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the everyman memoirs

The official blog of author Tali Nay.
JAN
22

A Return to Author Events

I've done many an author event in my day, various festivals or community nights where markets or bookstores feature a group of authors for an afternoon, an evening, a couple hours here or there. These events see the authors setting up tables with flyers, bookmarks, and, of course, books to sell. I immediately loved them when I started 10 years ago, because they made me feel so official. Like a real author. Over time they got harder, mostly because I started to learn how difficult it is to sell books. Picture readers perusing a parking lot full of author tables, where they mull over everything from poetry to mystery to romance to self-help to literary novel to historical non-fiction to delightful everyman memoir. With such selection (and with every reader coming into such events with his or her own specific genre preferences), I can tell you that the odds of these readers selecting YOUR book to purchase are low. So I got used to ending these events having sold almost no books. (In some cases, selling actually no books.) In short, it started to feel discouraging.

And so I took a break, which turned into a longer break, which turned into totally being out of the habit, which turned into a global pandemic where events didn't happen anyway, which all turned into a new attitude when it came to participating in the Sunset Market's Author Night this past week in Oceanside. After so long without doing an event like this (and especially after so long without even having the option), it felt fun again. It made me happy to be out seeing people, talking to them about my books, and to be meeting other local authors and writing professionals. And to my delight, I sold some books too! More than I thought I would.

These events are of course full of you, the author, giving your spiel over and over again to those that stop at your table. I usually start by asking if the person likes to read, giving them an out if they don't. I then ask what kinds of books they like to read, again giving them an out if they say something like "exclusively sci-fi" or "straight-up erotica." But if they like the delightful everyman memoir, or if they say they are open to whatever catches their eye, I explain that I tell stories about life, and I walk them through each of the themes of my five books. I can 100% tell you that there is nothing as satisfying (or shocking) to an author as hearing a stranger who has stopped at your booth, listened to your spiel, and stood there reading the back covers of your books say, "I'd like to buy this one." I always think there must be some mistake. You want to buy my book?? Because, again, this scenario is so rare. For them to have picked your book. For them to reach into their wallet and put money down for this thing that is not like art or jewelry, this thing they can't simply look at and know they will love, this thing that is, when you get right down to it, a gamble. As an author, I will always be grateful for those readers who choose to bet on me. And I'm looking forward to more author events in the near future. I'll hope to see you there!

JAN
01

For Joan

I'm of course still reeling from yesterday's news of Betty White--it's safe to say it put a damper on the entire country's NYE festivities--but while on my Christmas vacation, I was quite sad to learn about the passing of Joan Didion.

There's just something about her. A coolness, an authenticity. As far as writers go, she was one of the real ones. I don't even really know what I mean by that, except that she was able to make her living that way, and she was able to put so much of herself (and California) in her nonfiction. I heard her described recently as "California Gothic" and it made me smile.

When I moved to New York, I got rid of almost all of the books I owned...along with everything else, of course. New York opened up a new chapter for me, one where I not only had less space, but also less income to do things like buy books. Yet Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking is one of the few books I kept during that time. It is such a unique and dare I say accurate portrayal of grief and how the mind processes it (or doesn't). But here's something else worth mentioning about me and books, because even those that I kept, even those relatively few that remain in my possession (I never really got back into the habit of buying books once my financial situation once again allowed it), I very rarely read a book I own more than once. Not sure why, I just don't find myself going back to books once I've read them. My exception, however, is The Year of Magical Thinking, which I have read many times, including in 2021. To me, that is significant. It makes not only this book significant to me, but Joan Didion as well.

It's hard to read The Year of Magical Thinking and not feel completely tragic about Joan's loss of her husband, though these kinds of losses befall certain of us every day. And that it all happened while their only daughter was in the hospital experiencing serious health complications. And that this daughter would go on to die herself not too long after, leading Joan to write the also-tragic Blue Nights. And so I'm sad for this world's loss, but can't help but feel a tinge of happiness for the reunion now happening in another.

In Joan's own words, goodbye to all that. And onto a new year for us. One that starts with nothing but blank pages for us to fill, should we be fortunate enough to get that chance.

DEC
11

O Christmas Tree

It's a bit hard to explain why this is the first Christmas tree I've ever had in all these years of on-my-own adult life. Except it's not. Hard to explain. Because my first house in California was a little beach bungalow that really didn't have the space. Before that I was in studio apartments in Manhattan, first on the Upper East Side and then in Harlem, that didn't have the space either. Before that I was in Cleveland, and while I did have the space, I always chose not to since I didn't have any decorations and always traveled home for the actual holiday anyway.

And that is how it's finally come together in a place where I not only have the space, but have also over the years accumulated more than enough materials to decorate an entire tree. When you're a gemologist, it's true that people like to gift you anything gemmy, or at the very least tell you when IKEA is featuring a line of gem-shaped Christmas ornaments so you can drive over and buy all they have. And I rather love my gem tree, complete with gem-shaped lights! It makes me happy and smells so delicious that I spend at least a few minutes each morning and evening curled on the couch just appreciating the pine scent.

