Swimming, Winning, Sinning, Whining, and New Beginnings.

Considering this is me (photo left, with my sister),
terrified by a 5 degree angle,
I'd say I'm doing pretty winning at life these days. ;)

In an oh-too-predictible microcosm of that old macrocosm of Time, 2011 flew by in a blink of an eye.

Damn you, Time. I wish the days would slow down.

I did my best to seize them, to make the most of the hours, some days more successfully than others.

In this, my 47th year, it seems essential to seize every moment, or at least to try, as they blur past me, out the windows.

Here are some of the highlights, the good, the bad and the naughty:

That's me in the middle, finding my religion. . . and, yes, we swam on Christmas Eve day,
me sans Santa hat, but I did don my monkey hat after.

Swimming. My family fills me, my writing sustains me, but my swimming? My swimming saves me.

As I get older, the water keeps me young, keeps me pushing to achieve new goals. Frustratingly, I did not accomplish last year's resolution to complete a five-mile swim this summer (mostly due to logistics), but I am signed up for one this coming summer. Luckily, I did push myself in new ways, including by swimming faster, harder, in more challenging conditions, and through December. Good enough. I'll take it.

I am endlessly blessed to have found The West Neck Pod (here's the official blog of the Pod, if you are interested).

And here I am swimming today, on 12/24/11 with the other amazing nutjobs of the West Neck Polar Pod ;))

Winning. I've had some winning experiences this year, both family and book-related. My kids don't love it when I blog about them, so suffice it to say, both my boys are wonderful kids who are having some awesome and hard-fought-for successes, and I'm proud of them. This is my younger son, having one such moment (yes, that is his name they are chanting ;)). They say you're only as happy as your most unhappy child, and I can tell you that this is true.

As for winning book news, some of the many highlights were:

the Dolphin Bookshop reading in October 

the high schools that have picked up The Pull of Gravity into their curriculum (!), my Skype visits with Mr. Hankins' class and especially the boys of Room 407, and with the 9th graders of Clio High School thanks to Mrs. Sarah Andersen,

and, the winning-most things of all: the confirmation that I will be going to PAPERBACK (!!! Winter 2013) and    

my shiny, wonderful, and oh-so-geekily meaningful 2011 Nerdies Award in Young Adult fiction bestowed by the amazing teachers and educators who run the Nerdy Book Club. (Thanks again to all who voted in the final phase!)

Sinning. Oh, come on! I've been pretty good. What's nice without a little naughty? 

My "private" facebook page continues to be a silly, ridiculous playground for me to connect with my writer (and other!) friends around the country, one such friend being the deliriously sexy and, yes, slightly naughty, Amber Grayson Vayle.    

I've known Amber as a writer for a long time, but recently she has branched out to this sexier persona, and a few months back, while I was appearing on her non-naughty show, we unwittingly named her new late-night Saturday radio show on Shark Radio, The Naughty Slot (10 pm, Saturdays ;)). Gotta love a little double entendre. Since then, it's taken off  and is, I admit, one of my favorite, guilty, grown-up pleasures on an otherwise-quiet Saturday night. Sometimes, it's even a little too hot for me to handle, but most the time it's a fun, sexy and, most-impressively, loving and supportive place to *ahem* blow off some steam (or work some up, I suppose ;)). One of the things I love best there is that most of the women are either tipping 40, or have galloped over it, and each one is a sexy, smart, gorgeous person inside and out. A little titillating fun to spice up the cold nights of winter. ;)

Btw, if you are under 19 and reading this, or easily offended by ridiculousness but still want to interact with me for some reason, please seek me out on my author facebook page HERE, rather than my private one. :)

Whining. I am out on SUBMISSION. Need I say more? (If I do, you can read this blog post, or this one to learn more). Also, my old lady, bum hip still hurts despite months of Physical Therapy, and then there was the night I passed out and broke my nose on the bathroom floor. Also, my freaking house is a mess and I have zero desire to clean it. There. That should do it. That wasn't too bad, was it?

New Beginnings. 

