you left the bathroom you were likely to walk onstage
into someone else's show. It was also
inadvisable to flush the toilet while the tape was rolling.
There were no listings for Access shows in the daily papers. The cable companies enclosed monthly listings
with their bills; and updated listings of all shows, cable and broadcast, ran
on one of the cable channels, but we all still wondered if anyone out there was
watching. There were no Neilsens for
Access.
I know I had at least three viewers.
Three times I was stopped on the street by people who said they had seen
me on television, but none of the three knew where on the tube they had
seen me. Two of them thought they had
seen me on PBS!
I called the show, "New
York, the Living Scene." Not as catchy as "The Ugly George Hour
of Truth, Sex, and Violence," but more relevant to the subject matter I
planned to present: shows about living in New
York, especially about where to live...and finding
where to live.
At first, in my effort to publicize AFR
, I kept the show centered around apartment-hunting. My first guest was a real estate broker who
discussed what the situation was like on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and gave some
good tips for apartment-hunting. The
second week, my guest discussed the availability situation on the East Side of
Midtown Manhattan, and what the most important things were to remember in
deciding which was the right apartment for you.
The third week, my guest discussed the scarcity of apartments in
Greewich Village, and how to decide whether it was worth all the hassle of
looking for that rarest of commodities, a well-situated, comfortable-sized,
affordable apartment in Manhattan.
The opening and closing credits of the show identified "your
hostess" as "Cynthia MacGregor, co-publisher of Apartments For Rent
." My name was written small and
spoken softly. The name of the paper was
written larger and announced louder. By
me, of course. The cable company did not
provide announcers, either.
And several times during each show, I urged our viewers to let us know
if they had any comments about the show or requests about guests or topics
they'd like to see on future shows. They
were urged to send these requests to "'New York, The Living Scene' c/o Apartments For Rent , P.O. Box 62..."
or to call us at.... I did everything
but read out the list of every newsstand that carried our paper!
During the course of those first shows, I also managed to find some
opportunity to talk about the publication with my guest. If the broker was speaking about the number
of vacancies in the East 50s then, as opposed to two years ago, I'd speak up
and say, "It's true. There seem to
be fewer apartments available in that neighborhood now, to judge by the ads
we're getting in Apartments For Rent every week, but there still are some things
around. We had an ad for an apartment
last issue that sounded really great and on a very good block, too."
Of course, while I was busy plugging
AFR , my guest was talking up
his or her agency. I was amazed that the
cable company never bleeped our self-advertising references. Commercials, or anything that smacked of
them, were a no-no, and we certainly laid it on thick at times. The cable studio probably just didn't have a
bleep machine, either.
By the sixth show, I was running out of topics, though not out of
guests. Most of my advertisers wanted to
jump on the bandwagon, and one of them had already applied for a show of her
own. Having covered most of the
marketable sections of Manhattan,
the only borough we were cablecast in, I facetiously proposed doing a show on,
Is There Life in the Outer Boroughs?
Instead I moved on to: Decorating (Fixing up that new apartment you'll
find among the many wonderful listings in Apartments
For Rent ), Moving (How to pack carefully and move economically when you're
moving into the great new apartment you'll find in Apartments For Rent ), and even Exterminating (What to do if you
find you're not the only tenants in that otherwise wonderful apartment that
you'll find in Apartments For Rent ).
When I had exhausted all the topics ancillary to apartment-hunting, it
was still too early to go back and do an update on the vacancy situation in
each part of Manhattan, but fortunately by then we had started publishing Help Wanted . I saw a chance for a double promotional
tie-in, and invited an employment agency owner to come on the show and discuss
the job situation. (What are you chances
of getting a better paying job, such as you can find in the pages of Help Wanted , which will enable you to
afford the rents of those great apartments you can find every week in Apartment For Rent ?)
From there, I branched out into less and less apartment-relevant
topics. True, I was losing the tie-in,
but if I limited myself to the same tired topics, I was afraid I'd lose my
audience, if by chance I had one. I
still told the audience, once or twice during every show, that they could send
their comments or requests to the show in care of the paper. (Pause before paper's name, enunciate
carefully, speak loudly. No trumpet
fanfare, but you can't have everything.)