At a time when the world is crazy and there certain aspects of my life that seem somewhat less than settled, it helps to focus on gratitude. For this season, for belief, for those who love me, spoil me, and help me on a daily basis. For employment and family and health and beautiful sunny days. For citrus trees, Tiffany-blue walls, and a living room that smells like a pine tree...at least for a couple more weeks. May you each find similar joy from the blessings in your own lives. Merry Christmas! And if you need any last-minute gifts, buy books!

NOV
21

How It's Going

It's been a while! But I wanted to report on how the launch of Yuppie is going, mostly because this was the first "virtual" launch I've done. And by virtual, I don't even mean that I organized some sort of Zoom-esque book reading, because that sounded awful. And complicated. So my traditional book signing invites that get mailed out were replaced by general announcements, giving readers the chance to order autographed copies of Yuppie that would ship directly to them.

I have to say, it's been quite delightful to see the names come across of books for me to sign, and I've enjoyed the process of signing, packing, and shipping them all over the land. And really, I mean it. I've shipped books to New York, Ohio, Montana, Oregon, Washington, Indiana, Texas, Utah, Idaho, Canada, New Jersey, Nevada, Arizona, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Washington DC, Virginia, and, of course, many to various California locations. I've become such a frequent visitor at the post office that they know me if not by name, then by the blue Scotch shipping tape I wrap all the books in. "Do you WRITE books?" one of the employees finally asked me. "Because I see your stuff everywhere," he continued, referring to the signature blue wrapping. "Yes!" I replied. "Yes I do!"

Of course, I should mention that getting people to order this way (by actually taking action to request their signed copies) has been harder than I thought, meaning less people have done it than I hoped. I figured placing an order on a computer is much easier than driving to an event and sitting through a reading and waiting in line, but there's something about those events, I guess. Being there, taking your friends with you, seeing the author, going to lunch after and making a day of it, etc. And once at an event, you have a pretty captive audience, in that they're all going to buy books. So that's been a bit disappointing. But considering how much of an author's sales that book stores take after a signing, financially I've ended up ahead of where I would normally be at this point. So it's all good, and overall it's been a fun change-up to the way I usually launch books.

If you haven't ordered your autographed copy yet, you most definitely still can! There's some blue Scotch shipping wrap with your name on it. (And with a few more orders, I think I just might get my own parking space at the post office.)

OCT
09

A Cuppie of Yuppie

 

And then there were 5!! That's right my dear, small band of readers. My fifth book, Yuppie, is launching this month after much deliberation and back and forth regarding what to do about this pandemic. Since there is exactly nothing to be done about the pandemic, the book is launching anyway, although without the usual fanfare and in-person events and signings I so love doing. Admittedly, this is a huge bummer. As an author, these events and signings are such highlights for me. They also help me sell books. In case this is in any way unclear to you, BOOKS ARE HARD TO SELL. They are exponentially harder to sell in a global pandemic. And so I hope that those of you who may have attended one of the signings will still choose to purchase a book.

This book focuses on my young professional years, answering a question that absolutely none of you asked: what is it really like to work in business? From start-ups to Corporate America to non-profits, I attempt to answer this question, at least from my own experiences. There are certainly benefits to going the business route, and on most days, I do find satisfaction in the work I do. But there are also downsides, and so also on most days, I find myself wishing I had become a teacher.

Since I'm not doing any in-person readings, I thought I would attempt to read a few excerpts here in case anyone wants to listen to a bit of background on Yuppie and, more importantly, get a glimpse of my stellar Halloween decorations. I have no idea if the video will correctly post here, but for any who make it to the end and hear the slip-up that inspired the title of this blog entry, enjoy!! A cuppie of Yuppie for each of you this fall!

SEP
25

Here for the Snacks

My partner in Disney crime and I just completed a triumphant return to adult Disney-ing after a year and a half absence. Everything (with the exception perhaps of mobile ordering on all the food) is fabulous as always, from the rides to the characters to the snacks. Snacking in particular is something we're very good at when at Disneyland, and it always amazes me just how many options one has when considering food in the parks. Because it's on my mind and because the topics on this blog are entirely up to me, I've put Disney dining into the following buckets:

Level 1 = Bring all your food in with you, in the form of sandwiches, granola bars, and carrot sticks packed into various plastic containers. I see these people sitting at tables as I eat my beignets, passing homemade pasta salad between them, and it makes me a little sad. That they aren't eating the beignets. It's really half the fun, the snacking. Maybe even 60% of it.

Level 2 = Bring almost all your food in with you, but eat one meal a day in the park. This is what my family used to do when we were kids, at least from what I can remember. As much as I wanted to eat the park food, I do remember feeling bad that we spent ALL the money my parents handed us one night to go get our dinners, knowing that it was probably more than they wanted to spend on a single meal. Note that at this level you're still not eating the beignets.

