TODAY'S VIEWPOINT
The perils of on-air promotion
RHETA GRIMSLEY JOHNSON

He is talking really fast, at the speed of light, saying things about the weather and sports and traffic and politics with great authority and perfect segues. Then he introduces me and it's my turn.

"I .. ammmm ... soooo ... glaaaad ... to ... beeee ... here," I manage.

I avoid television and live radio. The few times it's been an issue, I've mostly declined TV and radio interviews.

I might be the only person ever to ignore a call from Oprah. Once when she was shooting a TV show about female columnists, her people called my people. Since I actually have no people, they phoned me directly and left a message. I didn't call back.

Now, I love Oprah, same as everyone else. But Oprah never saw me circa 1981 on a Jackson, Miss., publictelevision show discussing public events. The microphone was clipped to my blouse at an odd angle, revealing for 30 minutes my dingy bra strap to a television viewing audience of, oh, maybe 150.

Anyhow, it was embarrassing. I know my limits.

Whenever there's a microphone of any kind involved, I freeze. I babble. I make no sense whatsoever. Once, when being interviewed by the BBC about cartoonist Charles Schulz, I inexplicably developed a British accent and said "Indeed!" about three times.

I'm awful.

That said, I'm also selling books, or trying to. These days I motor about giving interviews to anyone who will mention my book. Shameless hustler, c'est moi.

That's why one weekday not long ago I found myself at 5 a.m. at a locked chain-link gate talking into a box -- the kind fast-food restaurants have at their drive-through lanes -- about the best way to get into a small Tennessee television station. My friend and booster Cornelia was with me.

"I think they said turn left and go to the back door," I offered.

Soon Cornelia and I are running around in the dark, sleep-deprived and goofy, looking for an open door. Finally a mysterious man opens one and leads us to the edge of a news set.

A man and a woman who look young enough to be high-school truants are delivering the early morning news. Nary a hair is out of place. They are talking about murder and mayhem while smiling and looking gorgeous.

Cornelia and I stand and stare and wonder what happens next or where the Green Room might be. Then, during a commercial break, the nice young television team makes its way over for introductions. They invite us to sit on the set of the morning show, which looks like a really well-lit living room of a childless couple with no family photos.

My segment lasts three minutes. I have no idea what I said or how I looked. I hope I mentioned the book.

From the television station, Cornelia and I rushed to a radio station. The show's host Steve Bowers is already on the air. He is talking really fast, at the speed of light, saying things about the weather and sports and traffic and politics with great authority and perfect segues. Then he introduces me and it's my turn.

"I .. ammmm ... soooo ... glaaaad ... to ... beeee ... here," I manage. It takes me about 10 minutes to say those seven words. It's as if the faster Steve talks, the slower I become. I long for my old British accent from the BBC interview; however unauthentic, it might make me sound smarter.

Steve's sidekick, a sports fast-talker in shorts and a sweatshirt, joins in the conversation, thrusting and parrying with our host at an alarmingly fast pace. I can't remember the sports guy's air name, but it was something like Catfish or Cool Breeze or Sea Bass. I think the latter.

Steve and Sea Bass kept the chatter going while I rummaged in my purse for my notes and tried to remember the name of my new book.

"Okey-dokey then, Sea Bass, what do you think about that game between Tennessee and Auburn, and on the political front who's looking good, and did that traffic accident on 45 get cleared before the benefit crowd from the hospital let loose, and wasn't that a wonderful event this year?"

And to that I said, "Thaaaank ... youuuu ... for ... haviiiing ... me. Indeed."

(c) 2008 Rheta Grimsley Johnson Distributed by King Features Syndicate