Recently in Bigger Picture Category

I was in Target late last week. Again. I feel like we spend a lot of time there. Not that I’m complaining. I LOVE seeing my books there. They, among others, have been huge supporters of my paperbacks. And I am very grateful for that. But prior to my move to Florida from New York City, I had never spent much time in stores like this. Even supermarkets in the city, with the exception of the Food Emporium on 14th or some of the new Whole Foods that have cropped up since I left, are fairly small. And when I first entered my local Super Target here in Florida, my senses were overwhelmed to such a degree that I wandered the aisles in awe and finally left with nothing. All that red. All that stuff. It boggled my mind.

But I’ve moved beyond that. Way beyond. In fact, Ocean and I spend so much time there that it has become a kind of activity onto itself. Before leaving for Paris this summer, I read somewhere that it didn’t pay to put too much pressure on yourself to find the most brilliant, fascinating activity for your child every single outing, that she is just as stimulated in Target as she is at The Louvre. And I have, quite literally, found this to be true. So when the well is dry – when we’ve had our play dates, taken our walks, gone to the playground, or the aquarium, colored, read stories, played with Play Doh, or any of the other myriad things we do together, we often find ourselves wandering those big red aisles – Ocean happily munching whatever snack in her cart, me shopping for whatever it is I “need” at the moment.

There’s lots to talk about – What’s that, Mommy? That’s a giant chicken costume! What’s that? That’s a lawn fountain! What’s that? That’s an aromatherapy candle! There are plenty of “teaching moments.” I want that big pink ball! You already have a big pink ball from the last time we were here. I want a blue one. No. Why not? Because I said so.

Last week, I was looking for another polar bear for my lawn (Lawn? Lighted, moving polar bears? Oh, Toto, we are SO not in NYC anymore). We only had two – a mommy and a baby. (For some reason, whenever Ocean sees a grouping of one adult animal and one baby animal, the adult is always an assumed mommy.) And this year Ocean lamented, “Where’s the Daddy bear?” So off we went to find a daddy polar bear, as good an activity as any. Where else, I ask you, would we go but Target?

While roaming the aisles, my cart filled with various Christmas decorations -- poinsettias, some dried plants and a weird little Blair Witch reminiscent Christmas tree made out of twigs and pine cones --I remembered my desire to scale back and refocus this holiday season. So I put some items back, only keeping the few things I really loved and that would add to my collection of decorations I put away at the end of each season. But there was still the polar bear – which, of course, we found. They don’t call it “super” for nothing!

On the way out, polar bear loaded, I saw something else that caught my eye. It even escapes me at the moment what it was precisely – who knows, some kind of Christmas platter, a snowman candy dish, whatever – I wondered aloud to Ocean if we wanted something like this.

Ocean said, ever sage, “We have enough stuffs Mommy.” She seemed very serious about this, even offered a grim little shake of her head.

“You are so right, kiddo,” I told her, chastened, returning the item to its place on the shelf. “Should we put back the polar bear?”

“No! We need a daddy bear!”

And it got me thinking about the “stuffs” we buy and what we want versus what we need. I feel a greater desire since Ocean arrived to decorate the house for the various events of the year, to give her a sense that we celebrate our life and the occasions that mark the passing of the year. She was so excited to put up the tree last week and hang the ornaments, to see the polar bears out on the lawn, to look at the little New York City we set up with buildings we’ve been collecting over the years – Radio City, the Flatiron, St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It’s all just stuffs, things we don’t necessarily need to have, costing money we didn’t need to spend. But these trinkets and decorations, because they mark a season that hopefully brings us together with family and friends, that focuses our attention on giving to those we love and those in need – have a special kind of value. They bring a little bit of joy – a LOT of joy for a little girl.

I suppose the trick is knowing what is enough. For me, it’s always about finding balance. Spending and saving, giving and receiving, celebrating, while being mindful about the value of the things we buy. Our daddy polar bear represents our family, hopefully gives the people who drive by our house a little smile, a happy, Christmassy vibe. In these times when joy seems in short supply, that’s something. And even my almost-three-year-old knew that we didn’t need more.