Level 3 = Eat meals only in the park but don't buy any snacks. This approach is purely functional, the kind that says "we have to eat to sustain ourselves but do not need any extra treats or sweets." This is a very sad and beignet-less way to go through life.

Level 4 = Eat some meals and snacks in the park and supplement with snacks brought from home. I appreciate the effort of those at this level to experience some of what the park has to offer in the way of food, including beignets, but to also implement some sort of budget cap. Still, it must be said, if something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. Plus, if you give a mouse a beignet, he's going to want a mint julep. I'm sure you see where this is going.

Level 5 = Eat all meals in the park and get a snack every hour. This is the level where the beignets and mint juleps are followed by churros which are followed by a corn dog which is followed by ice cream sundaes which are followed by shawarma falafel wraps which are followed by more churros which are followed by Dole Whips which are followed by more ice cream which are followed by burgers and fries which are followed by a cheese-filled pretzel which is followed by more churros which are followed by all the candy you get at the Oogie Boogie Bash. It goes without saying that this adds hundreds of dollars to your trip and leaves you comfortable in nothing but sweat pants, but I'm convinced there's no better way to go.

"I can't think of anything I didn't eat," is the last thing spoken between us before we left the park on Day 3, and surely there isn't a truer measure of success. Until next time, Disney. Long live Level 5!

SEP
12

Welcome to my Laboratory

What you're looking at is chicken. Vegan chicken, that is. It's a recipe I recently got from my sister-in-law that has become a regular staple for me. It requires ingredients like Vital Wheat Gluten and Nutritional Yeast (both of which I had previously never heard of), although what I can't get over is the way the recipe produces a dough...a dough that then gets steamed into a solid state and somehow becomes these, for lack of a better term, blobs. Honestly, when I'm making it I can't help but feel like I'm some kind of scientist in a laboratory, you know, just growing chicken blobs from dough. As you do.

I've oft lamented the fact that I can't really create anything with my hands. I don't know how to make stuff. Art, crafts, homemade gifts. I don't have any skills that translate into creating anything that anyone would want. Or consider particularly well done. Writing really is my only creative vehicle, and on most days, this is enough. But on other days, I yearn to CREATE something from nothing. So I get a weird enjoyment out of creating these chicken blobs.

I turned my home into a laboratory again this weekend by attempting my first-ever batch of homemade mosquito repellant. Mosquitos really aren't an issue here in Southern California, and in all time I've lived in my house, I haven't had a problem. Imagine my surprise when a sneaky (and greedy) lone mosquito proceeded to bite me 10 times over the course of a 30-minute window while I sat in the backyard reading. My reaction was swift and unyielding, in that I am TAKING BACK MY YARD. It's now full of citronella plants, and I crushed a bunch of leaves yesterday and spent hours brewing my homemade concoction. I won't say it smells great (it doesn't), but I did sit outside yesterday for an hour, surrounded by my plants and covered in my homemade goop, and no mosquito dared approach. Creation at work.

And finally, again in the spirit of creation, I'm brainstorming some cookie ideas (ingredients and flavors), because what laboratory could be more fun than a baking laboratory??!! I'd love to be good enough at making cookies that people seek them out. Not a shop, necessarily, but maybe a friend will ask me to make cookies for her kid's birthday party. So the creation will continue. I think it's such a natural part of life, to want to take things that exist and turn them into other, more desirable, helpful (or delicious!) things. Here's to creation, of all sizes and scales!

AUG
22

Virtues of the Novel

It's no secret that I'm a non-fiction girl. Memoir, specifically. I get annoyed by good, fascinating novels when I think about the fact that it's all made up and didn't actually happen. For me, it's much more satisfying to read about something that actually happened. More than that, something written by the person it happened to (as opposed to a biographer or historian). There's just no comparison to real life, and the fascinating, heartbreaking, and triumphant situations we get ourselves into.

That being said, in my regular line-up of exclusively memoirs, I usually read one novel per year. To change it up, really, and because there's usually some novel that enough people have recommended that I feel like I ought to read. This year's novel is A Gentleman in Moscow, which I swear I've been hearing about for years. It's been on my radar, and when my sweet Mom recently gifted me a copy, I felt I couldn't put it off any longer.

Here's the thing with novels that I always forget because I read them so infrequently. THEY ARE SO DECRIPTIVE. It's like a whole different world of lush language and description. This one in particular is filled to the brim (500 pages is VERY long for me) with descriptions of every single detail of the hotel where the story takes place. I forgot how all this description creates visuals of the setting and story in your mind, really without you even trying or actively envisioning it. It just happens. This is something you don't often get with memoir, in that much of the book is the author's thoughts, and the stories are much more succinct and measured. There simply isn't the opportunity to picture an entirely new setting in your mind and feel completely transported each time you open the book.

