Surprising a Sister After Not Seeing Each Other for Seven Years

 

This is me showing up at my sister's apartment after not seeing each other for almost seven years.

 

To Reject or Not to Reject, That is the Question

In July I wrote a post making a big (for me) announcement that I was sending my manuscript out into the world. I know authors do this every day but it felt scary to tell the world. There was bound to be rejection at the end of that, and then everyone would know. And make their judgement.

I could just not post anything more about this process but I guess since I started it I feel a little obliged to continue, so this is an update.

The first person I sent my manuscript to was my agent who I call my agent tho he's not really my agent but who is the CEO of the agency that represented me for my first book What More Could You Wish For. Did you follow all that?

Anyway, this CEO and literary agent read my manuscript and sent me a very thoughtful email beginning with, "There is a lot to recommend it but it's such a tricky subject that a writer has very little room to maneuver if it doesn't exactly nail it. And my problem is I think this is a great effort, and the writing is good, but it's overplotted and its tone is somehow "off" to be honest."

Is it my ego that made that sound positive to me? I understood, tho, that he doesn't think he can sell it. He kindly spent a lot of time writing several paragraphs with suggestions on how to improve it. Which I so appreciate. The thing is I've worked on this book for so long that I don't think I have the energy for a(nother) rewrite. And (here's my ego again), it's only one opinion. One I trust, but still...

As I continue to send it out and search for representation a dear friend who is a prolific and successful author with more than twenty NY Times best sellers, was generous enough to give me an introduction to his agent. How great is that? He spoke to this agent on my behalf and I’m sure he said glowing things about me, not because I’m so wonderful but because that’s the kind of man my friend is.

I had a very pleasant phone conversation with said agent. We have a mutual admiration and respect for the author so it was nice to have that in common. The agent said my concept is interesting but that he doesn’t represent fiction. Still, he asked me to send him the manuscript and said he would pass it along to his colleagues who handle fiction. 

Such a nice thing.

I sent the manuscript. Here is his reply: "I forwarded The Laundry Room to a couple of agents who handle fiction for [this literary agency]. One of my colleagues will contact you only if they are interested in your work.”

Only if they are interested. Well.

That means I will not even get a rejection. Not even a form letter. Is that a good thing or bad? Rejection letters of any kind can certainly be disheartening, but at least you know where you stand, right? 

Is this is a new trend in an already challenging industry? I know it’s not something they are all practicing yet because I’ve received other rejection letters. Some form letters, a few personal notes (which is a big bonus). For the record, the personal comments I've received have told me basically the same thing that my-agent-who-is-not-really-my-agent told me, that "it's such a tricky subject." Which is curious to me. Doesn't it seem that would make it more attractive? Apparently, tho, in today's world people don't want to make waves or risk alienating a segment of the reading population.

I will continue on this journey and if this doesn't work out I have a Plan B.  I'll reveal that another time.

All that said I would like to ask agents/small presses to please reject me. At least send a form letter. Let me know you read some part of what I sent you. Let me know I exist in your world.

I Have News

I have news. I’ve told a few people this news already but only a few - I’ve been revealing it kind of the way I venture into swimming; walking gingerly into the water, up to my knees maybe, standing there like an old lady for a bit then dipping my butt in, then screaming like a toddler and running out. Because it’s scary; the water’s cold, it’s a shock to my body, I might step in a hole or get stung by a jellyfish or run over by a boat or get my hair wet. 

Do you hate this metaphor?

Now though, with my news, I'm through wading, I'm plunging in. 

Here goes: A couple months ago I sent the manuscript of my new book, The Laundry Room, to my agent and I’m waiting for his response. 

Hmmm…I thought that would generate more angst than it does.

You know this writing business: it’s full of rejection. What if no one likes it? What if they hate the characters? What if they think my writing is pedestrian? What if they think no publisher will want it?

The few people who already know this news have occasionally asked me what’s happening and I’m happy that so far I can report that my agent hasn’t had time to read it yet. So far, then, I haven’t had to admit failure. 

Oh, let's not use that f-word. Let's call it un-success.