I still told the audience, at the beginning and the end of every show,
that their hostess was "co-publisher of Apartments For Rent ," or even, on weeks when I felt
especially daring, "co-publisher of the weekly newspaper Apartments For Rent ."
Saying it wasn't difficult, getting it in writing was. Along with all the other things the studio
didn't have, it also didn't have a machine to provide a credit crawl. Once I saw that there was no real scenery, no
lighting effects, etc., I shouldn't have been surprised that there was no
provision for credits. In fact, under
the circumstances, the average show on Access didn't have too many credits to
list. Hairdresser? Costumes?
Assistant producer? Be real!
When I asked, the first week, how I was supposed to list what credits I
did have ("This week's guest:..."
"Your hostess:..." and the most important of all, Apartments For Rent ) I was told that some of the shows held
hand-lettered posterboard signs up to the camera.
One week I was scheduled to tape at a different hour than my usual
first-thing-in-the-morning. When I
arrived, the chairs in the front room were filled. There were standees, too, and even people
sitting on the floor. I wondered if one
of the shows was featuring an orchestra, but what I was looking at was four
shows' worth of hosts and guests, the usual afternoon backlog. The studio scheduled tapings too close
together, without allowing enough time between shows, and this was the
predictable result. The later in the day
your taping was scheduled, the further off schedule the studio was.
What's more, not only didn't they leave enough time for foreseeable
delays, but technical troubles really threw them off! If there was trouble with the only camera,
everything had to stop till another one was brought down from the main
building, 82 blocks away.
Any other technical trouble, such as a blown light or malfunctioning
mike, also required stopping. At least,
with so little equipment, there was a limit to the number of things that could
break down.
The long wait that day turned out not to be a waste of time. We all sat around exchanging gripes about the
equipment, or lack of it, and I raised the topic that was bothering me most at
the moment: lack of facilities for a credit crawl.
I had a Headliner machine in the office and could run off all the
professional-looking lettering I needed.
But to hold up signs, one by one, in front of the camera? Tacky!
One of the groups waiting for their studio time was an aggregation of
people promoting some non-profit cause.
They had their act as together as the facilities would allow. They brought their own props with them,
several guests per show, and one fellow even served as as their show's
director. They also had a credit crawl.
"It's
easy," the star/producer explained to me.
"All you have to do is take a long strip of paper, print your
credits on it from top to bottom, and tape it up on the studio wall before the
show starts. Then have the cameraman pan
down the list, and it'll look like credits rolling up, on the screen."
He was right. I taped pieces of
typing paper together to make one long sheet and pasted the lettering onto
this. Taping it firmly to the studio
wall so the edge of the paper didn't show, I pressed the tape down firmly so it
wouldn't show, either. Voila! A credit crawl! I had two sets of credits, opening and
closing. One carried the guest's name,
which changed every week. Both featured
the name Apartments For Rent in big bold letters, and an attractive
picture to catch the viewer's eyes.
Except for the fact that it wasn't superimposed over a shot of my guests
and me, you couldn't tell when you watched the show that it wasn't a real
credit crawl.
I discovered another technical deficiency when I had the children's
chorus on as guests. I was getting
further and further away from apartment-oriented themes, and with the holidays
coming up I had thought the children's chorus would make a nice show. They sang songs in several languages and were
multi-national themselves.
They had appeared in public but never on TV, so their leader didn't turn
her nose up when she heard the show was "only on Access." It was a reaction I'd gotten from other
people; they were willing to guest on the show till they heard it wasn't
"real" television. Then they
said Thanks but no thanks.
The children's chorus didn't mind that we were only on Access, but they
were concerned about whether the piano in the studio was well tuned. Tuned?
A phone call to the studio revealed there was no piano at all and no
chance of getting one. The kids couldn't
sing a capella . What to do?
I went to the chorus director's house with my little cassette recorder
and recorded her playing the accompaniment for the chorus on her own
piano. Now all I had to do was figure
out how to get the tape played at the right time and stopped at the right time.
