odded.

"You aren't serious, are you?"

Again, I nodded. "What is wrong with that?" I was now backpeddling. She was offended by something, and now I was wishing 11 had not said anything. In my attempt to be helpful, I found myself defending my suggestion.

"I have a master's degree in English Literature. Why would I go to school to learn to be a salesperson? I am a professional. I went to school to be trained in a profession so I would not have to be a salesperson. I hate salespeople. All they want is money. So tell me why| I should study sales?" She was now packing her briefcase forcibly. The interview was over.

On the coffee table sat a copy of an earlier best-selling book I wrote. I I picked it up as well as the notes she had jotted down on her legal pad. | "Do you see this?" I said pointing to her notes.

She looked down at her notes. "What," she said, confused.

Again, I pointed deliberately to her notes. On her pad she had written "Robert Kiyosaki, best-selling author."

"It says 'best-selling author,' not best 'writing' author."

Her eyes widened immediately.

"I am a terrible writer. You are a great writer. I went to sales school. You have a master's degree. Put them together and you get a 'best-selling author' and a 'best-writing author.'"

Anger flared from her eyes. "I'll never stoop so low as to learn how to sell. People like you have no business writing. I am a professionally trained writer and you are a salesman.