Persistence

My older son takes his road test today.

It is a man-boy who sits in the driver's seat next to me, intermittently chatting nicely and sharing his life with me, and barking at me and shutting me down.

This, I know, is normal.

In the driver's seat, he is not in control yet, grasps for it where it waits, intimidating and unsure, right beyond his fingertips.

He asks me for guidance as he changes lanes, merges, makes lefts against the un-coddling traffic.

Yes, it has all become a metaphor for his quest forward, and that limbo space where he still exists, between needing me and having to do it all on his own.


My older son takes his road test today. I am both essential and unneeded, at times merely a crutch. Pass or fail, he is moving on without me.

In the shower this morning, water ran down me in sheets, melted shampoo in my eyes, and slipped time beyond my reach.

The Persistence of Memory, Salvador Dali, 1931.

I have never been a huge Dali fan, but suddenly this image appeared, The Persistence of Time, its clocks useless, liquid mercury slipped through desperate fingers. I never noticed before how there is water in the background. Now this makes sense to me.

My son takes his road test today. Still, somehow, I managed to shower, dry off, brush hair, put on makeup, get dressed. Now, I stand at the computer, writing. What else is there to do? There's no holding on to time.

I know he is driving away.

- gae

Two Old Love Poems

photo credit: Rick Kopstein
(with added help from the simians at Pic Monkey)

So, it's World Poetry Day, and my good friend Jim King got me thinking of the old poet in me.

The truth is, before I ever wrote books, my first love was poetry, though the last poem I wrote was probably in my mid-twenties.

After that, there was the law school phase and then the lawyer phase that I'm fond of saying, "sucked the creativity right out of me."

Then there were: marriage and kids, and the practice of law, and, ultimately, when I returned to writing, it was with the (daunting) hopes of writing a novel in mind.

There was The Jetty (agented, but never sold), Swim Back to Me (agented but not sold, with new life breathed into it -- maybe, maybe not, The Pull of Gravity (sold!) Frankie Sky now The Summer of Letting Go coming Spring 2014, etc.

But before all that, I wrote poetry.

It was my first love, and my friend Jim has sent me into a bit of a reverie. . . (bear in mind I was only 21... ;))

Verging 

I breathe
heavy air blankets the up-down rhythm
clocks and other night noises
float to me
here            aah, settle
to Autumn patterns
                   play and remind
                   (play and remind)
and, hey, you're too big for my heart
these days

                   The fan
and hot covers stifle
as somewhere water drips
slow            one, two
the radio and other sounds turned on to drown out
the constant, hollow fall of wet

but the man tells:
                    gunfire where you are
like he's reading from cue cards through static

Somewhere, between dark and mourning
I wake to call you
through dry cracked lips and no sound
only your name in my ears
                     swelling
and, hey, you're too big for my head.

-gae, 6/21/85


Temptations in Blue

(when you close your eyes, he said,
                           think only of blues)

so tightly I do
that I am at once surrounded and carried off
to where we can be.

there, I float as sea upon sea takes me
                             (though I tell no one, I recognize it is the blue of your eyes)
                              and I am safe to fall back where
somewhere, between childhood and pain
it begins to break
                            and scatter
into icy-cold marbles that tease and elude my uneasy hands
the fingers left groping at angels' wings
then
air.

I drift,
          where I resurface I am lightheaded and weightless
                             flooded by turquoise so brilliant it pulls me

I do not follow but hold
                             to the edge of a peacock's tail
its cobalt center
                             trembles and bursts
                             and silently folds
                             into green.

There
          where I cannot remain
but try to
anyhow.

- gae 8/13/85

The Fear Age

Say goodbye to me. I'm dying.

Well, at least according to WEB MD, I could be.

This is what happened.

Last night, I looked down and the skin on my shins was peeling. Like, flaking off completely. Both legs.

Now, sure, I might have gone to Florida a few weeks ago and overdid the whole sun thing. But my arms peeled weeks ago. This was not from that, was it?

Also, my right shoulder has been hurting like a motherfucker.

And, yes, I typically swim a bunch of miles per week and, yes, swimmers notoriously have shoulder issues.

Add to that the yoga I've been doing a few times a week. Those chaturangas can be bitches on your shoulders.

But I've taken a FULL WEEK OFF and I'm still hurting.

Come to think of it, my left shoulder is hurting, too.

And, there's still the hip bursitis that's now lasted for a few years.

In fact, all my joints are aching.

So, back to my peeling legs.

What the fuck?