But now I’m telling the social media universe because I feel like I’ve lived too long to be ashamed of rejection, if that’s what happens. And maybe it won't. Or maybe it will for a while and then it won't.

Overall, I’m pleased that I finally finished the damn thing; I think it’s well-written and it’s a good story with tension and authentic, relatable characters who grow and change. 

Of course I think that, I wrote it.

Now the manuscript is out there in the world for others to judge. 

I can take it…I’m a big girl now. 

Read the first chapter of The Laundry Room here

Comments welcome.

Life Lessons from Watercolor Painting

I began drawing and painting when I was young. Art was my first love, even before writing (but only by about a year). My parents were mystified that I could do this - neither of them had an artistic bent, nor did my sister. No one knew where it came from. 

In 4th grade Patty Klenk and I were picked to take part in a citywide program where students from various schools would study at the art museum. I was proud to have been chosen, tho I have no memory of the classes.

Painting at the kitchen table as a teenager.

I knew I had some talent, though I could see there were other students more talented: Patty Klenk, for one, and Janice Wilhem, in grammar school, Judy Norris in high school. In 8th grade we sculpted with clay in art class, and Janice Wilhelm created an incredible woman's head that I can see to this day. Everything about it was remarkable; the hair pulled back in a bun, the nostrils, the lips...I don't remember what I created but it was likely a vase. I know it wasn't close to what Janice created.

In high school Judy Norris did an oil painting of a woman in a wheat field that was remarkable. I realize now that Monet was her inspiration, and she did it in a way that dazzled me. I did a vase with flowers. It didn't dazzle me.

I was always better at oils, acrylics and sketching than watercolor because I liked the preciseness of those mediums. But I have always loved the looseness of watercolor, the elusiveness of it. I love that it's the opposite of precise. I've taken some classes over the years but exactly a month ago I developed a (pandemic) passion for learning watercolor. I've taken Zoom classes, I've watched a gazillion YouTube demos, attended live demos online where you paint along with the artist, I've bought hundreds of dollars worth of supplies, I've bored my Facebook friends with some of my paintings. I felt proud of my early efforts because I was conquering something that eluded me for years. But I knew they weren't my best, not if I kept learning. And I was right.

Watercolor has taught me so much, not just about the medium but about life. Here are the lessons I've learned from watercolor painting:

Worth another attempt.

• Patience. I like to start something and finish it in one sitting. You can't do that with watercolor - you have to apply the paint in layers and let it dry in between. 
• Don't take shortcuts. You can speed up the drying with a hairdryer but it can bake the paper and it will change the result. I learned to let it dry on its own.
• What I did today won't be what I see tomorrow. When a painting is thoroughly dry it will look very different from how you left it. I have done some work that I thought I would throw away but the next day it had transformed into something beautiful. Watercolor is like that - it surprises you if you give it time.
• Thoughtfulness. You have to plan your image. You have to decide in what order to add the various values. You have to leave some open spaces and take your time with the rest of it before you add those pieces, so they don't get muddy or contaminate the rest of the color.
• Look at the world. I find myself studying the world around me more than usual, looking for subjects to paint, studying trees and shrubbery, noticing all the varying shades of color in everything we look at, examining how shadows fall and what color they are. And more. I find I do this with photography as well, seeing things through the camera lens and how it will be perceived. Now, I look to see how I can interpret it in watercolor. The world is presented in a new light because I am painting.

• 

  Maybe I will try again, maybe not.

  Once is not enough. When it's not, it's okay to do it again. Sometimes it takes 2 or 3 or more
  attempts to create a painting that reflects what's in my head. I may not like everything in my first attempt , tho as I said earlier it often looks better the next day. If it doesn't match my vision of it I can do it again. And again. I
  kind of like to see the progression of those paintings.
• Be brave. When I start a new painting I mostly sketch it out in pencil first. Sometimes I might go over it again in ink, if ink and watercolor is the technique I'm using. Regardless, when I'm happy with the sketch I often find myself waiting a day or two before beginning to fill it in with watercolor and I realized it's because I'm afraid I'm going to ruin it. But then I sit down and begin. Sometimes I do ruin it, and that's too bad, but often it can be fixed. Or it becomes something I wasn't planning but something I still like.