Resolution of the Week:
Remember my reusable shopping sacks every time! Punish myself by buying more if I forget.

Favorite Green Holiday Ideas:
NRDC

What I’m reading:
The Killing Circle/ Andrew Pyper

Favorite Book for Ocean:
Fancy Nancy: Bonjour, Butterfly/ Jane O’Conner (writer) and Robin Preiss Glasser (illustrator)

On Monday there was a celestial event. There was a fifteen percent sliver of moon and beside it, bold and bright, Venus and Jupiter glimmered. It was a rare planetary gathering, one that won’t occur again until March 2012. Poetry, I thought, in this time of intense change. A celestial nod to earthly upheaval.

Also this week, the forces that be, the ubiquitous “they”, announced that we are in a recession economy. Big surprise. The real estate market is bleeding by the side of the road. The stock market is a roller coaster ride (mostly plummeting) no one knows how they might, or if they should, get off. And many of the companies that seemed as eternal as the moon are threatening collapse.

And yet, I still feel hopeful that this difficult moment is a kind of karmic correction. The Universe issuing a wake-up call. Unfortunately, most of us are paying the price for the excesses of a few -- and that hurts. People are out of work, struggling, scared. And I’m in no way diminishing or glossing over that. But I have a strong sense that a dazzling new age is upon us – a time where we scale back, refocus on what’s important in our lives and in our world, make better choices.

As the holidays approach, I’m going to try to focus more on family, friends, the world we live in, to find new and better ways to give. I can’t change everything that’s wrong. Control freak that I am, I would if I could. But I can manage my personal universe, what I do, what I say. I can make little positive ripples.

For example, last year, instead of sending paper cards, I created an e-card with a picture of Ocean screaming in terror on Santa’s lap. I know she’ll hate me for it later. (Still, it was really cute.) Then I donated money to the Natural Resources Defense Council, an organization in which I have a lot of faith. I’ll do that again this year. I know. The irony that an author would be worried about saving paper is not lost on me. But, hey, we do what we can, right?

Before you think I’m on a soap box, I will admit to spending a ridiculous amount of money on party favors for my daughters upcoming birthday party. I swore I wouldn’t do it – waste money on small plastic things that clog up the environment, that no one needs or even likes. But I did. And let’s not even talk about the balloons. So, we all have work to do. I’d like to be around in 2012 to see that planetary party again; I want Ocean to see it. I want her to see it on a healthier Earth. Next year, no party favors!

I have this disease. It’s called optimism. It’s a compulsion I have to look for that silver lining. Even when I falter, fail and make mistakes ( which I do, often and spectacularly), I am already looking ahead to how I can do better. Even now, when I know that times are dark, I believe we’re on the bright edge of better days. Fight the urge to make fun of me, or discourage me, or to tell me while I’m wrong. Join me!

If you missed the beautiful heavenly party that Jupiter and Venus attended, Google it. It's a new age. Even when we aren't looking, a new moon is rising.

What I'm Reading:
BELOVED/ Toni Morrison

What I'm Listening To:
Regina Spektor/ Begin to Hope

Ocean's Favorite Book:
How The Grinch Stole Christmas!/ Dr. Seuss

Blue Willow Bookshop, owned by Valerie Koehler, is a lovely oasis of a store, a secret garden of books nestled in the teeming metropolis of Houston, Texas. They've offered me so much support over the years that when I learned (in Shelf Awareness) of their nationwide book drive to restore the libraries of several Hurricane Ike-ravaged schools, I really had to jump at the chance to help.

The folks at Blue Willow hope to collect more than 1,000 books by December 1st to help rebuild the libraries of Anahuac High School, Alief Hastings 9th Grade Center and Brazosport Intermediate School. These schools lost more than 75% of their collections.

I know that, like I am, you're all book lovers. And for most of us that love affair started in school. So, help me see to it that these libraries get their collections restored and that the students have all the books they need (and more).