I do the prudent thing. I go to the computer (my mind screaming, DO NOT GO TO THE COMPUTER!!) and I google skin peeling on legs.

It asks me (via my further search choices) "in sheets?"

Jesus, no.  

It asks, instead:

"skin peeling and dry eyes?"

Why yes, my eyes have been dry. Just the other day, I was complaining to my husband . . .

and,

I have Lupus. Or at least, four other symptoms that match that disease.

Or, you know, some other tragic disease.

Now, the good news is, a. I have a dear friend with Lupus and b. she is, for all intents and purposes, an Iron Man. Okay, well, she's a half iron woman. But, she can do, and does do, anything. So, you know, if that's what it is, I will survive it.

But what if it's something else? What if . . . I'm dying?

We're all dying, I remind myself, trying to stop that snowball from rolling. From the moment we're born, we're dying. 

BUT, what if I'm dying NOW??

where I swim to find my calm. It's been four months since I've found my calm.

Just so you know, so you're prepared, if I am dying, I'm not going to be one of those graceful, positive people I wish I could be when faced with some tragedy.

I'm going to be a blathering, disastrous mess. Tears. Puking. Panic. Passing out. It's a well known fact that I'm a passer-outer.

I'm sorry. I'd like to believe otherwise, and I guess we can hold out hope. But we should be otherwise prepared.

And, I know I'm not alone in this fear of dying thing. My brilliant writer friend, Amy Ferris, has documented her own Post-WEB MD spiral hilariously and poignantly HERE.

In fact, I remember a neurologist telling me that it's quite common with mothers . . . that overwhelming fear we develop that we will die and leave our children too soon.

In good humor, I've had many a facebook friend confirm their own, daily morbid fears.

I also know it's not mothers alone. My dear friend Jeff, a father of four, jokes about the goodbye videos he's made for his children, with every WEB MD self-diagnosis he's made. In fact, he's made me promise to keep them, and dole them out year after year.

And, yes, I've agreed. Of course, of course, I have agreed.

Look, we laugh about it. We joke. But the truth is, we're all terrified.

We're all laughing through our fear and our tears.

So.

In the middle of the night, I woke up hurting, all dizzy and reeling too. This has happened on occasion, too, over the past two years.

So, I've called the doctor and made an appointment. Hopefully, she'll tell me it's all nothing but age and fear and dry skin. The good old process of "getting old."

And, if that's what she says, I swear -- I mean, pinky promise, girl scout's honor, signed in blood -- it's the last time I'll google WEB MD.

- gae

Is it Spring Yet? (and a ballsy writer's story)

Me, wind-whipped

I was in Florida last week with my family.

It was a nice reprieve, if we only got
a whopping two days of sun out of five.

And even on the sunny days, the wind was whipping.

I mean, 30 mile per hour winds.


Still, I lay at the pool,
grateful to soak in the sun and relax.

self portrait in bathingsuit

I swear, if I could, I would do little but swim and lie in the sun. . .

Alas, I am back, and have a shitload of writing stuff on my plate:

"Frankie Sky" is finally on it's way to copy edits which puts me in the throes of doing all the behind-the-scenes stuff -- getting permissions, fretting over my author photo ;\ , and mulling over new titles, because my editor has concerns about "Frankie Sky."

Next will come cover ideas and the dreaded, dreaded jacket copy. How can that be so hard?

In the meantime, remember my women's fiction? Well maybe not since it's yet to be published. :\

But it's never far from my mind.

So, I did something ballsy the other day and it paid off, if only in the quietest "validation" sense of the word.

What happened is this: Looking for something else, I inadvertently pulled up an old email rejection letter from an editor who had read Swim Back to Me in 2009 (when I was with my first agent), and it filled me with the kind of longing that only that manuscript (and its history) can fill me with:

I know that one doesn't look like a rejection and it isn't. It was this one that had followed:

Well, especially if you are a writer reading, you can see how it was hard to let go of this one after feedback like this? And, I will tell you that I had at least three other close-but-no-cigar encounters with major publishers like this one. . .

So, anyway, back to my balls. Turns out I had this editor's email and I reached out as politely as I could, starting with the fact that I had no idea if she'd remember me or the ms, but that, if she did, I had done a subsequent rewrite with my next agent that had left the manuscript just the tiniest bit less (in their words) bleak.

I figured that was the end. She would write me off as a crazy stalker-writer-girl and change her email address as fast as she could. But instead, she wrote back to me within the 1/2 hour, told me she remembered me and Swim and asked if we could to talk.

I've seldom been as blown away -- or felt more validated -- in my ten-plus years as an aspiring writer.