And my favorite so far,
yet I'm still making another attempt.

So many lessons. Isn't it interesting how applicable these lessons are to writing (to any creative endeavor really) and to life? 

It's unfortunate I didn't develop this passion earlier. Better late than never, right?

Movie Review: Nomadland *****

Nomadland is a quiet, gracefully-told story of Fern (Frances McDormand in what's sure to be an award-winning performance) whose husband has died and the town they lived in for 30 years no longer exists because the major employer folded, (the zip code was actually retired). 

Fern has lost everything. She buys a van, packs up some meager belongings and takes to the road, working various jobs in various places and finding a community of others who live this nomadic lifestyle. These are not people traveling in tricked-out 30 ft. Winebagos, they travel and live in rundown vans or trucks, one woman in a Prius. A Prius! 

Director Chloé Zhao loves to use real people in her movies and this one is no exception. A number of the nomads play themselves but you would not know they're not professional actors. What a wonderful cast it is. 

Because of that, and because of McDormand's subtle, authentic performance (also David Straithairn's), the film has a wonderful documentary feel to it. You get to know these people and their motivation for this lifestyle, and gave me a glimmer of understanding for a lifestyle I have no comprehension of. 

It's a film with much empathy and respect, a beautiful piece of work.

5 out of 5 stars for Nomadland.

Hoping for an Oscar Upset

I'm hoping for two Oscar upsets tonight, one in the Best Actor category and one for Best Picture.
First, I'm hoping for Adam Driver to win Best Actor because his performance in Marriage Story is so raw and powerful and authentic. It's so real it feels as though we're watching a documentary.
Joaquin Phoenix, they say, is a shoe-in, and his performance in Joker is excellently creepy, something he does better than anyone, but it's not as good as Adam Driver's performance, in my humble opinion.
Scarlett Johannson, by the way, is also really good in Marriage Story, but her performance feels more uneven to me.
Now here's the strange part: I saw Marriage Story when it was first released in November and was in theaters for about 10 minutes, and when I told people about it later I said that Adam Driver was phenomenal but the movie was long and boring, just two people talking. I was definitely a thumbs down. But it haunted me and for some reason I thought I'd like it more on a second viewing. So I watched it on Netflix. It was amazing. Yes, it's long, yes it's two people talking (actually a few more than two - I also love Laura Dern's performance and Azhy Robertson's as the child of this failing marriage), but it's a gorgeously-written story. I love how it begins, and how it circles back to that in the end, I love how real it feels, I love how we get to see each character's perspective and how you go back and forth in your sympathies. I love how it ends...
How did I miss all this the first time? Who knows; sometimes it's your mood, sometimes it's who you're with, what's going on that day...whatever.
I'm glad I watched it again and I encourage you to as well.
It's not likely to win tonight, not in either category, but my fingers are crossed.

The Hole My Father Left

Today, January 31, 2020, I'm remembering my dad who I lost 20 years ago. He left a big hole in my life, one that will never be filled but one I've learned to live with. Into that hole I've put his smile and his pride in me, along with his kindness, generosity and honor, his corny sense of humor, all his bowling trophies (whew! those are heavy!), his warmth and love of family. I put his wisdom in there, and his advice, even the advice I poo-poo'd and ignored. What's taking up the most room in that hole, though, is his unconditional love.

  

Traveling Solo, inspired by Ann Garvin

My post is inspired by this one from Ann Garvin:

A Quick Question. I Need Some Tips. 

Quick question. Who here has gone on vacation entirely alone? No conference or professional meeting to take up your time, no friend waiting at the airport to whisk you off for a chat. Alone. Alone. I’m asking about solo traveling. Sacajawea without the hangers-on, Lewis and Clarke. Amelia Earhart without the scary flying goals. Just you with your kit-bag and a smile. I'm asking because I need tips. READ THE REST OF ANN'S POST

Here you go, Annie, here's why you should embrace solo traveling:

I travel solo all the time. Well, not ALL THE TIME because really…I do have some friends. We never wear matching T-shirts, though, and don’t even ask me to do that (you'll have to read Ann's post to see what that's about). 

