Sometimes we just groan when books arrive in the mail. We all want to be supportive of GLBT writers, but let’s face it, the ratio of good writing to bad is no higher in our community than it is anywhere else. So it’s always nice when something arrives that we enjoy.

Recently our faith in the judgment of book publishers was replenished by columnist Kim Ficera’s new book, Sex, Lies and Stereotypes. A collection of essays covering everything from how Ficera discovered God is a man’s name to the unfortunate results of attempting to shave her pubic hair into the shape of a shamrock for St. Patrick’s Day, it also explains why parents shouldn’t lie to their children about the Easter Bunny, and why, as an infant, Ficera spent four months as a human knick-knack.

After being entertained and amused — and occasionally poked in the eye, so to speak — by Sex, Lies and Stereotypes, it seemed only natural to interview the author. Of course, since she lives on the East Coast, meeting for coffee was out. So we opted for using another miracle of modern technology and talked via e-mail. Here’s what the author had to say.

Kim Ficera: Probably a combination of all of the above. I wouldn’t say I’ve had a single experience that’s shaped the way I think. I’m not the type of person who would allow one experience to have that much power over me. Unless God decides to pull up a stool next to me at a bar on Thursday night and whisper the secret of the Universe in my ear, one moment in time isn’t going to own me. But my Catholic/Italian/lesbian life has provided me with enough material and, some might say, cynicism, to qualify me as a wiseass. And for that I’m grateful, because if it weren’t for an ability to see the humor in, for example, all the hate mail I’ve received, and then react to it in a way that’s disarming, I’d probably be a paranoid or medicated mess, avoiding uptight straight men and angry Christians like Jerry Falwell avoids reality.

KF: Hardly. My one and only divine revelation is this: Beer bloats. And for that reason, I don’t enjoy it. (I know that disliking beer makes me a bad lesbian, but I make up for it in other ways, I swear.) But if I were to credit alcohol for what I write, I’d have to thank vodka. A bottle of Smirnoff, the First Amendment, and some ink are all I really need.

In a cosmic sense, I don’t think I had a choice but to share my observations. I really do think I was born to write. I question everything and love every minute of it. I love the questions as much as the answers. I doubt I could find the humor in a situation if I didn’t enjoy looking for it.

KF: Yes, I am working on another book, but there will be no apologies in it. My writing survives through conflict. I’m driven by the thoughts and actions of others. I suppose that’s how I relate in all areas of my life.

There will always be people who won’t like my essays because they’ll find my style, delivery, and even my willingness to tell the truth offensive. And there’s nothing I can do about that. But I think most readers will find my sarcasm provocative. If I keep people laughing while they’re thinking, they’ll be less likely to object to what they read.

In an essay in the book called Bi-Bye, I write that there’s a razor thin line that separates a confident person from an asshole. I think that my sarcasm rides that line constantly and that it’s what saves me from being a complete jerk in certain situations. Being playful is what allows me to write something extreme and yet still get a positive reaction from readers. I don’t write maliciously; I write with an audience of friends in mind. I trust readers to understand that I’m really just like them.

KF: Yikes! I don’t think so. (Can you do that lip thing? Wouldn’t it be more fun to pull it the other way?)

Writing a book was hard, sure, but I suspect I had much more fun than many other writers because the book I wrote is humorous. If there’s a hard part, it’s sifting what I think will be universally funny from what I alone think is funny. I’ve learned that just because I crack myself up with a phrase or sentence, it doesn’t mean everyone else will think [it’s worth a] laugh.

At this leg of the ride, publicizing the book is much more difficult than writing it ever was. Trying to get a bunch of gay people to buy and read a book written by a woman they’ve never heard of when Madonna has a new CD, softball season has started, Ellen is on tour, and Justin and Kelly’s new movie is about to be released is almost impossible. By the way, why are you talking to me? Don’t you like sports?

KF: Do you hate it when people call you Amber-waves-of-grain?

Sex, Lies and Stereotypes is now available in paperback at bookstores everywhere. Go buy it.