So, there you have it. And, now, here it is, a New Year.

I have a fresh slate and a chance to do better. To be a better friend, to be a more patient parent, to let go of old wounds and find a way to embrace the unknown without so much angst and distraction. And to spend less time wasting time, and more time writing and doing.

This is what I've learned: the more I do, the less I long for all the things I didn't do. Simple, right?

I have books to write, friends to spend time with, a family that I love, and that deserves to have me not just there for them, but fully present.

I am grateful for all the good that has come to me in 2011, and I hope you know how much your readership, and friendship, mean to me.

Especially to those who inspire me, who swim with me, and to my classmates in the Class of 2K11 who got me through this first author year, a very heartfelt thank you.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

- gae

blog:

My Writing Life: Chutes and Ladders

I've been thinking lately how much the whole 'publishing thing' is like a game of Chutes and Ladders.


I mean,
maybe all of life is like a game of Chutes & Ladders and that's why it has
remained such a classic
(or maybe it's just that it's so dang fun to slide the little colorful pegs up and down the curly slides), but, certainly, my publishing journey has felt a lot like playing this game.

Here, I'll show you what I mean.

Imagine my first attempt at writing a manuscript in 1998 as the Start Space, and the completion of the first rough draft of THE JETTY (4+ years) as Space #4.

Up, I go to Space #14 where there's a yummy cake waiting for me. Yay, cake! You know how I love a good cake.

Perhaps at space #15, I submit to my first round of agents, which all come back rejections. Space #16, down I go! But at Space #9, I get a bite, my first agent request for a look at a partial or full.

Woohoo, I'm off and running on Space #31!

At Space #36, THE JETTY makes it to the Semi-finals of the first-ever Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest, but at Space #47, I'm eliminated (luckily, I land in water).  

Space #28 is totally elusive for most of us -- there's a forcefield around it or something -- but it's back to Space #36 again, where I get my first real NYC literary agent who loves THE JETTY and my writing and is convinced we will get a six-figure deal.

Up to Space #44. Look how tall I feel now!

At Space #51, I finish the revisions she's asked for and we begin to send the manuscript out to publishers. At Spaces #53 - 63, the, "we love this, but. . ." rejections from said publishers start to roll in.

At Space #64, while at work on a new middle grade manuscript, I fall and break my arm.

No, really. I fell and broke my arm. Totally lost all mojo on that manuscript. It still sits half-finished somewhere.

Instead, on Spaces #61 - 79, I begin work on my second to-be-completed women's fiction manuscript, SWIM BACK TO ME and, at Space #80, it's ready to be submitted.

I land on Space #87. What more can I say?

For a while, I see stars (no, really, I'm telling you, I'm pretty sure I saw stars), but by Space #31 I'm off and running again. This time, it's a young adult manuscript, THE PULL OF GRAVITY.

At Space #36, I get an amazing editor at fsg interested, and at Space #51 she loves it!

Look at me just sweeping up over there.

But at Space #56, another in-house editor says, "Not so much," and sends me sneezing back to Space #53.

I engage in rewrites, my agent newly-confident in the manuscript and on space #71, the editor calls us back to say she misses the manuscript and, voila! I have a book deal.

It's a book deal, peeps. I eat an entire ice cream sundae!!! (Though I am careful to put my bib on.)

After 18 months of Space #91 glee and nerves and joy and revisions and line edits, the book comes out to very good reviews.

Woo hoo!

Good reviews!!!

*looks for ladder space*

Er. Um.

WE COULD USE A LADDER HERE, PEOPLE!!!

What? You say there there are no ladders here? Only more potential chutes? Ah, my TPoG cover hasn't made the Macmillan catalogue (most bookstores buy at least partially based on cover appeal), and, as a non-lead title, I receive only mininum marketing support from my publisher.

At Space #93, I scribble profanities all over the walls of facebook and start to slide down.

Days and nights turn into endless self-marketing ventures instead of writing ones, trying to get word of my title out there. I also work on what I think will be my "option" book -- an upper YA called JACK KEROUAC IS DEAD TO ME, which I finish in rough draft and my new agent loves.