I still prefer memoir, and I probably always will, but there's certainly a place for the well-written, all-encompassing novel, and this one is a true gem.

AUG
05

This is My Jam

I recently acquired some fruit trees. The lemons and oranges are pretty straightforward, and the only issue I run into is that I can't really use them fast enough. I always wondered why people would bring in heaps of home-grown produce to the office with a "take what you want" sign, but now I know. Also, let's be real. Many of the things you can make with lemons require a ridiculous amount of sugar. It's like seeing how the sausage is made, but with lemonade. And you can only make so many pitchers of lemonade before you start asking yourself if you should really be drinking so much of it.

The apricots are another story entirely. For one thing, in my head I was confusing them with peaches. Or I was at least picturing peaches in my mind as I watched them grow from small green spheres to small peach spheres. "I just need to wait for them to get bigger," is what I thought every time looked out at the tree. Nevermind that they were the perfect color. Nevermind that the branches were already weighing heavy from the small spheres. Nevermind that they started falling OFF the tree. I thought they would get bigger, so I waited. Luckily I realized they were as big as they were going to get and perfectly (if a bit over) ripe in time to harvest the entire tree's worth.

Of course, what does one then do with an entire tree of apricots that pretty much need to be eaten immediately? Naturally, I turned to jam. Nevermind that I had never made jam of any kind. Nevermind that I had to ask the store clerk where to find the canning jars (wouldn't you assume baking??). Nevermind that I only bought about half the jars I ended up needing. Nevermind that I came very close to only putting in a fraction of the required sugar. In any case, the jam got made, and it's more delicious than someone with no experience should have been able to produce. Really. And it delights me that both the apricots and required lemon juice came from my own backyard.

I guess it's jut refreshing to be trying new things, even if those new things require "working" tree fertilizer into the soil, far enough out to cover the "drip line." (Cue Moira and David Rose trying to fold in cheese.) Here's to next year's harvest!

JUL
11

Thinking Woman

I love this little sculpture, that it's of a female and that she appears to be in thought. I've also enjoyed decorating my house with stacks of my favorite books--books being such a big part of what I myself think about. Whether writing them or reading them, one might argue the best thing about books is that they make you think, and usually about things outside your comfort zone, things you know nothing about, or things you never had a reason to even contemplate prior to reading about them. So I really couldn't think of a better spot for this little sculpture.

I confess I'm behind on my 2021 reading goal. This tends to happen when I'm more focused on writing a book, but even though I haven't been writing one in 2021 (the one I wrote in 2020 is being typeset as we speak!!), it still seems like reading hasn't been getting the time it deserves. And I feel badly whenever this is the case. It's so important--and enjoyable--that it's hard to accept that any excuse could really be good enough.

To prove that at least some reading has been happening, I'm currently reading Ethan Kross' Chatter and really enjoying it. Because as long as we're talking about thinking, I am a chronic overthinker. It keeps me up at night, the various stressful or unpleasant things I think and worry about, and while some people are better than others at internal self-talk and diffusing negative chatter, I'm not one of those people. If I feel overwhelmed, I'm going to think about being overwhelmed until I am even more overwhelmed. If I'm worried about how a co-worker is going to interpret an email I'm worried may come across with a tone I didn't intend, I'm going to think about all the ways it could blow up in my face. I try to think of myself as just interested in playing out all the scenarios, just wanting to be prepared for any number of outcomes, but there's really no sugar-coating the fact that I spend more time than I should worrying about insignificant things that usually blow over anyway. So, bottom line: it's a great book with actual suggestions for managing self-talk.

I also recently picked up (as in actually took it on a plane with me instead of my Kindle) an oldie but goodie, one of my absolute favorites, The Year of Magical Thinking. It's been years since I read it, but it's such an honest and refreshing look at grief. I love Didion's mentions of the memory vortices we get sucked into and the way irrational thoughts (such as being prepared in case a departed loved one comes back) can actually seem quite rational. It's hard to fathom the back to back losses she endured, but the rest of us are forever bettered by the books she wrote from those experiences.

So, I'm still reading, (however slowly), still anticipating the release of my new book in the fall, and newly experimenting with a topic that may become my next book. In short, I'm thinking more than ever. My little sculpture is in good company.

 

JUN
23

The Wall

I recently went through the experience of painting my first wall. Or, more accurately, I watched someone else paint the wall while I hovered in the background rather uselessly, offering to fetch any number of items—brushes, trays, rollers, snacks. I promise I did eventually do some of the painting myself, a task more satisfying than I would have thought, especially given how much prep work is required before you can even begin.

What amazed me about the wall was how much better it looked after we were done. And from just one measly coat of paint. The whole room was transformed, all the obnoxious nail holes and pencil lines gone, as if they’d never been there. Even though, technically, they were all still there. I don’t know, the whole thing just made me think about our own transformations, some of them superficial and really just band-aids to the problems we face (not necessarily good), and some of them completely genuine opportunities to begin again or try something new (almost certainly good).