When I'm telling someone about one of my trips and they ask, "Who did you go with?", I say, "I went alone," and they say, "Like, on a tour?" and I say, "No, just me, with myself, unattached, unescorted." They just don't know how to respond to that.  

Sometimes I do go on tours. The problem with tours is there are other people on them. That's not always a bad thing, it's just that there's so much pressure to be sociable. If you're a single woman traveling solo, other people, especially women traveling in twos or threes, are anxious to include you. They think you probably want that, that being with people is everyone's preference. Most folks don't get the concept of actually liking to be by yourself.

When people hear that I travel solo they call me courageous, fearless, defiant, adventurous. It's none of those things, it's fantastic! Here are some reasons why: 

• You meet people you would never meet when traveling with another person. I was in
  
  Frankfurt once, heading to a bike tour (yes, a tour) in Switzerland. I spent a couple days in Frankfurt, alone. I went to lunch one day and was seated at a table outside, by myself. I ordered my food and then, as often happens in Europe, the hostess brought someone to sit at my table. We acknowledged each other briefly and then went about our business. Later, when he heard me speaking English to the waitress, he struck up a conversation and after lunch he took me on a tour of his city. That's all, really, just a tour. It was great.
• In her post Ann says she felt obvious. Maybe I felt that way, too, in the beginning, but soon you stop noticing if people are looking at you. Or maybe you still notice, you just don't care. Maybe you smile at them. Maybe you don't. It feels so normal to me now. Perhaps people feel sad when they see me alone in a restaurant or a museum or a movie theater but I would have to say, save your feelings for the state of our country or world hunger, because I am happy as a clam. 
• You never have to force conversation with someone boring and self-centered. Unless you want to.
• If you go to a play or a concert and you don't like it you can just leave. You don't have to wait for the intermission to say, "What do you think?" and have someone else say, "I don't know. What do you think?" Or if you both agree it's not the best thing you've ever seen then you have to negotiate whether or not to leave: "I don't know, maybe the second act will be better." "I don't know, it got four stars, there has to be something good about it," and on and on. Traveling alone? Just get up and go. Yay!
• If you go to a museum and you get bored you can cut your visit short without feeling guilty. And you won't have to wait, tapping your foot, while your companion admires glass case after glass case of Chinese pottery or ancient Greek masks.
• You can get everything in a carry-on no matter how long you're gone because you can take one outfit and wear it every day. Who will know?
• If you waste an entire day sleeping or watching movies in your hotel room rather than going to visit the approximately 1000 things to do in this wonderful city, no one will nag you to get the hell up and get dressed. 
• No one will be snoring in the bed next to you.
• Best of all, you don't have to wear matching T-shirts with your travel companion(s). Ann.

The First Deep Breath - Theatre Review ***

The First Deep Breath, the world premiere at Victory Gardens Theatre, is an ambitious work with a whole host of messages. So many, in fact, that it takes 3 hours and 45 minutes to impart them. Way, way, way too long.

Playwright Lee Edward Colston II says his play is in the style of August Wilson, Eugene O'Neill and Tracy Letts. Mighty heady company to keep. By, "in the style," he must be saying that the theme of this play is a dysfunctional family (is there any other kind?), and that's fair, but the writing is not exactly in that style. Maybe Colston's work will, some day, be on par with those writers but he will need to learn to dial it back a bit, and trust his audience as those playwrights do.

The First Deep Breath is about a black family in Philadelphia, apparently well-off judging by their home which appears to be large, with many levels and elegant furniture, yet they lament money troubles and speak ghetto (with poetic interludes), which doesn't feel authentic to their situation. It feels as if the set designer did not read the script or speak to the playwright or the director. Are they ghetto? Are they upper middle class? To my mind they are not both. 

There is grief and betrayal, dishonesty, motherhood out of wedlock, a prison conviction, hidden sexuality, deceit, Alzheimer's, forgiveness, punishment, mistreatment, resentment...I'm not finished, there's more, something for everyone and then some, but I'll stop here. 