Oops, might have left out some chutes and ladders, didn't I? As a result of a layoff at an inopportune time, I split with my first agent and am quickly taken on by a new one who is ready to pitch SWIM again after deep revisions. She also loves JACK KEROUAC, but I've started a second "option" effort, called FRANKIE SKY, which she loves too, and we agree to submit that for my option.

At Space #93 (what is it with that space, I ask you?) my editor rejects FRANKIE SKY as too commercial, but loves a new manuscript I've also started called IN SIGHT OF STARS. At Space 94 she's taking it up to the exec board, but unforseen objects sometimes have a trajectory of their own, and, at Space #95 she rejects it. At the same time, new shiny agent #2 -- not so new or shiny anymore -- loses steam with everything, becomes unresponsive to anything to do with my career, and we part ways somewhat less than amicably.

What day is it?

What year is it?

WHAT SPACE AM I ON?!?

At Space #80 -- aw, come on, you didn't really think I would land on Space #80...

At Space #79, I get a shiny, new agent -- one who comes highly recommended by a writer-friend, and in whom I have lots of faith. He takes me on for FRANKIE SKY but asks for revisions which are (gratefully) made. At Space #96 I kick ass (avoiding that damned broken window) and my revisions get approved.

There are just three spaces left that stand between me and a second book deal.

Three.

Little.

Spaces.

And,

one chute. 

*stares at dice in hand, and tries not to pull any cat tails.*

 - gae

Writing, Swimming and trying to regain FOCUS.

I've spent the last two months pulled by [The Pull of] Gravity - blogging, marketing, and the past week and future week launching and "appearing."

It's been good and busy and exhilarating and exhausting, but I really (really, really) need to refocus.

I need to get back to regular swimming - my pool heater is broken and, given the less-than-springlike temps in NY, the water remains at 66 degrees. Doesn't matter, seems I like it this way now anyway.

And I need to get back to regular writing: am mid-revision on Frankie Sky, and will ultimately need to do an overhaul on my other two YA manuscripts: Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me and In Sight of Stars. But really, I am anxious to get back to my women's fiction too. Swim Back to Me needs a new title (*sigh* Ann Packer took mine) and a bit of a tweaking to add some hook to the beginning.

And of course, there are the kids in there - and the crazy end of the school year, and spring sports and planning for summer. And the start of the Open Water Swim season. And I am behind in it all.

So, I need focus. I need focus really bad. Gonna go in search of it where I always do: in the quiet, cool bliss of underwater.

- gae

Some Rambling and Random Thoughts on a Big Deal

This is me standing in front of an already shelved copy
of THE PULL OF GRAVITY at the Strand Bookstore, NYC. 

So, after nearly 12 years of trying, and nearly 18 mos. of post-success waiting, my book came out yesterday.

Cool? Yes.

Surreal? Yes.

A big deal? Sure.

Nothing in the scheme of things? Yeah, that too. (at least in the zen, drop in the ocean sort of sense. . . ).

So, how to celebrate something that's everything and nothing? I knew it was important for me to get away from the computer yesterday (and the sort of incessant "checking on things" a computer allows us to do). I wanted to try to do something to make the day stick -- to have it be something more than anticlimactic if I could.

Believe me, you, when you gear up for something for 12 years and 18 months respectively, it's hard to really make it climax. Er. But, ask any debut author and they will tell you the same thing.

Lucky for me, my extraordinary editor, the lovely Frances Foster, invited me to lunch at the Union Square Cafe. I already had an enviable plan. :)

Given that lunch was at 12:30 and I love to train in on the 8:55 am with my dear friend Selbern who is the editor who cleaned up my TPoG book trailer and made it emmy-worthy quality (yes, Selbern has 3 emmys in his house, so, um, yeah -- I'd show you a photo, but he'd get mad), I had some time to kill first in the city.