The latter is the type of transformation I’m most interested in, the one I hope we’re all striving on some level to achieve. Some of these transformations are initiated by us, by our own actions, passions, and ambitions—or sometimes our desires to flee certain places or people who have ceased to be the assets to our lives that they once were. Other transformations are thrust upon us in ways we may not have chosen or wanted, and these offer their own opportunities to grow, adjust, and re-imagine what color, shade, or pattern might be the next path for us.

The comfort to me is in knowing that we’re still ourselves as we transform, all the layers and flaws and previous iterations still there, a perfect record of our past. It’s equally comforting that we can always revert back to these layers should timing or circumstances line up better for them in the future. So much about our lives is within our control—the things we choose to pursue, the ways we choose to spend our time, the people we align ourselves with. Even the jobs we have and cities we live in. The houses we buy. I fully acknowledge those things we cannot choose, and the heartbreak and frustration that often accompanies them. But in instances where transformation is within our grasp and feels warranted—or even essential—we can slap on a coat of something radiant and bright (or even just your basic swiss coffee white) and move forward, ever hopeful, ever determined, ever grateful.

MAY
31

The Return of Business Travel

My company apparently tracks our top travelers, a rolling report looking at the past year and ranking those who've logged the most trips. I'm a person who typically does travel for work, but not at a level that would ever normally earn a spot on this list. Amusing then, that I'm currently showing as the company's #1 top traveler because the business trip I just returned from was the first one that got approved since the pandemic shut everything down. It was just a one-hour flight to Phoenix, which makes this pretty hilarious, but I suppose it's also a strange sort of badge of honor, as if I'm helping to usher in a return to business normalcy.

The business trip was to an industry event, an event that had assured the wearing of masks, the requirement of health screenings, and the presence of sneeze guards on all booth tabletops. Features that were all completely rejected by the event attendees, which, combined with the relaxation of requirements by the CDC, resulted in an event that felt downright pre-pandemic. I kept asking myself if I was comfortable not wearing a mask (since in California we are still required to wear them everywhere we go) and the answer, of course, was that I wasn't. Not so much because I felt at risk of getting COVID, but because I hadn't been prepared to go cold turkey. I had underestimated how comforted I had grown to feel in a mask. It's a layer of protection that apparently did as much for me mentally as it did physically. Yet I joined my industry associates and shook hands and gave hugs and broke bread and did business, and despite the previously mentioned discomfort (should we be doing this???), I confess it felt refreshing to step, however tentatively, back into a world where people do such things.

Other things are moving forward as well, including cover options for my new book, out later this year. I'm a bit torn between an option with a familiar style a bit reminiscent of my most recent book, or one that has a completely different look and feel. This decision, too, feels nice. The kind of decision that wreaks of normal life. Of everyday pursuits. Of questions, answers, and individuals having more influence on the futures we are shaping together.

MAY
02

Behind Door #1

I've been in the market for a few bigger-than-normal-ticket items, and experiencing a variety of salespeople and tactics has reminded me not only what drives me crazy about an overaggressive close, but also how much variety there is in the circumstances of each customer. To some extent, salespeople must be prepared for those with any number of budgets, preferences, and requirements. Yet it astounds me how often they ignore these requirements, as if the benefits of the item should trump all else...like whether the customer can actually afford to buy it.

There's a story I'll never forget from my working life, an experience I had while working a tradeshow booth with one of our company executives. It was just me and her, and she was exponentially more classy (and wealthy) than I was. These facts don't usually come into play, in that they are there and exist, but there's no need to dwell on them or have them influence your day-to-day reality. But on this particular day at the show, she asked if I had put any bids on any items at the auction booth across the aisle from us. The auction funds would benefit underprivileged children, a worthy cause if ever there was one, yet as I perused the items, there was nothing within a price range I felt comfortable paying. When I shared with the executive that the items I wanted were outside of my price range, she looked confused and almost hurt. "But, it's for the children," she said. To which I wanted to say, "That doesn't change my budget," or remind her that raising my pay could certainly help my ability to contribute to such causes. Instead I'm pretty sure I said nothing, too stunned by the logic that a worthy cause should suddenly somehow generate money that I didn't have.

That's kind of how I felt this weekend with salespeople pushing the benefits of cutting edge technology, touting the per-day cost of something that would last a person many, many years. Isn't it WORTH this much per day, they would ask, to experience such comfort and luxury? To which I will say, yes, it IS worth it. But that doesn't mean I can afford it. This is all to say that there were probably several disappointed salespeople in town this weekend. And the takeaway isn't so much a Read the Room kind of thing (although it sort of is), but more just a reminder of how many different sets of circumstances there are, how many budgets, how many different requirements or preferences exist out there. Not just between different people or families, but also even within ourselves and our families, as our individual situations improve or fall apart or shift over time. Perhaps it's a comfort to know there's something (some couch, car, piece of jewelry, electronic device, musical instrument, or antique appliance) for everyone.

