I've recently done two author interviews, which  both asked about my current writing project.  In each case I managed a three sentence response that included some plot and some theme and an accelerated heart rate.  I get nervous telling strangers what I'm working on.  Or anyone besides my writing group and boyfriend.  The novel is giving me the jitters.  A year ago I was fine telling people the title, now I have to get around a jolt of paranoia before I speak the words.  I think this is a case of writing impatience.  These novels be taking a lot of time to write.  I want to be writing everyday, but I have a full-time job and usually only eek out a couple half days of writing a week.  This will not do.  Also, I've been working on the new novel- no titles here- for over three years.  I've been referring to the draft I'm working on as a second draft.  But I recently had a paradigm shift that its actually the third and fourth draft.  Without boring you with the details, I can attest that the math works out.  So, if this is the 3rd and 4th draft underway, when I get to the end, again, it seems reasonable to show it to my agent.  I'm starting to brighten up.

Which leads us to Ganesh.  Yes, the new novel deals with a Hindu deity or two and Buddhism gets a lot of page time.  But, novel aside, I've come to receive comfort from many a Eastern tradition and from the mere sight of Ganesh.  I've been surrounded by Ganesh my whole life, starting with a red, wooden elephant on wheels, with a string, that I pulled behind me for years as a toddler.  I have many elephants, and although not all elephants are Ganesh...they are.  My new novel also contains a tribute to my grandma who died in 2001, but remains with me each day, intensified by her appearing as a character in this novel.  I'm quite certain my grandmother never heard of Ganesh.  When I moved back to New York at the age of twenty-three, I brought one or two elephants with me that had always been with me.  I immediately noticed something.  My 83 year-old grandmother's apartment on the Lower East Side was full of elephants.  Her collection now lives with mine- quite a stampede.

The Remover of Obstacles and Lord of Beginnings does help me fight the writing impatience and on some days, like today, he also trumpets- "Get on with it!"  

     

In recent weeks I've been on a very successful hunt.  Since taking a book promotion class on-line a few months ago, I've had the thought in the back of my mind that I need to tap into the blogosphere.  My first step was in March- with starting this blog.  Which I will say, was done hesitantly.  It took a bit of convincing for me to think I could make use of- and enjoy!- having an author website and blogging.  This is somewhat about being shy, and more so about timidly taking on a writer's identity.  But I have found so much joy in embracing my identity as a writer and in building a stronger writing life in the last two years as The Sign for Drowning left my own computer.  It's been all pleasure-- except for the writing days that have been terrible.

 

So, a few weeks ago I discovered an amazing collection of on-line groups- which contain hundreds of members all of whom blog about books, do book reviews, or are authors, and all avid readers.  I've been crawling through the members and their blogs ever since and have found no shortage of totally interesting, entertaining, fun, and like-minded writers/bloggers/readers/people. 

One of the best relationships I've made so far is with Sheila DeChantal.  She has a chock-full blog that dazzles the eye and is hard to leave once you're perusing.  She was so gracious as to interview me, review my book (upcoming) and give away two signed copies of my paperback in one her giveaway contests.  On top of all that- she takes care of business lickety-split.  The other great find was Book Club Queen.  Desiree at Book Club Queen reviews books and makes recommendations for book clubs.  She's astute in her reviewing, and made me think about my writing style anew.  Thanks to both of them!  

 

There is a pun in this blog entry title.  Coincidentally, when my parents took us as small children to England, my sister and I saw a streaker on the street in London and were inspired to streak in the halls of our hotel that night.  But here I am referring to a reading streak.

I recently went on a furious McEwan streak.  Last year, I enjoyed the great fortune of Bret Lott comparing my novel to The Child in Time by Ian McEwan.  When I first saw his blurb I was dismayed- embarrassed really.  I asked my publisher if it was allowed!  It was.  My British friend, Alan, calls me the American McEwan- very sarcastically.  Anyway- it was very kind of Lott- and I hadn't read the book.  I'd read Atonement, Amsterdam and Enduring Love and loved them all, but I hadn't actually heard of the much earlier- A Child in Time.  I ran out and read it and loved it as well and I admit- I could see how McEwan had grown.  This summer, I decided to finish off McEwan.  I began with The Cement Garden- a very slim and distubing novel- and excellent.  And then Saturday and On Chesil Beach.  Saturday is self-referential and drops a line about The Child in Time.  Which felt like McEwan was winking at me personally.  On Chesil Beach utterly surprised me when I assumed I knew what takes place in a post-nuptial hotel room.  McEwan is a master craftsman.

I hopped over to Ireland, like a Brit on holiday.  A lot of years ago I read Roddy Doyle's, The Woman Who Walked Into Doors.  I thought he was little known and that I'd discovered a gem.  I kept my copy, but didn't need to.  The book was totally unforgettable for me, but I failed to keep reading Doyle.  A week ago I read Paula Spencer, the woman (who walked into doors) and the sequel.  Even though perhaps a decade has passed, the first book leapt up in my mind and I couldn't get enough of seeing what happened to Paula and her children.  I feel I could read a serial a day about the family for the rest of my life. 

