Wishing you all peace, joy and lots of chocolate during this Christmas season. I’ll see you in 2016!
Gifts of a Writing Life
It’s the season for giving and receiving so it’s probably no surprise that I’ve been pondering the topic in some depth over the last few weeks. In particular, I’ve been thinking about the gifts I’ve received from having a writing life.
There have been many. Everything from the mundane (a love of really good pens) to the profound (a lengthy and life-changing interview with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross years ago). But three gifts stand out above all others.
First, writing allowed me to work and stay home with my kids when they were young. It wasn’t always easy juggling deadlines and revisions and (occasionally) book tours, but, for the most part, I was there before and after school, I was at the end of the phone if there was an emergency, and with a little bit of juggling I was able to pick up the odd volunteer shift for pizza day or the school fair. Speaking of fair, it’s only fair to point out that I did it with considerable support from Mr. Petrol Head who was as close to a hands-on parent as one can be when working out of the house.
The second gift writing has brought into my life is the ability to understand the (sometimes poor) behavior of people. Admittedly, I have a natural tendency to analyze people and try to figure out where they’re coming from anyway, but writing helped me grasp on a far deeper level how character and motivation can sometimes lead to choices and actions that are, well, less than ideal. Life can be challenging. People don’t always behave heroically. An awareness of what makes people tick hasn’t always prevented me from being hurt but it has helped me make sense of things and gain perspective.
Finally, writing has brought me wealth. Not money or new cars or the ability to travel on a whim, but wealth in the form of an abundance of friends. I’m incredibly lucky to have a community of friends and colleagues who get this gig in way non-writers don’t. They’re willing to celebrate the successes and commiserate over the challenges. They understand that writing may look easy but it’s not. That the lifestyle may look glamorous and carefree but that, too, is false. They know that many people have stories to tell but not many people are willing to put in the time and dedication needed to tell them, and tell them well. My writing friends are on the path beside me. Their very presence is a gift. A gift that continues to give and give and give some more.
To them I say thank you. And Merry Christmas.
Book Buys for the Holidays
At the request of my kids, I just handed off my Christmas wish list. The list gets smaller every year. That’s partly because I’m blessed with everything I could ever want (other than a spot on the NYT list and maybe a lottery win) and also because these last few years have taught me that the most important things in life truly are priceless: the loyalty of family & friends, good health, unconditional love.
That said, I was able to come up with a few suggestions for Teen Freud and Uptown Girl. Books were, to no one’s surprise, on the top of my list. I’m hoping to receive Jodi Picoult’s Leaving Time and a copy of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic.
Since I’ve tracked my reading again this year, I thought it might be helpful if I listed out a few of my favorite books to help you choose for the readers on your list.
For fiction lovers:
A Long Time Gone by Karen White. A lyrical multi-generational novel set in the Mississippi Delta with themes of tradition, families, forgiveness and love. Multiple points of view from different time periods make this a contemporary as well as historical read.
In the Blood by Lisa Unger. For the suspense readers on your list. A twisted psychological thriller with secrets, lies and brisk plotting that will keep you reading late into the night.
The Late, Lamented Molly Marx by Sally Koslow. Molly is dead and watching from the hereafter as her loved ones try to discern if her death was murder, suicide or an accident. By turns hilarious and thought-provoking, this will appeal to anyone with an offbeat sense of humor and even a light interest in metaphysics.
Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty. Women’s fiction with a touch of mystery, beautifully drawn characters and some laugh-out-loud scenes. A brilliant relationship read. Moriarty is becoming an auto buy for me.
Left Neglected by Lisa Genova. A literary read dealing with a serious theme and delivering an ultimately uplifting message. Badly injured in a car accident, self-proclaimed over-achiever Sarah Nickerson suffers a brain injury in which she’s completely incapable of processing anything on her left side. She can’t see, feel or recognize anything on that side of her body. Her left is neglected. A clever title and a clever read.
I was on a metaphysical YA kick this year and these two books stood out for me:
Guardian by Natasha Deen. Seventeen-year-old Maggie sees the dead and helps them go from bewilderment to the beyond. But one spirit will not leave until she figures out who killed him. And finding the answer might be the death of her. Great characterization, well-paced and lots of twists and turns.
