4 Writers and Me on what makes us feel MOST like ourselves

In Oprah's eponymous magazine, there's a fun article: "4 Authors on What Makes Them Feel Most Like Themselves.

Among the featured authors was Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird, Traveling Mercies, and Imperfect Birds. Here's Anne's answers.

I look most like myself…in worn jeans and a tight-ish white T-shirt.

I act most like myself…at church, overeating after worship.

I feel most like myself… lying in bed on Sunday mornings with the dogs and the cat, reading The New York Times.

I feel least like myself…when I have to socialize with people I do not know.

***

I thought it'd be fun to play along, in all of my writerly anonymity.

I look most like myself…in worn jeans and a T-shirt or top, wearing flip flops or my Ohio State crocks.

I act most like myself…at church, at home with friends. Well, pretty much anytime. I am what I am!

I feel most like myself… when I'm with hubby, writing or watching DVDs. When I'm worshipping.

I feel least like myself…when I'm around certain individuals in the publishing industry. I feel so awkward and geeky.

What about you? What makes you feel most like yourself. If you're so inclined, copy and paste the question into the comments and give your own answers!



Next: When Mary Karr acts most like herself

Can I Really Get On Oprah

Let's have a heart-to-heart. Can I, Rachel Hauck, author of several books extraordinaire, get on Oprah?

Hardly.

Lately, several people have declared, "Rachel, you should send your book to Oprah."

(This is not unlike every family member or friend who reads your first book and declares it a masterpiece. "I couldn't put it down!")

I admit, every time I hear this wee bit of encouragement, I drift into a-million-to-one land. (Re: Jennifer Hudson.)

One a warm July day, 2007, Lost In NashVegas and Diva NashVegas arrive, in tact, to the mail room at Harpo Studios in downtown Chicago . . . Freeze frame. Maybe should send to one of the Exley boys and ask them to hand deliver. Yeah, but what if they forget. No, send U.S. Mail. Unfreeze frame . . .

NashVegas books arrive at Harpo mail room.

Mail clerk, rolling eyes: Oh great, more novels. These people need a life. Hey, Sally, these are set in some place called NashVegas. Looks like a girl guitar player.

Sally: Put them in the pile.

Mail clerk: Tosses NashVegas books into BIG honkin' pile of Novels Oprah Will Never See Or Read.

Toward the end of the day, upper level staff has to come down to the mail room to pick up time sensative material. Practically trips on NashVegas books that have slipped from the pile.

Stoops down. "What's this? NashVegas. That's funny. I get it." Read back cover blurb, tucks them under her arm and take them home.

Mind you now, Oprah's staffers probably aren't reading other books by well-known authors that they buy with their own money and wish Oprah to promote. I'm sure they only read Oprah's Book Club Selection. Bunch of robots.

Back to staff: Takes NashVegas books home. Reads them in a week time. She's single, no kids, no boyfriend, and well, no friends.

She laughs. She cries. She plans her next vacation to Nashville because she just has to visit the Bluebird Cafe, the Hall of Fame and the Ryman.

Goes to work one morning, bleary-eyed from staying up until the wee hours finishing Diva. Sigh. Aubrey James is just the greatest.

Gayle King happens along. "What happened to you?"

Staffer: Up all night reading.

Gayle: You? I thought you only read comics and blogs.

Staffer, rushing around her desk, gripping Gayle: I found these two books in the Novels Oprah Will Never See Or Read pile, *gush* they are so good. I laughed, I cried.

Fast forward four months later. The NashVegas books have made the round at the Harpo Studios. Staffer has four more staffers going with her on Nashville vacation. They love, love, love the books. Love them.

Oprah here's about the hupla. Being from Nashville herself, she asks to read the books, too. They are handed over, dog-eared and stained, but oh so loved.

Two months later, on a beautiful winter Florida day, Rachel Hauck's phone rings. . .

End drift into one-in-a-million land.

"No way," I focus on friend. "Why would Oprah have a no name like me on her show. So I wrote a book. A million people published books each year."

"You never know. Can't hurt." Friend is still trying. Won't let bad ideas die.

"Do you not watch the Oprah Show? She has famous people, or folks who fit a show theme. She'd have to have theme show spotlighting faith-based fiction. If she does, it's going to be Ted Dekker, Karen Kingsbury, and some author who writes Amish."

"Where's your faith. You never know what God can do."

"Then why do I need Oprah?"

Ha! Sticking my nose in the air, I thank her for her interest and trot off. Oprah. Pfhoo. I have the King of the Universe. And He loves me!

I'm His favorite one.

Okay, truth? Oprah would be a great invitation. I'd love it. But I am more interested in what God can do with five barly loaf and two fishes.