I'll just say one more thing -- these days money is tight and there are so many in need. But, I always feel like literacy and education are wonderful places to focus effort, because books change lives and open doors. Educated people with nourished imaginations make better world citizens, who in turn make the world a better place. I'd hate to think a child didn't read just because he or she didn't have free and ready access to the world of story.

It is so easy to help Blue Willow reach their goal. To find out how, visit the store's Ike Relief Page

What I'm reading:
BLACK FLIES by Shannon Burke

Favorite Book for Ocean:
BIG WORDS FOR LITTLE PEOPLE by Jamie Lee Curtis and Laura Cornell

My other favorite independent in Houston (among many wonderful bookstores):
Murder By The Book

I’ve said on an earlier post and in several interviews that I could not have written BLACK OUT if it weren’t for my daughter. Motherhood changed me, naturally. How could it not? It changed my view of the world, and so it changed my writing. It also made me more paranoid than ever before – which is saying something. Maybe paranoid isn’t the correct word; it’s more like a greater awareness of the dark side, a more attuned desire to defend and protect. BLACK OUT came partially from this place, without my realizing it.

Conversely, being a mother has also opened a kind of fearless place within me. I have this awareness that there is literally nothing I wouldn’t bear or face to provide for or protect my daughter. I am motivated to change things both within and outside myself for my girl, which otherwise I might have just endured. Again, this is a theme that runs through the novel. Certainly, none of this is conscious or designed and it can only be observed after the book has been put to bed, so to speak. (Much like, these days, novels are better written after my daughter has been put to bed!)

There are other changes, too, of course. For example, today I was heading into my office to work – which involves my making a big show of leaving the house, then sneaking back into my office through another door. When I went to give her a kiss, Ocean said, “Mommy, sing a song.” She handed me a little book with the lyrics to “Working on the Railroad.” I have a terrible singing voice, though like most tone-deaf people I love to sing. These days I sing often and loudly – made up songs about the potty and animals, all manner of kid’s songs like Wheels On the Bus and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. There’s actually someone in the world who, finally, wants to hear me sing. I never refuse her.

Other changes: I finally have a running partner who is exactly my speed. As much as I exercise, I am still a slow, clumsy runner. My daughter, on the other hand, is a lean fast little sprinter, but her legs are, like, twelve inches long. We make a great team, even if one of us is frequently distracted and veers off into the water, or stops to put shells in her mouth. Luckily, O is always very patient with me.

The biggest change of all: Ocean forces me to stay in the moment, something that is too rare these days. We are all so easily distracted with our little beeping, ringing, picture taking machines, rarely seeing what’s around us. We’re always checking email, surfing the web, filling any blank space with noise and sounds and images. A child requires that you spend a lot of time on the floor – reading, coloring, drawing, playing with blocks, singing, making up games and stories, spinning quarters, making funny noises through the cardboard paper towel roll. Whenever I find myself thinking of what else I should be doing, I remember that I have her like this for five minutes, that every day she is someone new. And so I breathe and stay present with her, remember to be grateful that what I do for a living allows me to be with her most of the time, and that the time with her makes me better at what I do.

Favorite book for Ocean:
PIGEON FINDS A HOT DOG by Mo Willems

What I’m reading:
WHITE NOISE by Don Delillo

What I’m listening to as I write this:
DEEP FOREST

I’ve been getting emails about Patry Francis, author of The Liar’s Diary, regarding the release of her extraordinary novel and how illness will keep her from promoting it. I don’t know Patry and I haven’t yet had the opportunity to read her book, but I felt compelled, after reading her blog, to say a few words. (Okay, more than a few. You know me, I do go on.)

The publishing business, though steeped in romance, is as competitive and harsh as any other. It’s very difficult to get a novel published, and once you have, it’s even more difficult to succeed. What differentiates the publishing business from say, the toothpaste business, is love. It’s not just about selling more toothpaste. (Not that there aren’t people out there who feel very passionately about toothpaste.) Most of us -- writers and editors, publishers, and agents -- are doing what we love, making our living with a passion, zeal, and drive. Most of us would be doing it for nothing.