It was engaging enough to sit through the first two acts (there were two intermissions which gave me the opportunity to skip out, but I stayed). The performances were wonderful and the characters were ones I wanted to learn more about and who I became invested in. But then there's the third act. I wish the playwright had quit while he was ahead. Or that I had, and left at that second intermission. The final act builds and builds and builds to a crescendo of craziness that stretches credulity.

Mr. Colston would do well to study August Wilson, Eugene O'Neill and Tracy Letts a little further if he wants to compare his work to theirs.

Three out of five stars for The First Deep Breath.

Can 257,901 People Be Wrong?

Last time I checked 257,901 people on GoodReads had given Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens 5 stars. Can all those people be wrong? That would be crazy, right? 
So let's not use the word 'wrong.' But really, I am completely baffled.
In the beginning I was engaged and thought the writing was lovely. And then as the pages wore on it seemed the author became more interested in finding new ways to describe things than in telling the story, and so it went on and on with pages of tedious description, quotes from nature books, poetry, etc.
I am a writer. I'm not well-known, I don't have a NY Times best seller, but I am published. I write and read and study writing continuously. So when I read there's a little critique going on in my head. When something annoys me or pulls me out of the story I highlight it so I know not to do that in my own work.
Here are things I highlighted in this book (they became more frequent as I continued on and by the end I was skipping large passages):
1. The book is written in the point of view of Kya but every once in a while it switches POV, out of the blue, to explain something.
2. Then, about 1/4 of the way in there is even an omniscient narrator (another POV) who tells the story of Kya's parents. Annoying.
3. Another POV switch to explain why Tate never came back. Again, jarring, pulling me out of the story. It could be explained later when he returns.
4. Then, it all of a sudden changes to present tense, when all along (and through the rest of the book) it is past tense.

                                                    WHERE IS HER EDITOR, FOR GOD'S SAKE?

5. There are long passages from the nature articles Kya pours over, because even though she did not learn to read until she was a teenager, she suddenly is reading scientific materials. I am not interested in those passages, and they don't move the story along.
6. She goes to the library to request those scientific books (let me just say her sudden knowledge is a huge credibility stretch) and the librarian offers to get them for her. How do you get a library card if you live in a marsh and have no i.d. and no address?
7. Then, guess what? She writes a nature book and gets it published. Talk about a suspension of disbelief. And then at some point she gets a check for $5000 from her publisher. She could not receive a check from a publisher without having a completed W9 which would require a social security number. She continues to get substantial checks, so let's just say that COULD happen - how would she cash them? She has no bank account.
8. When she fixes up her shack (which she's lived in her whole life without toilet facilities or heat or running water or a place to plug in her blow-dryer) and puts in running water and electricity, did she get permits? Does her contractor just come in and jury-rig all the utilities?
9. She orders stuff from the Sears catalog. With what?
I could go on...
The last 1/4 of the book is tedious and repetitive with much unnecessary description. And then I kept thinking I'd reached the end and I'd be so relieved, and then I'd turn the page and it would just continue on.
The trial scene, in particular, could be cut entirely. There's nothing new or revelatory there. It's predictable and mind-numbing.
Ok, I'm done.
Books are subjective, we all know that. But I can't believe 257,901 people could be so wrong.

Writing Tip: Writing Doesn't Have to be Lonely

I read post after post about how difficult writing is; how lonely, how stressful, how agonizing, how no one really likes doing it.
Here are just a couple:

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

“If writing seems hard, it’s because it is hard. It’s one of the hardest things people do.” ~ William Zinsser
“I really hate to write. I get no fun out of it because I can’t get up and say I’m working, close my door, have coffee brought to me, and sit there camping like a ‘man of letters’” – Jack Kerouac

Oh, pish posh! Then quit it if you hate it so much.
Is writing a novel easy? Of course not. If it was, everyone would be doing it. But what in life (that is worthwhile) is easy? Quit whining.
If you don't like how solitary writing is, find a critique group or a class or a writing partner. Not that they will sit with you while you're creating, but you have your characters for company when you're writing...be engaged with them; they're fabulous! If they're not, change them, find new ones, learn more about them, have a relationship with them.
And when you need real people around, it's simple...turn to your writing community. It is vast; it's real-life or virtual, it's one person or five or ten, it's in every bookstore and on every website, it's at a writers conference. If you need people they are out there and the writing community is an amazingly supportive one. Just look around.
So now, it's time to get back to your writing, and enjoy it.

