And what do you do... on the perils of a mid-list author wafting past middle age

 HALLIE EPHRON: Right now I’m back from a little winter hiatus in Florida. It was painful to leave the snow and ice of New England but the prospect of hanging out in the pool with my grandkids as they show me their swimming tricks won out.

I did not write a single word of fiction, but I did teach Franny and Jody to make hand farts in the water and they taught me how to shoot water from a pool noodle halfway across the pool. We were very popular in the complex where the average age was… older than me.

One of the things that happens when you travel, especially to places where most everyone you meet is a visitor, too, is you get to talking to strangers. And every once in a while, one of them might ask what you do.

I always ask. The answers are usually interesting. This morning, the gentlemen sharing the hot tub with us had been in charge of custodial services for a large Wisconsin school district. These last two years, he’s had to become an expert on air filtration systems.

I once chatted with a woman who’d been a circus performer. Dressed in a skimpy spangled bikini, she rode in the nightly circus parade atop an elephant. She was out of work because the circus were liberating their elephants. We had a fascinating conversation about how scratchy that ride was (apparently close-up, elephants are hairy), and what she used to keep that tender skin between her legs from chafing. Quite an occupational hazard. I encouraged her to write about it. (Photo by AlejandroLinaresGarcia, Wikipedia)

Another time I chatted up a woman sitting next to me on a plane and discovered that her last name was EPHRON. Turned out we were distant cousins.

When someone (almost always a woman) asks me what I do, I usually say, I write. And watch their reaction, brightening or dimming. If they’re interested, I go on. Novels. Still interested? Mystery novels. I usually whip out one of my bookmarks and offer it up.

Then I add, modestly, that I’m not that well known. “I’m not famous like… like”—long pause as my mind goes a complete blank —"what’shername.” The spot in my brain where Louise Penny’s or Sue Grafton’s name resides has been replaced by a lacuna. Though for some reason I always remember the word lacuna.

Do you like to find out about the strangers around you, and what do you say when someone asks, “And what do you do?”