Best Friends Through Eternity by Sylvia McNicoll. Fourteen-year-old Paige is killed at a railway crossing while taking a detour to avoid school bullies. She is quickly transported to a nether world where she sees Kim, a friend who died seven years earlier. Gifted with the opportunity to return to earth and relive her last days, Paige is determined to fix past mistakes and prevent her death. A beautiful story about friendship and choices, this book was hard to put down.
Shameless self-promotion time. My title The Art of Getting Stared At is now available in paper and makes a terrific stocking stuffer!
Finally, four suggestions for non-fiction lovers:
Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace by Anne Lamott. A collection of essays on faith, family and community. Lamott writes with wit and wisdom, and while some of the passages touch on difficult subjects in every case Lamott leaves the reader feeling hopeful and uplifted. Highly recommended.
Seven Letters from Paris by Samantha Verant. For those who adore both a love story and the city of Paris. The log line for this book reads: twenty years, seven letters, and one long-lost love of a lifetime. Love letters and a happily ever after fairy tale. What could be better?
King Peggy: An American Secretary, Her Royal Destiny, and the Inspiring Story of How She Changed an African Village by Peggielene Bartels. An American secretary learns she’s been chosen to lead 7,000 subjects in a tiny fishing village on Ghana’s central coast. Returning to her ancestral home, she must blend her American sensibilities with the traditions of her native Ghana as she works to improve the lot of her countrymen. A fascinating glimpse into tribal customs and village life in Ghana.
The Residence: Inside the Private World of the White House by Kate Anderson Brower. An intimate, behind-the-scenes look at life in the White House seen through the eyes of the staff who serve. Insightful anecdotes about presidential families from the Kennedys through to the Obamas are presented along with archival information. Well-written and entertaining, I was sorry when this book ended.
My November Reads
A wicked storm blew through last week, downing trees and knocking out power to thousands of people both here on the island and on the mainland. Our lights stayed on, so we were lucky in that respect, but the pots on the back patio took a bad hit. A towering red canna lily fell over by the back door, smashing the beautiful blue grazing ball beside it. We had to clean up the glass so Team Sheltie could get outside to do their business. They weren’t thrilled to be out there in the first place. They were much happier when I closed the curtains, lit the fire and curled up on the couch with a book. It’s something I seem to be doing a lot of these days.
Here’s what I’m reading this month:
On the Kindle: That Night by Lisa McManus
Beside the fire: What We Hide by Marthe Jocelyn
Before Bed: Miracleville by Monique Polak
Books read to date in 2015: 75
The Land of ‘What If?’
I spend half my life playing in the imaginary land of ‘what if?’ What if a girl who doesn’t care about her looks suddenly loses all her hair and becomes obsessed with her appearance (The Art of Getting Stared At)? What if a woman who doesn’t trust her intuition must rely on it to save the life of a child (What Lainey Sees)? What if a girl who doesn’t like being the centre of attention must go on stage in front of thousands to have a shot at achieving her wildest dream (Stepping Out)?
‘What if’ is story oxygen. But the phrase is also part of my DNA. I probably came out of the womb crying ‘what if.’ You might say this is catastrophizing. I prefer to think of it as exercising my writing muscles while preparing for all eventualities.
Case in point: while gardening several weeks ago, a small twig (about the size of a paper clip) made its way into my boot. When I discovered it, I tossed it away. Later that night, the bottom of my foot began to hurt. The skin wasn’t punctured, but to be safe I put on some Polysporin before bed. The pain was back the next day, sporadically coming and going, and increasing as night fell. I checked my foot again; there was nothing. The same thing happened on day three: sporadic pain when I walked, especially if I was in bare feet or going uphill. By the end of that day, I’d started my trek through the land of ‘what if?’ What if that twig had minutely punctured the skin releasing some kind of invisible spore that was infecting my blood stream? What if some kind of deadly pathogen was coursing through my veins and heading straight for my heart? Or my head? What if I lingered in a coma and died right before Christmas, thereby ruining future Christmases for my children. Scratch the lingering coma and ruined future holidays. What if had some kind of muscle damage on the bottom of my foot? What if I had to get rid of my treadmill desk? Write sitting down? What if it got so bad that, eventually, I couldn’t walk? What if we had to sell the house because of all the stairs? What if Mr. Petrol Head decided we should move to Mexico and live in one- level hacienda and what if we met a doctor who specialised in treating rare and unusual afflictions and he cured me and what if I wrote the whole thing into a book which was made into a screenplay starring Jamie Lee Curtis Julianne Moore and what if it was nominated for an Academy Award. For the screenplay that I wrote.