Movie Review: Widows *

Movie Review: Widows

Dear Officer Aaron Huizenga

Dear Officer Aaron Huizenga,
Thank god you saved the streets of New Buffalo, MI last night from the threat of a 69-year-old woman from Chicago, driving a rental car with Arkansas plates, who had a glass of wine with dinner. I hope you feel good about yourself.
My friend Kathleen and I rented a car this weekend to drive to New Buffalo to see Chicago, the band (our 4th time seeing them in concert - we're aging groupies), at The Four Winds Casino (which has a nice theatre venue but is a disgusting place where gamblers are allowed to smoke indoors). But I digress.
After checking in to our hotel we had a really nice dinner at the Bentwood Tavern. We each had a cocktail before dinner, and then a glass of wine, and Kath asked if I wanted to share another glass of wine but I said no, I better not, I'm driving.
So then we head to the casino for our meet and greet with the band because we had front row, VIP seats for the concert which included a photo op (very cool, and fun). The casino is less than 4 miles from the restaurant and I'm driving along, in the right lane, looking for the turnoff when I see a police car with flashing lights in my rearview mirror. At first I don't think it's for me because I'm not speeding, but after a minute it's still there so I pull over. An officer comes up and I roll down the back window because it's a rental car and the controls are new to me, but then I roll down the driver's window and he asks for my license and registration. I tell him it's a rental car and ask why he stopped me. He says he ran the plate and it came back unregistered, or something like that, whatever that means. "Well, it's a rental," I say. "It's not mine." He does not say I was speeding, or I ran a stop sign or anything like that. I can only guess he ran those plates because I was in Michigan and the plates were from Arkansas.
He asks what we're doing in New Buffalo and we tell him. "Did you drive here directly from Chicago?" "No," I say, "we checked in to our hotel and had dinner." He asks if we had any liquor at dinner. I say yes, a glass of wine. Note: Okay, I don't mention the scotch, but later, when he's harassing me, I fess up.
He takes my license and goes back to his car and he's gone for a long time and Kathleen and I are looking at each other, not worried, but totally confused, wondering what's going on. Finally he comes back and asks me to get out of the car and for the next 20-30 minutes he scares the shit out of me, having me walk the white line, wanting me to balance on one foot, telling me do a finger coordination exercise, all of which I did.      
Meanwhile, Kathleen doesn't know what's going on or why it's taking so long, so she tries to find out but each time she opens her door he yells at her to shut the door and stay in the car.
So now I'm getting scared. I ask why he's doing this. He says he smelled alcohol when I opened the window. Liar. He also says because I rolled down the back window instead of the front when he came up to the car. "It's a rental car," I say. No matter. That must be the mark of a hardened criminal in New Buffalo, MI.
Then he wants me to take a breathalyzer, says it's Michigan law. I think that's bullshit too, but what do I know?
What would that show? I had a scotch and a glass of wine over the course of a couple of hours, what would my blood level be? I have no idea. I don't even know what the numbers are. I didn't feel drunk, I didn't even feel buzzed, but what would a breathalyzer show? I was terrified.
He says I can refuse to do it. "Is that what you want to do?" he asks. I ask what would happen then and he says, "This is where we are right now, ma'am. Are you telling me you want to refuse?"
I say no, I want to know what happens if I take it and what happens if I don't. He won't tell me.
Finally, another officer comes up, a woman, I don't know where she came from. She doesn't seem particularly sympathetic but she sees the state I'm in (because by now I'm crying) and she explains what would happen, which frankly I don't even remember and am not sure it even sunk in at the time, but I agree to take the breathalyzer and pass it and he tells me to get back in my car and he will bring me my license. More time goes by. He finally brings my license back and says I'm free to go.
What the fuck was that? Did he have a quota? Did he want to be the first guy on the block to arrest an old white woman for driving to a Chicago concert?
All I can say is thank god I'm not black - who knows what would have happened?
And to the New Buffalo Police Department, and to Officer Huizenga in particular, if you really want to save the streets of New Buffalo you could just go sit outside the casino when all those drinking, smoking gamblers get in their cars - you're sure to reach your quota then. And then some.
On a happy note, the concert was fantastic.
And you'll be happy to know that New Buffalo is a safe place now because you will never see me there again.