Anyway, we had a great conversation and if nothing else comes of it, that was enough.

What she told me was that she had -- and still does -- love the book as is, but that she could not ever sell it this way. . . but that, if I wanted to try to tackle a few of the other editors' concerns in a rewrite, she would look at it again.

So, that's what I'm doing. I'm attempting a rewrite, which, as always, is way harder than I thought.

But whatever happens, that? That was a good writing moment.

In other (and final) book news, The Pull of Gravity is now out EVERYWHERE in paperback and I would surely love you to go out and grab a copy from Barnes & Noble or your local indie bookstore. It's also got a spiffy new trailer that was made by a 15-year-old kid named Jude Bourke.

He's the son of a friend and his dad, Karl, did the amazing original drawings. If you like it, leave him a note, and please, please, please pass it on.

Anyway, that's it for now.

Come on, Spring!

xox gae

The Grass, Softer and Greener. . .

me, a few, brief years ago. . . 

I look at this photo and I think: wow, look how much younger, sexier, bolder, skinnier, more entertaining I was.

I crave her. I miss her.

I wonder how she drifted.

I forget that she was also depressed,
anxious,
lost,
wanting, waiting, wishing, and, um,
not eating much.

I forget how she stumbled through the dark house trying simply to hold onto things.

My life since then is happier,

less on edge,

more content.

And, this is a good thing.

But sometimes, I look back on her -- that me from a few short years ago -- with longing.

me, the other day, shorter hair,
more shadows and lines,
a bit less longing,
and yet. . . 

Maybe that's just how I am.

Maybe I am made up of longing.

So that, if I'm not longing someone,

or something,

I am just longing for that old me.

Maybe it's a writer thing. Maybe we must keep scratching at the surface, picking, turning over emotions, until we hit raw nerves.

Maybe we're afraid we'll be stale and staid (boring) if we're not in some glorious state of pain.

And the truth is, it's not hard to get there -- stay there -- wanting,  wishing,

fretting,

longing.

Life obliges,

makes it easy to feel unsettled,

by making it all so tenuous and fleeting.

Face it.

In front of you, it's all a blur,

whooshing by faster than you can catch your breath.

So, behind,

back there,

you,

then,

"ago"

seems stretched out,

heightened,

nearly gilded.

The grass back there is softer, somehow,

isn't it?

Younger,

and greener.

gae

*post script: this blog post has been resonating with friends -- both on my facebook page and in my email -- it made me remember this other post of similar theme, with this beautiful  "green" poem by my friend, and poet and artist, Lori Landau. You can see it HERE.

Paperback Party, complete with essential footnotes. . .

me, begging pleady eyes.

This is me, close up, in your face.

Are you sick of me yet?

(please say no, please say no, please say no...)

It's okay, sometimes I'm sick of me too.

Still, it's a dog eat dog world out there, and sometimes writers just have to promote themselves.*fn1

So, once again, here I go.

If you prefer not to read any further blatant self author book promotion, here's a lovely place to sit, instead,

looking out over my father's gardens. Feel free to stay here and relax:

Nice, right?

(Are you still here?)

If you are still reading, guess what?

Square Fish did a fabulous job with the new cover!

My paperback is out! Well, the official release date is February 5, but the ship date is 1/17 which means boxes and boxes of the The Pull of Gravity in paperback are now circulating all over the country. *fn2

Meaning this: It would make me really happy if:

a) you buy one for yourself;

b) you buy one for a beloved tween or teen;

c) you already read it and loved it and now told two friends to a) buy one for themselves or b) buy one for a beloved tween or teen they know.

also, it doesn't hurt *fn3 if you put up a review on Amazon.

But what would make me happiest -- at least if you are local -- is d) if you come and join me to celebrate the paperback release on 2/10 at the wonderful Huntington Public Library (it's a Friends of the Library fundraiser). If you want to read more about the launch party, you may do so HERE or HERE (you must register to come!).

If you don't come, be warned. You will be missing:

a) monkeys *fn4;

b) jugglers *fn5;

c) flame-throwers *fn6;

d) delicious cupcakes *fn7; and

e) a live, bravura performance by an internationally-acclaimed musician! *fn8.

Plus, clearly, I will be doing the entire reading standing in a pool. *fn9

So, see, in the end, this isn't really about me and my blatant self promotion.

This is about YOU, reading a good book, telling your friends about a good book, and having an awesome Sunday afternoon in February with live cupcakes and live music. *fn10

Also, there's a Writer's Workshop and Publishing Q&A beforehand, if that's your cup of tea. *fn11

So, that's it. I love my readers and need my readers and I'm grateful if you spread the word.