I wish I could say this didn’t happen. I really do. I wish I could say that I took an oversized, extra- strength magnifying glass to the bottom of my foot immediately after it began to hurt to see if, perhaps, there was something I’d missed. Because that’s what practical, down-to-earth, clear-thinking adults do (to give myself credit, I would have done it had it been one of my kids). Instead I detoured to ‘what if’ land because that’s where I live most of the time.
I don’t know if it was intuition or my embarrassment at the thought of going to the doctor with an invisible foot boo-boo but on day four I pulled out my grandmother’s old magnifying glass, turned on a spotlight and took an up-close-and-personal look at the bottom of my foot. I discovered a tiny, microscopic, flit-of-a-thing (the size of a child’s eyelash) lodged into the pad of my foot. It was white-blonde, nearly invisible, and had probably been part of the twig before it claimed part of my foot.
Along with claiming several days of my creative ‘what if’ energy.
To give myself credit, the ‘what if’ factor works the other way too. I stumbled down the basement stairs the other day while carrying a basket of dirty laundry. I ended up with a bad sprain. My ‘what if’ litany afterwards was largely one of gratitude: what if I’d broken my ankle? My leg? Hit my head? Blah, blah, coma . . . blah, blah ruined Christmases forever. I was incredibly lucky and I knew it. Mixed in with my gratitude was a trace of self-reproach: that basket was too full and too heavy and you knew it.
I find it interesting that it’s my right foot that’s badly sprained – the same one that had the boo-boo that could have totally ruined my life. Symbolic, don’t you think? So I won’t be visiting the land of ‘what if’ for a while. I’m taking a side trip to the town of ‘making meaning out of the mundane.’
Because writers are good meaning makers.
Reflecting: Top Picks for Memoirs & Biographies
I have eclectic reading taste. I love everything from literary to genre fiction . . . from serious, intense reads to frothy escapism. I read quite a bit of non-fiction too and I particularly love memoirs and biographies. When I’m in the middle of writing a novel, they offer a change of pace and a welcome break from thinking about character and conflict and resolution. Right now, I’m waiting to get my hands on a copy of My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes That Saved My Life by Ruth Reichel. I’m told it’s a cross between a memoir and a cookbook (my current favorite hybrid!) and well worth the read. Meanwhile, here’s a roundup of some of the other memoirs and biographies I’ve enjoyed over the years, some dark and others much lighter.
Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. A classic, what more is there to say? Anyone who has read Frank’s account of hiding during World War 11 never forgets it.
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. A memoir about growing up in extreme poverty with a shockingly dysfunctional family and not only surviving but thriving. Walls believes everything that happens in life is both a blessing and a curse. It’s up to each person to decide what to focus on. Riveting.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. Angelou’s coming-of-age story shows how strength of character and a love of literature can help overcome low self-esteem, racism and trauma. Graphic and gripping.
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. Not an easy read, this book details the grief Didion worked through following the death of her husband, John Dunne. At the same time as she’s trying to grapple with her loss, she must deal with the hospitalization of her daughter, Quintana.
Brain on Fire; My Month of Madness by Susannah Cahalan. Cahalan is a New York Post reporter who crossed the line between sanity and insanity when an unknown pathogen invaded her body and caused an autoimmune reaction that jump-started brain inflammation, paranoia and seizures. Hospitalized, she was lucky enough to have a doctor determined to get to the bottom of her illness (and lucky to be insured too; her treatment cost $1 million). Haunting and intense.
Delancey – A Man, a Woman, a Restaurant, a Marriage by Molly Wizenberg. Funny, frank and uplifting, this memoir details the trials and tribulations of opening a restaurant soon after being married. I discovered Molly Wizenberg through her blog, Orangette (which I also recommend) and have subsequently read Delancey and her first memoir, A Homemade Life. I enjoyed both.
Home Cooking – A Writer in the Kitchen and More Home Cooking – A Writer Returns to the Kitchen by Laurie Colwin. Colwin was a novelist and food writer for Gourmet Magazine before her untimely death in 1992 at the age of 48. Less memoir and more a series of essays, I turn to these books again and again for Colwin’s wit, warmth and love of food. How can you not adore a chapter called Repulsive Dinners: A Memoir or one called Alone in the Kitchen With an Eggplant? These slim little volumes are two of my most treasured books.