I couldn't dragoon anyone into going up to Harlem
for the taping with us, so I positioned my chair in the studio facing the camera
3/4 instead of straight on. At that
angle, it was easier to hide the fact that the arm that was away from the
camera was behind my back, clutching the tape recorder. While introducing the chorus and director, I
turned the tape on and silently began counting in my head. One,
two, three . If I talked too long,
the piano would start playing while I was still talking.
Miracle of miracles, I timed it right.
I shut up right before the piano came on. The chorus joined in on cue, and the first
number went flawlessly. When the group
stopped singing, I shut off the machine.
My arm was beginning to ache from the awkward position. The director introduced the next song. I complimented her on the chorus's singing as
I turned the machine on and silently counted again. Again, I stopped talking just before the
piano sounded as if on cue. All the
songs went off without a hitch, but when I later saw the show on TV, it looked
as if one of my arms was crippled or missing.
There were other horrors to contend with, too. What do you do when your one and only guest
doesn't show? I'll bet Jay Leno never
has that problem. It's one minute till
taping time, and you've got to go on. Doing what ? I went on alone, and I talked for the whole
30 minutes. I have no recollection of
what I said. It's probably all for the
better.
There came a point when it seemed I had run out of guests. Not everyone was jumping at the chance to
appear on "New York,
The Living Scene," and some of my shows had bored me so much that I kept
yawning on camera. I had no reason to
believe my audience was any better entertained than I. I had no way of knowing whether any more
copies of AFR were being sold per week because of the
show. I had no concrete reason to
believe I even had an audience.
"The Living Scene" died.
And now an excerpt from I’m at a Loss for Words:
•
Thank-you letters
Notes: When writing a thank-you
letter, remember that if the gift came by mail, delivery service, or any other
means than being handed to you by the giver, part of the reason for sending the
note is simply to let the giver know the gift has arrived. The rest of the
reason is to offer the thanks you’d give verbally if the gift had been given in
person.
But in all but the most informal of
situations, it’s polite to send a thank-you letter even when the gift was given in person.
When is it okay to omit sending a
thank-you letter? A good rule of thumb is that if the gift was handed to you in
person and was (1) trivial (e.g. a small plant or box of candy you received as
a hostess gift), or (2) the gift of a friend you have a close relationship
with, and whom you’re generally informal with, you can skip the note. In any
other case, a note should be sent. In doubt? Send a note. Better to err on the
side of being too polite.
What should you say? You can’t just
write, “Dear Aunt Ruth, Thank you for the sweater. Love, Lee.” If the giver
does not live in your vicinity, you can always combine the thank-you note with
a friendly letter and catch him or her up with your latest news and
chit-chat—whatever items are appropriate to her. Ask about her family or
friends or both, and whatever in her life it’s appropriate to inquire about in
an interested-sounding way.
Of course, the more good things you
can say about the gift, the better. Do you think it looks perfect in your house
or on you, solves a problem or satisfies a need, fits you wonderfully or
replaces something you’d lost, broken, or otherwise no longer have the use of?
Say so. Is it exactly what you wanted or needed? Say so. Does the choice of
gift reflect the giver’s thoughtfulness or knowledge of what you enjoy? Say so.
Did the giver send the gift at some
time other than a traditional gift-giving occasion? Thank her for thinking of
you when it wasn’t even Christmas, your birthday/anniversary, or any other
traditional gift-giving occasion.
Wrap the letter up with a repeat
“Thank you” and sign it and send it. Simple? Simple!
•
Thank-you letter to a casual, local acquaintance:
Dear Pat,
Thank
you so much for the book. You know I enjoy mysteries, and as I haven’t read
this one yet, it was a great choice. I am looking forward to reading it. I have
never read anything by [author] before and look forward to discovering an
author who is new to me. Who knows? He/She may become my new favorite! I am
always up for new discoveries.
I
hope this note finds you well, as I am. Work is the same as always, and there
is nothing much new in my personal life since we talked last, so there’s little
to catch you up on. What’s new in your world? How about our getting together
for dinner some time soon? Call me and we’ll make a plan!
Again,
thanks for the gift. It was an excellent choice, and of course I thank you for
thinking of me.