APR
17

On Not Working

I recently took a week off of work to stay home and do nothing. Well, I did sneak out to check out the Carlsbad Flower Fields (where I snagged the blooms pictured above). So I didn't entirely stay home. And I did go through my new manuscript 4 times to re-work some paragraphs and transitions after getting it back from my editor. So I didn't entirely do nothing. But I honestly couldn't remember a time where I'd ever done that before...took a week off work and didn't actually go anywhere.

I highly recommend it.

The thing about not working but getting paid for it is that there is literally nothing better. I mean, who wouldn't love to not have to work? But most of us have to provide for ourselves. It's one of the complaints I bring up in this new book...the frustration around people who reference working girls as "career women," as if there is any other type of woman for us to be.

And speaking of this new book, one of the last edits I made before turning it into my editor was a revision to the section where I talk about the notion of being a workaholic. I am decidedly NOT one, even though I draw satisfaction from the work I do, so I try and limit work to 8 hours a day as much as possible. In making the point that I like working, just not all the time, there's a line in the book where I had said, "I want to work, just not for more than 8 hours a day." Yet the line didn't sit quite right. Because I wish I didn't have to work. I wish I could have more weeks like the one I just had, sitting in my house editing a manuscript with an occasional outing to appreciate the beauty of nature.

"I want to work--and by that I mean I most definitely don't want to work..." is the beginning of how I ended up amending the sentence to make it more accurate. It's sitting better with me now, having admitted that I wish I didn't have to work at all. Alas, it's our lot. So we'll have to settle for quick trips to the flower fields of life whenever we can get away. My suggestion is to take those trips whenever you can get them, to carve specific time out just for this, and to not feel guilty about a few days away from the office. It will all be there when you get back, just as you left it. The flowers, on the other hand, are fleeting. So go. See them. Then come back and make any revisions you need to.

MAR
28

Enjoying the View

Considering I've lived just a few blocks from the ocean for the past several years, it is perhaps a bit disgraceful that I've spent so little time at the beach. It's safe to say the novelty wore off relatively quickly, and equally quickly my life became full with new friends and pursuits that cut into my beach time. (I also write books. Have I mentioned that?) I can think of other reasons, too. My fair skin that burns easily, the incessant and annoying tourists that crowd this little beach town between Memorial Day and Labor Day, and, of course, COVID-19. But it's there, the ocean. And every time I see it, I have to remind myself that it's real. That I live here.

Another rather disgraceful fact about living here is that I don't leave my little beach town all that often. I'm not really talking about vacations or work trips, which are a regular part of my life. But when I'm in town, I rarely hop over to the next town, or the next after that, or to any number of the seaside communities that surround me. My life is here, my office is here, and I just don't find myself exploring very much, certainly not as much as I used to. You can blame part of this on COVID-19 as well, but you can also blame part (read: most) of it on me just being lazy. It's simply easier to stay put. (Plus, traffic. You cannot underestimate it.)

And so I've been trying to explore a bit more lately, putting a few miles on my car and seeing corners of my community that are new to me. It probably seems simple to you, but especially after a year of largely staying at home due to the pandemic, it can be a strangely powerful feeling to be driving down a road and realize that you've never been there before. (Even more strange if the road is, hypothetically, only a few miles from your house.) Last weekend I visited a city a few hours north and spent some time appreciating the same ocean, just on a different stretch of shoreline, and it filled me with a rather unique sense of happiness. One that I think stems from knowing there is so much world left for us to explore, and that most of the time we don't have to go very far to find it.

MAR
04

On Perspective

This picture was taken in Palm Springs in the middle of a windstorm that came out of nowhere, which was weird and also weirdly liberating. I had just gotten my hair cut and felt like it captured me as I don't usually see myself. Which is to say that everything about it, even the angle, seemed to offer a different perspective.

How we ultimately feel about various circumstances in our lives usually comes down to our perspectives. Perspectives are made up of our history of experiences, yes, the things we've been exposed to (or not), the things we've learned (or not), the things we've overcome (or not). But perspectives are also made up of aspects of our own personalities, those things that are baked in, so to speak, parts of our DNA, our characters, our temperaments, that are unique to us. I've been thinking about perspectives in a rather pandemic-specific light lately, particularly after my department at work had a recent team meeting where we discussed the pros and cons of working in the office and working at home and began to try and brainstorm what kind of hybrid model might work best for us once we are given the clear to come back.