American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot by Craig Ferguson. I’m a sucker for a well done celebrity biography, especially if they’re funny, honest and contain more grit than fluff. Ferguson’s biography delivers all three. It’s also well-written, full of insights and heavy on the theme of second chances. Highly recommended.
It’s All About the Tingle, Baby
Author Monique Polak visited Vancouver Island not long ago and I was lucky enough to hear her speak. Polak, who is also a college teacher, is the talented author of 17 books for teens, an active freelance journalist, and she’s a dynamic presenter too. The night she spoke to the Victoria Literature Roundtable, she focused on writing for teens. She shared with us how she began her journey, some of the challenges she faced, and what it takes to get to the final draft. Much of what she said resonated deeply. I wasn’t the only author in the audience and most of us nodded our heads more than once.
And when she mentioned the tingle, there was a collective nod from every writer there.
She was talking about the tingle that comes after hearing or seeing something and then asking: ‘what if?’ Like the time Monique heard a local mayor angrily stating that they’d find the person responsible for the acts of arson plaguing their community no matter what it took and ‘that person would pay dearly.’ Hearing that, Monique immediately thought ‘what if the arsonist is his son?’ That’s when she felt the tingle. And the goosebumps rising on her arms or the shiver going down her spine is Monique’s signal that there’s a story to be told. A story she has to tell. It may not be what the publishers are looking for or a topic that’s particularly in vogue, but it’s the starting gate that she’s meant to walk through on her next writing adventure. That incident, by the way, led Monique to write Pyro.
When it comes to the tingle, I’m exactly the same. Whether it’s a conversation I overhear while I’m at the dentist, a piece of trivia I read on a sign outside a provincial park, a few lines in a newspaper story, or even the sight of an owl perching in my pear tree at dusk when I let the dogs out after dinner, the creative wheel starts to turn. If I feel the tingle, I know I have a story idea.
That tingle is more than a clue. It’s an ignition switch, if you will. Kindling to kick start the process. Properly fed and fanned and stoked, that tingle will, with luck, build to a flame that will burn as long as it takes to get the story down, and revise, and revise again.
It takes enthusiasm and optimism to start a novel. It takes a great deal of sustained energy to finish one. And when you start with the tingle, you have much better odds of making it to the end.
My October Reads
The leaves have pretty much fallen from the trees, our apples have been harvested (and turned into crisps and pies), and later this week we set our clocks back an hour to standard time. Many people don’t like the fact that it gets darker earlier, but I don’t mind. It means it’s lighter in the morning, which makes it easier to get up. Not only that, the darker evenings are a perfect time to curl up and read a book.
Here’s what I’m reading this month:
Beside the fire: The Precious One by Marisa de los Santos
At the Gym: Crazy Love You by Lisa Unger
On the Kindle: Hope in a Jar by Beth Harbison
Books read to date in 2015: 70
More Happy News
I’m delighted to have The Art of Getting Stared At included on the White Pine list for this year’s Forest of Reading in Ontario. Established and administered by the Ontario Library Association, the program encourages children from kindergarten to grade 12 to pick up a book.
The White Pine is a teen reader’s choice award and thousands of teens in grades 9 – 12 read the books and vote for their favorites. And they have ten wonderful titles to choose from. To check out the shortlisted books, go here: https://www.accessola.org/web/OLAWEB/Forest_of_Reading/Awards_Nominees/White_Pine_Fiction_Nominees.aspx
On another note, I had a great time at last night’s Victoria Book Prize Society gala even though The Art of Getting Stared At didn’t win in the children’s category. That honor went to Chris Tougas who won for his delightful picture book Dojo Daycare. Chris had the audience laughing as he read his text. If you have preschoolers in your life, do pick up a copy of his funny story. They’ll love it! 
The Renovations Continue
We’re still working on converting Teen Freud’s bedroom into my new office. In the process, we painted and put down a new oak floor. Team Sheltie didn’t like the noisy air gun or all the activity so I sat with the two of them in my current office while Mr. Petrol Head nearly broke his back doing the floor. That was a few weeks ago. It’s almost time to put the handles back on the door and start moving furniture.
But one half of Team Sheltie is not impressed with all the changes. Trace, our male, is not at all sure of this new space.
No, Mom, I can’t come in and walk on the shiny, new floor.
I’m leaving and you can’t make me.
I can maybe sit here if my sister is beside me.
But there’s no way I’m going past this doorway.
Hopefully Trace will change his mind when we get my filing cabinet and desks upstairs. Stay tuned!
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