Sincerely,
•
Thank-you letter to a relative who lives at a distance:
Dear Uncle Bob,
Thank
you so much for the assortment of fishing gear. It’s great! I’m really looking
forward to going fishing and bringing the new lures and stuff with me. Bet I
catch more fish with your help!
How
have you been? How is Aunt Nancy? And the rest of the family? I’m fine…we’re
all fine here. Mom and Dad are doing great; they moved into their new home last
month, but I suppose they’ve told you about that themselves, so I won’t go into
it in detail. Work is…well, work. What’s to say? But I’m feeling fine, all is
well, and I’m really looking forward to my next day at the lake, now that I
have all the neat stuff you sent! You do know me and what I enjoy, don’t you?
Well,
thanks again for a really great gift!
Love,
•
Thank-you letter, monetary gift
Dear Ms. Powers,
Thank
you so much for the check. That was so generous of you! I was really tickled
that you remembered my birthday again—you never forget!—and certainly I was
pleased at your generosity.
I
plan to use your gift to buy myself a hunter green pullover sweater that I’ve
had my eye on for several months now. I’m sure no one else will give me exactly
the sweater I’ve been wanting—how could they know precisely what I want?! But
with your generous gift I will purchase it. So thank you for, in essence,
giving me just exactly what I wanted.
Once
again, thank you for both your generosity and your thoughtfulness. I will think
of you whenever I wear that sweater—and I will wear it often, I assure you.
Sincerely,
•
Thank-you letters for disliked or inappropriate gifts, general points
Notes: When you’re writing to thank
someone for a gift you don’t care for—even a gift you thoroughly despise—you
can always find something good to say about it. You may not want to lie and say
you love it…and you don’t have to. (You don’t want to encourage the giver to
give you something similar next year, do you?) But you can still find something
positive to say about the gift.
If it’s clothing, is it your color,
although not your style? Is it cut in your style, even though the pattern of
the cloth isn’t to your liking? Is it a cheerful color? Is it a perfect fit? Is
it very trendy or very classic?
Perhaps it’s not clothing. Is it an
item you never got one of before? Say that nobody else has given you a (fill in
the blank), and it certainly reflects creative thinking on the part of the
giver. Is it a perfume or after-shave that you don’t care for but can honestly
say is extravagant, or makes a bold statement, or smells distinctive, or is
unique among the scents worn by your friends?
Maybe it’s a CD or tape of music
you can’t stand. Can you say it’s lively, cheerful, distinctive, different? At
least you can say no one else gave you the same gift!
Do you get the idea? Find something
to say that’s positive, that’s appreciative, that sounds like you really think
the gift is great…even if you absolutely can’t stand it!
If you don’t say you love it, you’re not
lying. You’re just pointing out the gift’s good points…and every gift has some good points, even if it’s only that you
don’t have anything else like it and nobody else has given you one.
And, as noted in an earlier item,
you can fill out the rest of the note with social chat. The entire letter
doesn’t have to be about the gift. Depending on who the giver is, you can find
other things to talk about to make the note seem sufficiently long
enough—family news, in the case of a relative who lives at a distance,
chit-chat about yourself and your job or school, whichever is appropriate, in
the case of a friend or acquaintance, who lives at a distance, and perhaps, for
someone who lives nearby, the suggestion that you get together soon.
•
Letter or in person thanks when someone has given you a gift you don’t care for
(e.g. a perfume) more than once and you want to prevent a recurrence without
seeming ungrateful
Dear Jeanne,
Thank
you so much for your gift! It really showed creative thinking on your
part…[perfume name] is almost as pretty a fragrance as my usual perfume,
[perfume name], and I plan to wear your gift every so often just for a change
of pace. You were very sweet to think of me. I really appreciate knowing I am
in your thoughts!
How
is your family? I hope they are all enjoying [the holiday season, the spring
weather, summer vacation, the activities of fall], and that you are too. I am
fine, as are [family names or friends’ names], and I hope we will get to see
you soon.
Again,
thank you so much for your thoughtfulness and ingeniousness in your gift. I
really appreciate your effort to be creative—don’t think it went unnoticed!
Love,
Both Life
Behind the Office and I’m at a Loss
for Words are available on XoXo’s website (as well as through Amazon.com),
as are many of my other books.