I made plans to meet two dear friends, Lori and Donna (and a dear tag-a-long -- thank you, Ellen!) at the Strand Bookstore on 12th Street first, in order to take a photo with the book there on the Strand shelves. This is what good friends do: they schlepp across, or into, the city to buy your book they've already bought, so they can buy a copy in front of you, and climb ladders to get a shot with you and the book. (see photo above).

Bear in mind, the Strand was a hallowed place for me -- I practically lived there in my twenties, when I still lived and worked in NYC, didn't have kids or a real career yet, and still had time to read 2 -3 books a week. I'm sure I bought most the used classics there when I went through my read-the-classics phase (I should go through a phase like that again!).

When I got there, only one copy of TPoG had been shelved; the rest were still boxed in receiving. Lucky for me, the Strand is full of awesomesaucey people, like the cute dude with long hair whose name sadly escapes me, and the manager, Laura, both of whom were so very kind to me, told me they'd get them out pronto, and that I should return after lunch to sign all ten copies, and that they'd then display the books on the "Bestseller" table in the YA section. I didn't see a Bestseller table, so maybe they meant the New Arrivals table which would be totally cool with me!  

Lunch with Frances was delightful. Despite a large menu with a variety of delicious offerings, we both ordered the same thing without pre-planning, which made me wonder if the same thing that made us both desire the "spring greens ravioli" made her connect with the early manuscript of The Pull of Gravity.

After the main course, we shared some deliciously-decadent, chocolately-caramelly thing, in celebration of TPoG's release.

I sat in a teeny tiny chair at a teeny tiny table and signed copies. Surreal.

After lunch, Laura at the Strand had made good on her promise, and the copies of TPoG were waiting for me. I sat at a kiddy table in the children's section and signed copies, all the while trying to get it to settle in my brain that I had a book out; that I was signing copies where it would be sold to people from the Strand; that people would read it, and maybe a few people would truly love it, and they would remember it for years and years.

Instead, all I kept thinking was, there are a gazillion books in here. Gazillions of people have done this before. How can it be so hard?

On the train home, I was tired from weeks of marketing, and interviews, and (UGH) photographers, and a general sense of trying hard to get the name of my book out there. Upon return home, my facebook page was flooded with well-wishes, one of the things that has made this journey so extraordinary.

Throughout the evening, people kept asking, was it a good day? Was it a good day? Was it everything you hoped?

And, it was a good day. A lovely day. But, you know, somehow still anticlimactic. I think partly because there's just no way to internalize what it is.

But you know what? This morning, I woke up smiling. The photos from the Strand fill me with joy. I love my friends dearly. And, I will always remember that lunch with Frances.

from a Yoda quote in the book. .  .

Oh, and, if you're in NYC, and you walk into the landmark Strand Bookstore on 12th Street and Broadway in NYC, you can pick up a copy of The Pull of Gravity.

Signed in indelible ink by me.

Anticlimactic? Maybe.

Big deal? Who knows.

But very, very cool.

xo gae

A Fine Line Between Promo and Puking. . .

and I may, or may not be, straddling it well.

I'm not one to be completely selfless (don't get me wrong), but I'm not one to walk around tooting my own horn either. I'm more one of those people who thinks I shine more if I stand next to someone great and reflect off (and on!) their great qualities.

And, honestly, I get really sick of people who do nothing but toot their own horns. To me, there's little worse.

Take One

So, I'm having a hard time figuring out how to be proud and excited

of my little book accomplishment here,

and, moreso, to do this endless promotion thing that I'm supposed to do,

without making myself (or you) puke.


It's definitely that old conundrum:

Enough about me, let's talk about me.  

Times infinity.

I mean, the truth is, it's been a long, long road to get here. And, I'm excited. And I've worked hard. But the bigger truth is, if I ever want another book deal again, I have to. I have to get the word out there.

It's a dog-eat-dog bookworld out there these days, with everyone scrambling to figure out how to stay in the game when the game has sprouted octopus legs jiggling and waggling everywhere.

So, I'm leaving you a barf bag, and I'm taking one myself.

Let me know if you need another.

Otherwise, I'm hoping you'll hang on for the flight.