But one thing got me.  The Irish critics on the back of the book said the book was hysterical, so much fun, a great laugh.  Now, I'm not Irish but I thought myself capable of catching tone.  This book about a physically abused alcoholic woman and her alcoholic child wasn't "so much fun."  Maybe in retrospect it had a lot of humor.  

But who could say, when two nights ago I finished The Snapper- and was laughing out loud all the way through.

As everybody already knows, Roddy Doyle can friggin write.

Last night I sat in my car for twenty minutes and listened to Frank McCourt on NPR taped in 2005.  He re-framed the memoir with Angela's Ashes, giving it the credibility and linguistic beauty of any prose, and raising the bar for all memoirists I think.  And he's more than lovely to listen to on the air as well, as his many NYC students could attest.  As Roddy Doyle would say, he's grand.

I don't think I'll be leaving the United Kingdom just yet.     

I know who I would give Albany to.  This got me thinking about what writers I felt had earned a city.  There are writers who just come to mind when you think of a particular city.  This might in some cases be where they are from, but just as often- it's a place they brought to life in their writing.  I think perhaps setting is the most commonly overlooked aspect in writing.  One really can't get away with overlooking character or plot, and most of us pay too much attention to theme.  But it's not often demanded of us to utilize setting to the utmost.  And for that reason, when someone brings setting to life- makes setting a character- readers are excited.  I love being given a place when I read.  And it's often what I take away with me, even when I loved the characters and story; I'm incredibly satisfied to feel I experienced a place deeply, especially if it came in the form of a novel.  But then giving out cities to writers really says more about the person doing the assigning than anything else.  For example, I'd like to give Paris to Hemmingway, Gertrude Stein, James Baldwin and Adam Gopnik.  Ridiculous!  All Americans!  Says something about me and what I've read.  I'd give the whole state of Mississippi to Faulkner over Twain- again just me.  Who would argue to give Sacramento to Joan Didion?  London I've enjoyed through Will Self, McEwan, and Zadie Smith.  All contemporary- sorry Dickens.  My Chicago goes to Saul Bellow.  NYC?  Yikes.  Well I want to give it to Bernanrd Malamud and again James Baldwin- but there's Walt Whitman, Richard Wright, EB White- just too many.  Let's say F. Scott Fitzgerald gets Long Island and Philip Roth gets Newark.

This photo is of a trestle bridge over the Hudson in Albany.  I was there two weeks ago for a work meeting.  Before dinner I walked to the Hudson River Park for the first time.  There can be no question- and I'm serious here- that Albany belongs to William Kennedy.  Having gotten to know Albany through his words, more than the many visits I've made there, I walked this path and gazed at the dark river that night with Kennedy in my ear.  Lucky for me that he captured his city, and by doing so, helped define it.   

  

Books on the Square is a great independent bookstore in Providence.  Carole Finger is the manager, who arranged my reading, and her blind Westin Terrier, Max, is a store mascot.  It was a super relaxed place to give a reading and also to look at books.  My cousins Rob and Faye got out a good crowd for me including Sara, Amy, Peter, Lucy and some attorneys from Rob's firm.  All a lovely audience.  But what really made a lasting impression of the night, for me and the audience I think, was a lovely Dad and son.  I always say when you give a reading there are no strangers in the room.  But this father, who had two deaf sons-twins- had noticed a flier for my reading last week and guessed that the book was about deafness in some way.  He checked it out and decided to come back with his older son for the reading.  He shared some of their personal experience with having deaf sons, their learning to sign and getting cochlear implants and learning to talk, and eventually going to mainstream schools.  He said his sons weren't that into signing right now, but he hoped as they became teens their interest in it would return.  He added something real to the subject, that however educational fiction might be- it just isn't real life.  Thanks for coming everyone!  

In these weeks after the paperback release, I feel I should apply renewed energy to promotion.  There are various ways to do this; some are fun, some aren't.  Travelling for book signings to LA and Providence was the good stuff.  And I really do enjoy doing an author interview, especially when Desiree from Book Club Queen asks such probing questions.  Emailing professors, reviewers, booksellers, etc. crosses the line from fun to duty.  And visiting Barnes and Noble stores throughout NYC is it's own kind of ickiness.  Here's the deal.  If you're book has just come out in paperback- and you're me- five copies will be shelved under literature under S.  Not a prominent place to get discovered.  I'll let you in on a little secret.  B&N staff are kind.  So, I've been wandering into some stores, (ie taking the subway to different neighborhoods on my lunch break) and asking if I can sign their copies of my paperback.  Not only do I get to leave a purple signature in my books, but they get a dark green sticker we've all seen that says, "Signed by the Author."  And most significantly, the staff are then inclined to move the little pile to a "New in Paperback" table.  Certainly worth my time and the now $2.25 to ride the subway.       

