This week's interview has taken on a trans-continental feel with our very first proper true American to visit our interview pages. To celebrate, myself and the Wombles have upped sticks to come to you direct from the tea rooms of none other than Highclere Castle in Berkshire, home of TV series Downton Abbey. "Boff's dusted off his bowler and dug out his monocle to give our guest a very quintessential English flavour. Boff rests his walking cane against a chair, pours a cup of Earl grey, and picks up a scone from a little China plate before smearing on some clotted cream and jam".
Today's guest is a daisy duke, mom, and author of books such as "I wish I were engulfed in flames" and the Dex Morneau series, yes, all the way from her farm in Michigan our guest today is Jeni Decker. Arriving by black cab (as is only fitting) when Jeni arrives she's decked head to foot in a full Tudor costume. On seeing Jeni, Boff nearly chokes on his scone. "What?" says Jeni as she gently takes a seat opposite him, "you figured you were the only one who could dress up? I wanted to try the Brit thing too". Jeni pours a cup of tea before taking a sip informing me that her coffee tastes funny and asks if it's Decaff? Clearly quite the character and up for our interview, now that our costume drama is under way, I decide to ask my first question.
Hello Jeni, and thank you for joining us today. I have so many questions I would like to ask you and obviously family, particularly your children are a big part of your life which we will come on to shortly, but I would like to begin by getting to know more about you as a person first. As our first bone-fide American to join us on the Interviews can I ask you about your memories of high school? Was it really like Beverly Hills 90210 or Glee?
My junior prom date was gay and prone to spontaneous musical numbers, so we’ll go with Glee.
What I remember most is my first car—1979 black Cadillac. If I had put two flags on the hood, I could have easily been mistaken for the visiting POTUS. I can only assume my folks wanted to wrap me in as much metal as possible, since I failed my driver’s test… twice. On the third go-around, my mom gave me half a Valium tablet. Apparently the secret to getting your driver’s license in Florida is being barely lucid.
I offer Jeni a jam covered scone before moving on to our next question...I see, and now that you've had the chance to experience twitter, what do you make of us Europeans? are we like what you expected?
Generally speaking, you guys are much less repressed than Americans. I base this on the fact that you can use the word “cunt” in mixed company without anyone batting an eye. I’d like America to strive for that kind of utopian ideal. More cunt in everyday conversation, less of me hearing about your religious preferences, thank you kindly.
*one of the elderly patrons gasps at hearing the 'C' word, the naughty one, not the pretend one. Her false teeth go whizzing out of her mouth and skating across the floor as a waiter in spatz goes chasing after them. Boff and Jeni however continue without batting an eyelash.
...and are there any quintessential differences? or things that you identify as making your home truly American other than the Geography? perhaps an anecdote?
During hunting season this year I saw a Volkswagen navigate the McDonald’s drive-thru with a buck strapped to the roof. Let that sink in nice and deep…
Boff nods with a rye smile on his face, before glancing at Bungo who is sneaking scones off another patron's plate with the handy use of a coat-hanger.
...I see, I think that's very amusing. Coming back in the direction now of family you're a busy mom juggling all these eggs, what do you like to do with your down time when it's just you on your own?
I’m never alone for any substantial chunk of time. But are any of us ever really alone? Don’t we all lug our burdens around with us for company, taking them out during those down times and fingering all the bruises until they welt up again, so we can linger over them for however long it takes to satiate the piteous self-indulgence?
No? Just me, then.
Jeni slaps a womble hand which has appeared over the side of her part of the table dangerously close to her share of the scones before noting that in actual fact today is the first time she's been out to tea on her own in ages. Jeni then says that Tudor wear is quite warm before removing her ruff and handing it to Orinoco as a present.
I have zero discipline. Less than zero, probably. Juggling a family and writing is just that, juggling. Write for 15 minutes, clean dog puke off the floor, write for five more, snake the toilet drain for hot wheels cars, write for ten, fold a load of laundry… and the beat goes on.
There is no method to my writing other than I don’t do it unless I feel it. It’s like being in the zone. Either you are or you aren’t. There’s no in between. I think the writing suffers when you force it, and as a reader, there’s nothing that sticks in my craw more than phone-it-in bullshit. Until it’s bursting out of me, I research, make notes, and fritter away the hours on Twitter. I rarely outline, I don’t write every day like the gurus say you must, and when I’m writing, it is with very little regard for the audience. For me, writing is a purely selfish endeavor.
How you like me now?
...and of cause your husband must be a big help in balancing all of that, we know he loves hunting more than chores, so what's the weirdest thing he's brought home to you?
He knows better than to bring home anything that Isn’t covered in chocolate. He did once come home from work with a tick stuck to his head, does that count?
Boff notes that he also has to take care of the Wombles grooming, while Wellington is a nice womble with silky fur, Bungo uses far too much product and often comes home smelling of fags and has needed de-lousing more than once. Jeni says 'is this one Bungo?', pointing at Bungo. *Boff nods*, Jeni then produces a little Tudor purse from under her britches, 'Here, honey here's some money for candy, go and help the nice lady over there find her false teeth'. With Bungo now out of the way and Jeni's scones safe we move on to the next question, one I've been curious to ask.
coming back around now to your children you have two boys with autism at different ends of the spectrum, who are clearly very dear to your heart and a source of much of your writing. What one key survival skill have they taught you?
Don’t sweat the small shit, and laugh at it all because most of it is funny if you look at it from the right angle. I try to make my life and the lives of my kids as little about autism as possible. Autism is a diagnosis, a word, nothing more. Autism doesn’t “make” your life anything. That’s your job.
So, my biggest key to survival—no whiny bullshit. Second: Never sit on the toilet before checking for dribbles. In my house I’m the only girl, so there are always dribbles. Often puddles. Boys are gross.
...I see, and of cause with all children they have their moments, 'out of the mouth of babes' as they say, what has been your most surreal experience as a mother? and also the most heartwarming?
Surreal is the default setting around here (particularly apt as a waiter and Womble appear to be fighting over false teeth in the background). I wouldn’t know what life looks like any other way.
The most heartwarming would have to be the stranger who came to my rescue at the drug store when my son was having the mother of all tantrums. I had to carry him out of the store over my shoulder, kicking and screaming. She picked up the items that were falling out of my bag, trailing behind me like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs, as I made my hasty exit. Then she made sure I got the screaming child buckled into his car seat before asking if I needed anything else. She’ll never know how perilously close I was to kissing her on the mouth, long and deep.
Changing tack now, I would have loved to see your take on the E.L. James book 'fifty shades of grey', how would your version have differed from hers?
Mine would have had more wildebeests. Lots of wildebeests.
...Thank you Jeni, it has been a pleasure having you to come and visit us today, I would like to finish now with one final question before we sample some typical British Cuisine. You're a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve and says how she feels. If you had five minutes alone with the President what would you tell him?
That would never happen. Pretty sure I’m on a blacklist somewhere after co-writing Waiting for Karl Rove. But if I did somehow find myself in the general proximity of the President, I’d ask him to show me where Clinton got his blowie from Monica. If the White House doesn’t have a little wall plaque to commemorate that moment, they’re not doing it right
As the interview draws to a close Jeni admits that the Tudor outfit really isn't her and she would much prefer something more comfortable. Then Boff admits that being in a tea-room at Highclere Castle isn't really his scene. Both agree a nice pub would be much more appropriate which is a relief because the waiter has just arrived with two steaming plates of tripe.
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