What struck me about this meeting was how varied people's thoughts on the subject are. You have some (and I'm in this camp) who rather enjoy working from home, and some who say they have hated it and never want to do it again. You have some who feel they are more productive at home, and some who feel they get more done in the office. There was no single solution that seemed it would be optimal for everyone going forward, and it's largely, again, because of our own perspectives and circumstances. Those who have quiet, empty homes are in different situations than those working in closets to avoid their noisy children. Those who have long commutes are in different situations than those with short ones. Those who tend to rely more on other departments are in different situations than those who can for the most part do their work independently. And then there's the personality aspect, the fact that not everyone values the flexibility of cooking scrambled eggs during a conference call, going for a run at lunch, and not having to be showered and in makeup and high heels and a non-elastic waistband by 7:30 in the morning as much as I do. Which is to say that I value these things so much that it's almost worth things staying bad/closed. 

I hope what does come out of this is a true hybrid model that prioritizes flexibility and doesn't forget how effective we've been at working remotely for an entire year. I hope companies, especially conservative ones like mine, remember this efficacy and consider our individual perspectives, which vary, and create a scenario where everyone can thrive. And I hope my pencil skirts still fit when it's time to put away the elastic waistbands. 

FEB
10

Modern Love

Love is such a mess. Seriously. In some ways I've struggled over the years with this realization, and in other ways I've felt relief over it. See, I used to think that love should be easy. That if it weren't, then the couple shouldn't be together. I mean, you shouldn't have to work at something as blissful as love, right? Certainly not work hard. I've had my fair share (like, one) of relationships that are what I would consider blissful, in that we seemed to always be on the same page, never fight, and not find ourselves frequently rehashing similar disagreements. I think there are definitely couples out there who function at this level, a level that is (seemingly) more effortless than the rest of us. I'm happy for these people. I'm just not one of them.

Many of my relationships have involved more challenging situations, keeping in mind that when I say challenging, I'm referring only to differences, both in personality and backgrounds. I'm a person who has never been looking for the easiest option when it comes to relationships, so these differences are not automatically what I would consider to be dealbreakers. But they take work, and I don't think there's any shame in admitting that. I wish more people would talk about it. That relationships are hard. And why shouldn't they be? Spending a shit-ton of time with the same person, one who comes at things from a completely different lens, values and prioritizes differently than you, and can't read your mind? How is that not going to take work? When a friend recently posted about her milestone wedding anniversary by saying that in addition to there being no one she has more fun with, more connection to, or more love for, there is also no one who makes her more frustrated, no one she disagrees with more, and no one else she gets so mad at, I felt like it was one of the most beautiful tributes I'd ever read. That, my friends, is love.

I think what I've found refreshing is the mutual desire to persevere through these differences, to even embrace and celebrate them. Besides, at least for me (a person who FEELS things deeply and in fact rather enjoys the sometimes dramatic travails of life if for no other reason than they trigger growth and force one to acknowledge her own aliveness), I value our ability to experience emotional extremes as so incredibly human. What other species can feel and process to such extremes and in such detail, or evaluate and then make decisions from these feelings in the same complex ways that we do? It's rather quite glorious. 

I've recently read all the Modern Love books (collections of the Modern Love essays from the New York Times), and, along with the collections of Moth stories, they were just about my favorite things I've ever read. They, the stories, are almost all unbelievably messy, exploring aspects of love from the non-traditional to the tragic to the sweet to the devastating to the, yes, I'll say it, hard. Is it always worth it? Does it always work out? But does it even have to? I'm a fan regardless, of the journeys, the struggles, the work, the rewards, the reminders that we are never so fortunate than when we have love.

JAN
23

Character Development...Meaning my Own

Because my cat likes to remind me that she doesn't get nearly enough face time on this blog. And because this is literally where she positions herself every time I get out my laptop to edit. Which I'm doing a lot lately as I prep my new manuscript. I thought I pretty much had it the way I wanted it but recently decided to make some changes to the final chapters that potentially affect the overall structure of the storyline. So now I'm needing to read through the whole thing several more times to figure out if it works. Which is all to say that my cat has really been having to fight with my computer for my attention. Not that she has anything to complain about. COVID has been the best year of her life. (I'm sure your pets would agree.)

I've softened somewhat over my years as a writer. I didn't think too much in the beginning about people's feelings, or about adjusting language (or removing certain stories altogether) based on how others might feel to read about themselves or my opinions and perceptions of them. Partly because I was never out to get anyone, so nothing I said really seemed that bad, and partly because telling the story I wanted to tell and being honest about my experiences was always the most important thing. Not to say that it still isn't, but I've had a bit of a change of heart when it comes to sharing certain things. And there have been several changes I've made in my last few manuscripts that I probably wouldn't have made ten years ago. Or even five. 

It becomes quite a balancing act then, to make sure I'm still preserving the intent of a certain storyline, as well as the tone by which I mean to convey it, while also minimizing the potential for negative reactions from those being (anonymously) mentioned. Don't get me wrong...this doesn't mean this new manuscript won't still ruffle some feathers if the right people give it a read (which, for the record, almost never happens with me being such a no-name author), all I'm saying is that I think about it more now. And I am, on occasion, willing to change or edit or cut if I can't quite bring myself to say something in particular. Like I said, I've softened ever so slightly. And I think it's important, at least it has been for me as I grow and develop as a person on this planet. Of course, none of this means anything to my cat, who is at this very moment staring at me and wondering when I'll stop typing and pet her. 