I have to admit I feel a little like I conquered the giant.  On June 9th, The Sign for Drowning was released in paperback.  I'm enjoying a second publication season, which included my first time as a featured author at a Barnes and Noble.  The reading was last week at the Encino branch in Los Angeles.  My very first reading for "Sign" was last summer at a public library in LA.  My mom and my sister were both there and many friends of my mom's and high school friends of mine.  Well, I think this B&N reading was a bit of a "you've come a long way baby" moment.  I was not at all insulted when both my mom and sister said- "You're so much better now!"  In the 12 months and half a dozen readings in between, I've learned about introducing the novel for one.  I've learned that a lengthy reading of a sad portion of a literary novel is not what people want on their Sunday evening.  And I've learned that when your mom gets twenty of her closest fans to come hear me read, and when the bookstore managers (Kris and Jeannie) are so kind and generous, I'm bound to have a great time.  Another big boost to this reading was that I'd been invited to a book club while I was in LA, and because time did not permit me joining them, Gail brought her book club to Barnes and Noble.  They were amazing readers and made astute comments and asked meaningful questions.  Thank you for coming!  I'd do it again anytime.       

I am often asked, "How's your book doing?"  Since my book doesn't have feelings, goals, pastimes, vacations, relationships- this question means- how's it selling.  To be fair, I'm often asked- "How's your book selling?" as well.  I usually say, it's doing pretty well, it seems good, or I don't really know.  The last time I asked my publisher how sales were, was last September, three months after it came out.  She laughed.  She said it was WAY too soon to ask.  I think she said WAY WAY too soon.  Naturally, I haven't really asked again.  I have however been told some figures and that they don't mean anything.  And now, I've just received my second royalty statement, which I've decided also doesn't mean anything.  For one thing, no matter how small your advance, and mine was modest, you will not see royalties as a new literary author.  You will see negative royalties against your advance, and if you're cheerful you can rejoice that you are less in debt to your publisher.  A writer could probably write an entire blog on the tug of war of writing and publishing, art and business.  I'll save those loftier thoughts for another entry perhaps.  But, I'll suffice to say that I really like to answer the question- how's the book doing- with- I'm onto the next one.

In closing, I like to have a pic with every entry, but no matter how you photograph a royalty statement- it looks tacky.  

On Mother's Day, I sent my mom an e-card.  Even though it was a monkee card with a chimp that spoke a personal message from me to her, she told me she would more appreciate a "hard copy" next year. 

This blog entry is dedicated to my mom.  When I took an on-line book promotions class a few months ago, the teacher asked us to think of who in our life we could employ as a "Street Team."  This would be people who were already talking to everyone they know about your book, have bought multiple copies to give as gifts, know lots of people, frequent bookstores and libraries and make recommendations to the staff and librarians, and so on.  I thought- would anyone besides my mother- besides a mother- ever be acting this way? 

Since my book was published last June, my mom has done exactly that.  She has mentioned (and written down the title of) my book, to complete strangers at the farmers market, on airplanes, in Trader Joes, at bookstores, everywhere she goes.  She has recommended the book to booksellers from Los Angles to Dublin.  She has given away at least a dozen copies of my book (for some reason to every Rabbi she knows) and now she has done the ultimate.

 The Sign for Drowning deals with issues of Deaf culture and American Sign Language; it is a story about a woman who teaches deaf children and adopts a deaf daughter.  Since its release, I have wished to get a copy to Marlee Matlin- a deaf actor and writer who I really admire.  Recently, my mom attended a reading of Marlee Matlin's in Los Angeles and actually gifted her a copy of my novel.

All of this street team promotion that my mom does for me is all the more generous and sweet because she herself is the author of two books, The Healing Power of Grief and The Healing Power of Love.  Both books are written for widows and widowers and are a huge support and comfort to readers in their loss.  I know my mom never gets around to mentioning her own books to all these lovely and polite strangers.  I guess I should get busy for mom.       

My paperback arrived- a small stack of them from the publisher.  They're on the bookshelf now, a few shelves below my three remaining hardcover copies.  I'm excited, but why?  I've been told, and believe, that the publisher could have withdrawn on the deal to print paperbacks in this economy.  But sales were strong enough to get me my paperback.  That's big.  Because of the paperback, I'll get my first Barnes and Noble reading, in Encino (Los Angeles).  I was raised in LA, and can make my mom proud and see some old dear friends- and read at B&N!  I'll return to Providence too in June for a reading, because of the paperback.  I'm starting to hear a catchy refrain: because of the paperback.  There will be some more reviews, a blog mention or two.  I wish an ad would run, I wish a front table would be mentioned: donor's choose?  I'm proud of the paperback.  I have said at least once in my youth, at a party, drunk, that I wanted to be a paperback writer when I grew up.  I'm proud of myself.