Winning at the Game of Losing

I have not been imprisoned in North Korea, didn't quit my job as governor nor do I have a philandering gubernatorial husband.

That's the bad news.

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The good news is that I am a law abiding, hard working gal who doesn't date married men, pays my bills on time and never exceeds the speed limit.

Yawn.

If I did suffer the fate of the above femme fatales Random House would be knocking at my door with a six-figure book deal for my memoir.

It worked for Alaska governor Sarah Palin. The Alaska politician, who was not known beyond the glaciers until John McCain plucked her from obscurity, hit the limelight running for Vp.

She lost the race, quit her day job as Alaska's governor (quitters are not ordinarily seen as winners) and is now a best selling author. Her story is a typical one - she spends too much on clothes, doesn't take to questioning by reporters and has lots of kids.

And there are rumors the networks are thinking about giving her a talk show.

Not bad for a woman who has never written a thing in her life other than a daily list of "Things to do for Alaska" or a hit list of edible moose.

Good luck to her.

Jenny Sanford is an additional one ill-fated femme fatale (and soon to be best selling author). Her husband, the governor of South Carolina, took a hiking trip that ended up in a hotel room in Argentina. When he surfaced a week later he told the world he had found his soul mate - the only question - it was not his wife of 20 years.

Poor Jenny.

Then there was the case of the American Journalist, Euna Lee who was arrested while on enemy soil in North Korea. She pleaded ignorance, got captured by the enemy and was sentenced to a life of hard labor. Luckily she worked for Al Gore who happened to know Bill Clinton, who happened to know the leader of North Korea, Kim Jong Il.

While I have sympathy for these damsels in distress, I do not have a six-figure book deal. Nor do I have a publisher eager for my story of intrigue, death and infidelity. I do, however, have a 35-year vocation as a journalist (unfortunately I was never sent to a labor camp only an Italian bistro or two) and an adventurous past. The only dark mark on my scorecard is taking a dip in the Pierre Marques pool at midnight with my clothes on, going up in an air balloon sans clothing over Ft. Lauderdale Beach and getting dumped by an excessively overweight nerdy Jewish boy (who wore bad shoes).

But with all my mishaps, my life is still not sensational enough to certify a book deal. I have never been to South Korea (I think going straight through a yellow light is a risk of epic proportion), never married a charming man who deemed me a good wife, but not his soul mate (the men in my life who want to exit ordinarily do so while daylight without much fanfare) and I have never had an office that overlooked Russia.

That makes me a dud - a fire cracker without a wick, a writer without a book contract and the possibility that my musings may never end up on a table at Barnes & Noble.

And for that I am sad.

But I am starting to understand how to come to be book worthy. All I have to do is drive to Wal-Mart, get captured by a disgruntled photo clerk, date a married politician and, if I have time, sneak onto a floating balloon or a presidential state dinner.

After that Random House will legitimately come knocking at my door with a hefty check. If not, I can always sneak into New Jersey.

Winning at the Game of Losing

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