That’s why when some of my fellow writers learned about Patry’s situation, they decided to blog about it, to help her support the book, the dream, that she wouldn’t be well enough to promote. Because it’s not just about writing and loving our own novels, it’s about loving the great work of our contemporaries and supporting each other in what otherwise is a very solitary profession. It’s about being readers and fans of each other.

I haven’t met Patry but I know what it takes to write a novel, to get it out there in the world. I know what a thrill it was to be signed on by an agent, accepted by a top publisher and to know that a dream was about to come true. I don’t, however, know what it is like then to be diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, or to be subjected to a treatment that, for a time, is debilitating. But I can imagine that she must have felt like she visited both ends of the spectrum of what this crazy life has to offer – the big thrills, the terrible blows – was a bit dizzy from the ride. She has been generous enough to blog about it. It’s a gift to travel with her, to hear her thoughts and insights, to share and understand her journey even in a small way. I hope you’ll visit her at www.patryfrancis.com and (here’s me NOT being subtle) buy a copy of her book for yourself, for someone you know who loves thrillers, or just because you want to remind a talented writer that it’s not just authors who want to support each other and make the business feel a little bit more like a family and a community; as the biggest, and arguably the most important element of the business, readers want that, too.

Cheers, Patsy! Wishing you health, bliss and every success ahead!

Ocean Rae … a delicious, juicy strawberry of a child, a Tasmanian devil, a tumble of kisses and hugs, my own tiny hurricane. I worship her, dream about her, can’t remember who I was before she arrived. It has been nearly eighteen months since our daughter was born and to say nothing has ever been the same is to wildly understate the matter. She has enriched my life, my writing, expanded my heart, deepened my capacity for patience, tenderness, fear, panic, love. I am a better person as her mother, a better writer (though not necessarily a better cook or gym member) … and very, very tired most of the time.

I had O just five months before the publication of BEAUTIFUL LIES (Shaye Areheart Books). So, naturally, I took my infant daughter, my husband Jeffrey (and occasionally my mother) on a ten-city book tour. And then I did it again a year later for SLIVER OF TRUTH. (The TRUTH is I barely survived this but in retrospect it was pretty great, crazy, maddening, wonderful – like all intense experiences that don’t involve medical treatment or memorial services.) My daughter has been breastfed in over 100 Barnes & Noble parking lots across the country, in the back rooms of fabulous independent stores such as Mysteries To Die For in Los Angeles and Stacey's in San Francisco, in my editor’s office at Random House, and at a bratwurst stand at the Frankfurt Book Fair. She has been on thirty flights, has her own passport, and thinks groups of people regularly gather at bookstores to see her. Ah, the writer’s life.

I had hoped to blog about some of these experiences while I was on the road -- but any mom out there knows how naive I was to imagine a spare five minutes to accomplish this. Then last year I was asked to contribute to an anthology called BLINDSIDED BY A DIAPER: Over 30 Men and Women Reveal How Parenthood Changes a Relationship, (Three Rivers Press; Coming June 19, 2007) edited by the wonderful and talented Dana Bradford Hilmer. I am thrilled and honored be included in what has turned out to be just a beautiful, poignant, funny, moving collection of essays by wonderful writers including Susan Cheever, Leah Stewart, Nicholas Weinstock and so many more. I loved sharing a slice of my experience in the fray of trying to be a mother, a wife and a writer. My essay, entitled Enemy at the Baby Gate, focusing mainly on my relationship with my husband, was a joy and a pleasure to write.

Click HERE for more information on BLINDSIDED BY A DIAPER … whether you’re a writer, reader, or parent, you won’t want to miss it. You can pre-order now or find it at your local or online bookseller on June 19th!

Late last year I was asked to write a piece for The Sun-Herald in Victoria, Australia about the books that have changed me. I have loved so many types of books since I was a child that I found this very difficult – as though I’d been asked to say which people in my life I’d loved the best. I wouldn’t want anyone to be hurt that they’d been left out.

