Interview with Anna Mitchael, author of “Just Don’t Call Me Ma’am”

Anna Mitchael is the debut author of Just Don’t Call Me Ma’am: How I Ditched the South, Forgot My Manners, and Managed to Survive My Twenties with (Most of) My Dignity Still Intact. It’s a very funny and engaging memoir about her southern upbringing, big city life and her never-ending quest for adventure. She’ll be reading portions of the book and signing copies this Friday, April 2nd at 7PM.

A large portion of your book details your love of food. Did this come from your upbringing in the south, or was it something you discovered in a more urban area? It’s funny, I would never think of myself as a ‘food lover’ because I feel like I should be embarrassed about most of the foods I love—they’re like the anti-foodie foods. Most people think New York City is a dining extravaganza (obviously for good reason—you can get almost every food known to man there.) But during the time I lived there, on more than one evening I would have given up every one of those restaurants for a decent bowl of queso. I’m sure that statement would make most self-proclaimed ‘food lovers’ want to beat me to a pulp with their 2010 copies of Zagat.

What prompted your conversion to vegetarianism? It would sound a lot better if I could claim a higher purpose to my vegetarianism—but in reality, I was just looking for a way to slim down. 4 years of living in Austin during college had done a number on my metabolism (see love of queso mentioned above.)

What was the worst/best part of growing up in a tiny southern town? I actually grew up in a lot of different towns. Most were small but a few were big (or suburbs of big towns) and they were sprinkled across Texas, Louisiana and Oklahoma. The best part of living in a small town is that people can’t really hide behind the anonymity of a big city. Of course when I was growing up, I also thought that was the worst part. All I wanted to do was escape to a really big place where absolutely no one would know my name.

What was the cause of your wanderlust/desire to live in several large cities? My parents have this ongoing conversation about how so many things in life can be traced back to junior high, and I think I will add this question to their list. I would say that wanderlust came from the same place most middle-school insecurities are born from—the desire to fit in.

I had always felt vaguely unsettled as a result of all the moving around while I was growing up, and I had the idea that if I stopped moving to all the wrong places and simply found the right one, then everything would be okay. I wanted to go find big adventures and big love—I was sure it was out there somewhere and that if I looked around enough corners, all the answers for those elusive things would be waiting.

What brought you back to the south? I stopped long enough to figure out what I really wanted—as opposed to just searching for all the things that everyone tells you to want. Once I weeded all that other stuff out—it was easy, I knew it was time to come home. And in the end, this is actually where all the big things were waiting for me. I could save myself a whole hell of a lot of heartache and frequent flyer miles if I could go back and tell that 21 year old what this 31 year old figured out in a decade….but I guess 20/20 hindsight is the only sure bet around, right? Well, next to death and taxes—and it’s a total buzzkill to bet on either of those.

You’ve been an ad copy writer for years. Was writing a book something you’ve always wanted to do, or a more recent desire? Writing was what I always wanted to do. I actually got into copywriting because it was a way I could support myself while writing. I wrote really, really, awful fiction for a very long time. And there is still the manuscript of a really, really awful novel in a shoebox under my bed to prove it. Again, that was a lesson in listening to myself instead of other people. When I finally stopped writing what I thought other people wanted me to write—the whole process got to be a lot more fun. I’m sure there are people who will think this book is really, really awful too, but hell, you can’t please everyone—and who has time to? (See death and taxes mentioned above.)