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At one point in my life, I wrote obits by day and did stand-up comedy at night.

These things may seem to have nothing in common at first glance. But they taught me a lot about balance. I learned to write passages that would hopefully evoke laughter or sympathy. I also learned how to quickly switch gears emotionally. I thought about that last night when I did my first stop of my paperback book tour.

My father-in-law, Floyd, always wanted me to do an event in Spokane, Wash., the town where he lived. He lobbied Auntie's, the local bookstore, who in turn lobbied Penguin. We knew back in March that I'd be doing an event here. He was just as proud of me as my own dad would have been had he not passed away nearly 28 years ago.

So, as I stood up to start speaking, and tried to warm up by telling a few jokes, I thought of that time when I wrote obits and did stand-up comedy. Missing from the crowd was my father-in-law, the one who most wanted me to speak here. He died suddenly of a stroke back in April. I mentioned this to the crowd, and my eyes seized with tears. I literally felt my throat catch. I couldn't talk about him. No one wants to see an author cry, even if the word is in the title of her book.

The rest of the talk and the reading went well. It's been months since I did a book event. I forgot a couple of the stories that I got used to telling the first time on tour and rambled during the Q&A. It wasn't the best talk that I've done, but it was the best that I could do without Floyd being there. As I signed books, everyone seemed happy. A woman told me that she thought I had been very funny, another said that it had been worth the drive from Idaho to come see me. I had managed to shift gears.

Later, after laughing and having drinks with some family and friends in the bar, we walked back to our hotel room. I could feel tears for Floyd pushing their way back up to the surface. Just then, my husband started to offer some feedback on my talk. To my surprise, I snapped at him. Sometimes, a girl author just wants reassurance, not a critique. Especially when she walks into the bathroom after a book talk and realizes—quelle horreur—that the brief swell of tears smeared her mascara in a most obvious way. Maybe I should go waterproof. 

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Kathleen Flinn, The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry, Le Cordon Bleu, cooking school, France, cooking, food, wine, restaurants, books, Penguin Books