Movie Review: Bohemian Rhapsody ****

Don't read the critics' reviews of Bohemian Rhapdody. Listen to mine, and then go see it.

Movie Review: Bohemian Rhapsody

A Small World Story

Before my novel What More Could You Wish For was picked up by St. Martin's Press, I self-published the book under the title Mr. Right Enough. On the cover of that book, published in 2010, was a house, because a house figures prominently in the story.

Cover design by Miggs Burroughs

I traveled through various Chicago neighborhoods looking for the perfect house for that cover and found it on Michigan Ave. in Evanston, a beautiful house with a welcoming porch.
After I published, I sent a copy of the book to the people who lived there (I hadn't asked permission to take the picture) and got a lovely letter back, saying they were proud to have their house on my cover and that I'd made it look beautiful.

Here's the small world part:
I recently saw a film at the Chicago International Film Festival titled An Acceptable Loss. When I got my ticket I didn't realize the filmmakers were Chicagoans and that it was entirely shot here. In an early scene the main character, Libby (coincidentally the name of my title character!) is going for a run (my Libby is also a runner!) and as she exits her house I was struck dumb...there was MY HOUSE! The one on the cover of my book! It freaked me out. I thought it couldn't be, but there are several more shots of it and by then I was sure.
During the Q&A with the producer after the film she said both she and the director live in Evanston and I thought, wouldn't it be amazing if one of them lived in that house? So I talked to her afterward and neither she nor the director live there but she did confirm it's on Michigan Ave. in Evanston.
I wonder how the people who own that house are handling all their fame.

For the record, I am so grateful that St. Martin's Press published my book. But I think it would have sold better if they'd done something similar to my original cover, instead of putting a cupcake on there. Not only is there no cupcake in the book at all, but now it looks like a young adult novel, instead of a coming-of-middle-age story of a woman at a crossroad in her life.
My very favorite cover, however, is the one the German publisher created for the translation. Germans. Who aren't known for their sense of humor. That cover is brilliant.
Which one's your favorite?

Guilty as Charged

I grew up loving Bill Cosby. I watched him team up with Robert Culp in I Spy in the 60s, the first black actor in a dramatic role on TV. It gave us, white people as well as black, a model for equality, an uncommon view of the world back then.
I saw him do stand-up comedy on stage in the 70s, and then as the warm, wonderful, funny Cliff Huxtable, in the 80s.
Bill Cosby was someone I admired. He was charismatic and charming. He was ground-breaking, a role model.
I didn't want to believe he could be guilty of the things he was accused of, and maybe when the first woman accused him I could casually disbelieve it; I couldn't get my mind around this kind of duplicity. One woman might lie, for whatever reason; revenge, retaliation, jealousy. Two women might even lie, though that begins to stretch deniability. But 60?
I think we always want to believe people are good. It's hard to fathom that someone can present such a lovable face to the world and that it can be such a a bold-faced lie. We all have different facets to our personalities, but can they be so vastly opposed without some kind of mental instability? I'm not looking to excuse him, but there has to be mental illness there, to think what he was doing was not wrong.
He hasn't shown a shred of responsibility or remorse; he's only shown arrogance. I wonder how that will play in prison as he begins his 3-10 year sentence. Which is not long enough.

Dear Donald Trump

Click to view.

Theatre Review: Guards at the Taj *****

Movie Review: Leave No Trace ***

Click the image to see the review

Movie Review: Boundaries *

Click the image to see the review of Boundaries