JAN
03

The Things You Keep

You're looking at the activity that perhaps took the largest percentage of my childhood: tying lanyards. Or, lanyard "lacing," as I so alliteratively called it on the small slips of paper with my name and phone number that I printed en masse to hand out to my friends. I also printed order forms, with blank spaces for things like the customer's name and the agreed upon price, as well as the selected colors and styles of pattern. So much about it appealed to me, in that it was something creative, something I could make with my hands, and something I could ultimately sell. A business, if you will. Complete with beads and hooks and a whole host of colored string options, it was all housed in a red, compartment-filled tin box.

I wouldn't necessarily have been able to recall how seriously I took my craft had it not been for the chance I had over Christmas to go through all the boxes of stuff I saved from my childhood. The boxes have been sitting in my parents' garage for decades, things from elementary school all the way up to through college. These are things like school papers, yearbooks, clothes, stuffed animals, collectible frogs from the years when I had a thing for collectible frogs, college textbooks, random vintage mugs picked up at thrift stores, etc. My main objective was to purge, to go through the boxes and decide what I wanted to keep vs. throw/give away, and what struck me as I sorted through everything was how delightful it was to be reminded of all these things that had once been important to me. The things I saved, the things I collected, the things I couldn't quite bring myself to part with. It's the memories they brought, of course, but also just the reminder of other phases of life. Things I had perhaps forgotten. Like how damn obsessed I was with those lanyards.

Is it sad that I ended up throwing or giving away probably 95% of everything in the boxes, including the lanyards? I think the answer you're looking for is yes. It's sad. It feels like my whole life just gone, with no way to now remember things like what my teachers said in the letters of recommendation they wrote for my scholarship applications or the songs my sister played at her violin recital or the note my co-star wrote on my program on the closing night of our high school performance of The Music Man. There's no way to remember them now, or to remind myself of them say ten, twenty, or thirty years from now when going through all the boxes again might have provided the same kind of delight. But the other side of coin, and one that cannot be ignored, is that I hadn't needed or really thought about anything in those boxes for, in most cases, decades. So what good was it doing me to have them sitting there, taking up space and collecting dust? What advantage would they serve at some future point in my life? It's this lens I used when considering each item, making it surprisingly easy to get rid of almost everything. It reminded me of moving to New York City several years ago, how I'd had to get rid of about 90% of what I owned in order to move to a tiny studio apartment. It was a similar decision process, in that only my favorite and most-used things were kept. I had to keep that filter in play or else I would get sad over parting with so much.

And so I'm focusing on the fact that the things I donated will hopefully find second, more useful lives with other people and families. I'm focusing on the memory of having gone through the boxes. After all, when I mentioned to the BF on the way back to the airport that I always pictured going through those boxes someday and them making me happy, he responded with, "And you got that. You got it today." It's sooner than I planned I guess, but he's right. I got that, and if happiness was the goal, then the whole endeavor was a complete success.

DEC
19

December is for Cookies

It's simply a fact that National Cookie Day hits us each December, giving a perfect opportunity to celebrate one of most delicious and fun types of treats. Once for National Cookie Day, I brought in a bunch of homemade sugar cookies of various sizes along with several frosting colors and sprinkles options and set them up in the middle of the department. You know, back when we could do things like gather in groups...and go to work. It made for one of the most enchanting work days I've ever had. There does seem to be something about cookies that makes people smile, and, perhaps, think about their childhoods. The ones pictured here are Swig copycats, my choice for this year's National Cookie Day. 

Cookies also remind me of my favorite weekend of the year, also in December, when a large group of family gathers to go caroling through town while delivering plates of cookies to each house. I mean, this is way more information than you ever needed about my holiday traditions, but we each bring various cookies to contribute to the plates, and then combine them into the final offerings, usually combinations of cookies, fudge, and chocolate truffles. There's always something satisfying about it, seeing what everyone brings and arranging the plates with the variety of goodies. Then something a little bit sad about watching the plates disappear throughout the night as we visit houses, knowing the caroling will be over when we run out of cookies. The fact that this caroling weekend isn't evening happening this year because of safety precautions amidst the pandemic is more than just a little bit sad. It is actually quite devastating. Which is why I'll probably be eating cookies tonight while we sing carols together over a Zoom call, our attempt at a virtual caroling event and the only chance to see many relatives this holiday season. 

I'll try not to eat too many cookies over my Christmas vacation, a time I need to devote to the final read-throughs of my new manuscript. It's a manuscript I'm handing in come January, and one that has caused me a fair amount of stress in recent weeks over whether or not to leave in certain details. It's a decision that's mine alone to make, and I'm sure you'll agree that any decision is easier to face with cookies. Make mine a whole plate, please. Merry Christmas!!