I also felt a little bit of pressure, as though my choices had to be especially highbrow because that’s what one might expect from an author. But I’m an omnivore. And my tastes have always been eclectic … I have loved mysteries, thrillers, science fiction, horror and the classics. I don’t discriminate. Great fiction is great fiction … it moves and transports, opens doors to the imagination, illuminates. Reading, like life, is an emotional experience. When we start attaching labels and then judging based on those labels, we rob ourselves of experience, beauty and enjoyment.

In the end I wound up choosing some of the books that influenced the course of my life in some way, either as a writer, a reader, or just a person trying to make sense of the world around her. It is a terribly incomplete list. And though I have loved all of these books, there are so many more that I have loved equal passion.

Here’s what I wrote …

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

I read Rebecca when I was a teenager and was swept away by the powerful voice, the gut wrenching suspense and the dark, twisted love story at its center. I was hooked, transported into the narrator’s gothic world, could visualize each room of the house, and see the awful Mrs. Danvers lurking in dim hallways of Manderley. There was something gripping about a very ordinary girl being drawn into a nightmare (a theme I find again and again in my own work.) I’ve been addicted to thrillers ever since.

The World According to Garp by John Irving

The people that populate Irving’s literary universe live and breathe. They are deeply flawed; they are silly and strange. They make terrible mistakes, atone, and move forward. In other words, they’re human. T.S. Garp is as real to me as anyone I’ve known. This book changed the way I think about character -- I never again saw them as people a writer imagines but as people a writer meets on her literary journey.

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

A friend of mine said that after she read Atlas Shrugged, she never wrote another word. She felt if she couldn’t write anything as grand, she might as well not write at all. I, on the other hand, have been inspired by this book again and again. I am awed by its scope, its depth, its characters who are not mere mortals but titans. This brilliant, sweeping masterpiece is a blend of mystery and philosophy, magnificent prose and perfect plotting. Whenever I open this book, I’m moved to write.

Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser

I read a lot of non-fiction lately… for research and just to learn as much as I can about the world. Fast Food Nation is muckraking at its finest. I’ve never been a huge fan of fast food, but Fast Food Nation convinced me never to spend another dollar of my money on an industry that is guilty of crimes against its workers, the environment, agriculture, and the health of billions … and it opened my eyes to the way some businesses are using and abusing the world for profit.

The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz

I never saw anything the same way after I read The Four Agreements. It changed my attitudes, many of my relationships – including the one I have with myself -- and the way I move about the world. It’s amazing how four simple ideas can transform a life; that’s the power of the word. I still open this book whenever I struggle in my life, in my work or just in my own mind. A tiny book … gigantic wisdom.

***

I did neglect one book in the piece I wrote for The Sun-Herald – I don’t even know why; it must be like a kind of amnesia because this is by far one of the most important books in my life:

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

An Australian reporter asked me to pick my favorite author and I couldn’t do it. He put me on the spot and I must admit I choked. I couldn’t imagine choosing between the brilliant people who have moved and inspired me. I declined to answer. Later, I realized that the answer was clear. I love every word written by Truman Capote. I am moved again and again by the beauty of his prose, the poignancy of his sad characters, the gauzy magical quality of his stories.

In Cold Blood is the first work of its kind -- a true crime book that reads like fiction. It is a searing and disturbing account of a terrible murder and the twisted men who carried it out. It’s an absolutely engrossing, gorgeously written book, combining the unflinching account of the brutal murder of a Kansas family with a psychological profile of their killers.

I have always been attracted to the darkness, the shadow (listen to my podcasts for more on this) – not in a voyeuristic way, but with an ardent desire to understand what lives there and why. In Cold Blood explores the ugliness and horror of human nature with an odd lack of judgment, without any sensational quality at all. Writers write for the same reason that readers read -- to explore, to understand, to know something they didn’t know before. Truman Capote examined his subject with a ruthless curiosity; I could almost feel his fever. In the strangest way, this book gave me permission to follow my ache to understand, to explore the things that fascinate me. It gave me permission to write about the kind of things I wanted to write about. I’ve toyed with other types of writing now and again, but I always come back to dark side.

For more information on the Australian editions of BEAUTIFUL LIES and SLIVER OF TRUTH visit the Random House Australia website.