Recently, I took my second plunge into podcast interviews on Alligator Preserves, talking about my book “Pushed Out of the Closet Without a Parachute.” Like my first attempt at swimming, the second try went smoother than the first—though that’s not saying much. At least this time, I managed to keep my head above water.
Here’s the thing about me and live interviews: I’m like a well-tended garden that suddenly gets hit with an unexpected frost. Give me a keyboard, and I’ll grow you something beautiful. Put me in front of a microphone? Well, let’s just say my nerves and dyslexia come at me like weeds after a spring rain.
Rock Hudson Secrets
But despite stumbling through the technical stuff, sharing my story about Rock Hudson felt real and raw. We dug into everything—his magnetic presence, the private battles he fought, that brutal court case, and his courageous stand against AIDS. Heavy stuff that changed both our lives forever.
What started as a pretty dark story though, turned into something else entirely. Rock showed me that even in the worst situations, you can find strength you never knew you had. That’s what I wanted to capture in the book—not just the shadows, but the light that breaks through them.
Then came the moment that proved the universe has a twisted sense of humor. Picture this: I’m deep into telling this profound, meaningful story, and my dogs Chuy and Louie decide it’s the perfect time to turn my couch into their own personal Lovers’ Lane. The host, Laurel, starts cracking up and comments about “frisky dogs,” I’m sitting there clueless until I watch the playback later. Jesus Christ, my dogs were doing the horizontal mambo right behind me! Talk about your backup performers stealing the show.
So while I won’t be winning any awards for smooth-talking anytime soon, I’m grateful to have shared these stories—awkward pauses, horny dogs, and all. Big thanks to Laurel at Alligator Preserves for being cool about the whole thing. Maybe one day, my plunge into podcast interviews will go more smoothly, and I can finally say, “I nailed this interview stuff,” until then, I’ll keep showing up and giving it hell. At least next time I’ll know to lock the dogs in another room first.