- gae

The Mosquito, Pre- Book Release, Anything-but Coast

Me, low tech as always,
on the morning of the NY Times Interview

<--------- This is me. My days are flying by. I am caught in the whirlwind of pre-debut book release chaos. I try not to be, but the fact is, I never feel as if I'm doing enough.

Let me introduce myself, yadda, yadda, yadda. Some of it has really paid off. I have had librarians as far as Hawaii say they viewed my trailer and will order in the book. I have had some major academic organizations say they are interested in TPoG for their purposes. I have connected with terrific teachers, principals, librarians, and, yes, even some reporters, across our country. Better yet, I've connected with some truly awesome teens.

Frances, on the right,
with author Barbara O'Connor

And, yes, I even somehow got myself a New York Times profile, allegedly to run in the May 1 Metro section of the NY Times. The reporter spoke to my editor yesterday (the fantabulous Frances Foster). Apparently, in addition to asking Frances what she loved about my book, the reporter talked about my "persistence." Knowing Frances, she likely smiled amusedly and answered, "yes, yes, I'm familiar with that as well."

I guess we'll see what she really said on May 1st. ;)

In the meantime, let's hope that my unique style of "persistence" is a good thing, and not akin to a mosquito on a hot summer's night, buzzing loudly in your ear. And, better yet, lets hope all these hours and connections (and persistence) amount to book sales. Because, lord knows, in all those hours, I could have written an entire other manuscript instead.

To those of you following my journey, posting interviews, reviews, and generally propping me up with your humor and good wishes, not to mention ordering the book, do not underestimate my appreciation. From the bottom of my slightly-exhausted heart.

- gae

Pineapples

Judging by the date of my last entry here,
and despite the title of this blog,
I am apparently not actually staying afloat.

Bite me.

Okay, fine, don't.

Where water metaphors are concerned, though, I should not be sinking.


If there's one thing I do know how to do, it is swim.

See? This is me, swimming.

And, yet. . . 

In fairness to me, these last 8-week-(gulp)-throes of trying to market my own book -- yes, unless we are JK Rowling or Stephanie Meyer, these days we mostly do it all on our own -- are starting to weigh me down. Everything from booking my own events (and those of Class of 2K11) and arranging the "food and entertainment" there, to my release party, to designing my own bookmarks and "swag" (with the help of my dear friend and fab graphic designer [you should use him if you need graphics designed...] Jeff Fielder), to writing endless blog posts, tweeting and fb'ing, to mailing out packages of swag . . . well, you get the gist. Add to it, my part-time real paid work and my kids whose spring sports and school lives are heating up, and really are the thrill of my life but demanding of my motherly attention. . . well, there's only so many hours in a day.

Which leaves me with this:

the last few times I've signed onto facebook (oh, love of my life, you facebook!) or Twitter (ringing silence), the only thing I want to type is the word pineapple.

Pineapple.

Pineapples. (Sure, the plural works nicely).

I mean, sometimes, a single word like that seems to sum things up nicely, right?

Pineapple. 

see?

Gae Polisner is pineapple.

That tells you everything you need to know.

- gae

Enough about ME, let's talk about YOU.

Really.  I mean it.

I mean, come on.

THIS IS ME:

Posing me

THIS IS ME: 

Swimming me



THIS IS ME: 

Idiotic Monkey Hat me

THIS IS ME:  http://childrenspublishing.blogspot.com/2011/03/wow-wednesday-gae-polisner-on-alchemy.html,

                                                  THIS IS ME: http://gaepolisner.com/html/ya.html,

THIS IS ME: http://www.classof2k11.com/?page_id=101,                  

And, good lord yes,   THIS. IS. ME: https://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=208569519157839&oid=166649123380617&comments

                                 

Honestly, still two months to go, and I AM SO VERY SICK OF ME!!!

Seriously.

So, I can only imagine how all of you feel.