Speaking of which, my next book, still unnamed but referred to as Frankie Sky, comes soon from Algonquin Young Readers. They've launched their Fall 2103 line of galleys into the Universe and have gone live on Twitter (@AlgonquinYR) and facebook. If you're either place, you should check them out and follow them. I'm sure there are monkeys and jugglers galore! *fn13

Thanks for reading.

xo gae

footnotes:

*fn1: did you skip over that link? Because seriously, at least if you're a writer, it is one of the funniest things I've ever read. Just in case, I'll give you the link again. Hell is My Own Book Tour.

*fn2: this may be a slight exaggeration.

*fn3: it actually helps -- some Amazon algorithm that does something to do something.

*fn4: lie, no monkeys.

*fn5: lie, no jugglers.

*fn 6: lie, no flame throwers

*fn7: all completely true!

*fn8: I promise "David and David" are talented, plus, we must have some relatives in another country somewhere who will vouch for them...

*fn9: hey, I will if the Huntington Library will let me! :)

*fn10: okay fine, no such thing as live cupcakes, you say? What if I put spirulina *fn12 in them?!

*fn11: my cup of tea lately is Tazo Zen Tea (I mean, come on! Lemongrass and Spearmint?!). I'd be genuinely curious what yours is, if you want to tell me. I'm an excellent listener that way. :)

*fn12: i promise not to put spirulina in them.

*fn13: has no idea if there are monkeys and jugglers. You'll have to buy the books and open the pages to see. . . :)

reflect and renew and a few wishes - hello 2013

kissing goodbye 2012... for better and worse...

I've been on a tear to finish a manuscript which means long days and nights at the computer in between anything else I might be doing.

And I've had a head cold (doesn't that sound old fashioned?) for weeks. A two week + head cold.

And, of course, there was the little matter of the holidays.

Which is my way of saying that my thoughts are disorganized and discombobulated and I feel unready to make my usual resolutions.

Yet, I feel the year end is an important time -- an opportunity to reflect, and a clean slate to renew.

So, I thought I'd at least take a few minutes to reflect on a very few of the highlights of my year (honestly, there have been MANY)

and to renew my determination in a few of the areas I didn't quiet live up to my own hopes and expectations this year (honestly, there have been MANY).

Happy Reflection:

Highlights (these are MY personal highlights, not those of my children - that their highlights are my greatest joy should go without saying):

• selling my next novel to an amazing editor at Algoquin;

• attending my first big book festival as a published author;

look, I even got my own star... :)

• completing a five mile open water swim;

the title page of the script.

• holding a movie script for The Pull of Gravity in my hands --

-- and (yes, it's still totally pie-in-the-sky at this point, so the truth is, I'm not so much "excited" as I am flattered and enjoying the fun of it).




Of course, there were other wonderful highlights too,

a school visit in Pennsylvania, and a few in NYC, as well as a bunch of Skype visits to classrooms around the country giving me a chance to connect directly with my readers;

the day to day humor and joy of connecting with my friends -- both virtual and in person;

and the blessing of living near the water, and extending our open water season to nearly seven months of regular daily swims...

West Neck Beach where I frolic with the Pod

 

to name a few.

But there are places where I've failed miserably and hope to do better this year.

Renewed Commitment:

• More writing, less facebook. Sad, but true. I love my shiny facebook friends, but I need to be more focused and less distracted from my writing. I had hoped to have my "next hopeful" manuscript [working title In Sight of Stars] revised by the end of the summer, and have a new one I started that I was liking in rough draft by year's end. Instead, I am still trying to finalize the former and haven't touched the other. It's nobody's fault but my own.

Not to mention that I hoped to revise Swim Back to Me, and maybe send it out there once again.

Yes, I've done some good writing, and had revisions due to my editor in between, but the lampost and I both know I've procrastinated a great deal, and I'm not getting any younger.

• More yoga. Less almost going to yoga.

• Less talk, more action. Helping people. Contributing to the larger world.

• More reading, less mindless TV;

                                                                                and, dare I say,

• I've got a few bigger swims to tackle...

Well, I've got a lot more where that came from: disappointments that I want to turn to opportunity and personal improvement, but the bewitching hour of my headcold is getting the best of me.

I can't end 2012 without making a few wishes:

• gun control
• a kinder gentler nation for my kids,
• and that you all have a year without suffering.

Happy New Year to all!

Please don't drink and drive. Pretty please, with a cherry on top. <3 p="p">
xox gae