And already today, my inbox is full of requests for more me (the "YA Universe" is an interesting and fabulous place, but one UNTO ITSELF, with a nearly insatiable appetite for new information about YA authors that the rest of the world don't give two shits about). And yet, there's the need to be out there in it, to keep up, to get my name and my book out there. And, I'm grateful for it. Truly.

But I'm also so very sick of me.

So, do me a favor. Tell me something neat about you. Something I might not know but want to. Your favorite book, a great movie you saw, the best thing that's happened to you this year. What frustrated you yesterday. A link to something you really, really want me to read.

Enough about me, I want to hear about you. Honestly. But, in one neat place where I know where to find it, here.

I'm waiting. So go ahead. 

- gae

The Three R's of 2011: Renew, Resolve, Relinquish

Ok, those may not be The three R's but they are my three R's for the New Year.

First of all, 2011 will be the fucking hugest year of my life in a long time (Yes I can, I can describe it that way if I want to), as I am finally mere months away from an effort that was a decade in the making coming to fruition: the debut of my first novel, The Pull of Gravity, due on bookstore shelves near you on or about May 10, 2011, but likely to make appearances sooner, if I am learning anything about this book business (which I may not be).

Second of all, after several years of what felt to me like nearly-insurmountable upheaval, my life seems to be returning to a calm and peaceful "normal." In most ways, this is a pure, good thing and I am grateful. But in some ways it worries me as I don't want life to become staid or lazy. I don't want to find myself blindsided by a life lived in a rut, that is something less than I thought it would be. Thus, I want to count my blessings, but not settle. I want to remember to make life happen, and be brave enough to do so.

Which brings me to my New Year's Resolutions. I tend not only to make new ones, generally a mix of the physical and the emotional, but also to renew old ones that have made my life richer, or me a better person, even if it's only been in the struggling to keep them.

As such, here are a few of my Renewals, Resolutions and Relinquishments for the New Year, gulp, 2011:

RENEWALS:

• take the stairs, up or down, for anything five flights or less (I made this resolution probably six or seven years ago and haven't broken it since except if there were no stairs to be found or if my arms were laden with heavy things);

• Swim regardless - if there is one thing I have learned it is this: no matter how hard it is to drag myself to and in the water at times, I am NEVER sorry I swam. Never.

• Be a good friend and confidante; do not share other's secrets nor say behind someone's back what you wouldn't say to their face - I am usually successful at these, and the few times I have failed, I have usually "reported" myself to the person on bended knee.

NEW RESOLUTIONS:

• Attempt (and make) a five mile open water swim;

• Burpees, every day. I don't know what it is about me and Burpees (they are my nemesis and I will beat them!) but I have decided they are the ANTI- ass-in-a-chair and I will do (X - number t/b/d) every day. If you don't understand why I think this, click on the word Burpees up there and do ten good ones and you will start to see;

• Be Brave. Whatever this entails. I presume I may have to do some travelling alone this year, get up in front of audiences, push myself beyond my comfort zone. I'll just have to feel the fear, and do it anyway.

And, last but not least,

RELINQUISHMENTS:

and by relinquish, I mean this more in a "let go of the things you cannot control" sort of way, rather than any connotation of giving up. Maybe the better word is ACCEPTANCE but it messed with my whole R thing.

• Age gracefully. No matter what I do, my face and body will age. Nope. Are aging. If you are not yet 46, you will be one day, and you, like me, will go, "holy fuck, how did I get here?" No matter how many crunches you do, your stomach will be softer; no matter how squats you do, your knees will sag at least slightly; no matter how many miles you swim, the skin around your shoulder muscles will be softer. There will be 40, and 50, and 60, and godwilling 70, and 80 and more. I will age. I am aging. I might as well try to accept it with grace. Or, if that is too hard for now, at least, focus on it less.

• Strive to do better without disregarding past efforts. I think I'll let that one stand on its own.

• Enjoy the Success and Let Go. And, as for my book, The Pull of Gravity, it will get out there. I may love the cover or hate it; it may get less marketing attention and dollars than I hoped for, or more. Some people will like it, some (yes, breathe) will not. And if I am lucky, a few will find it memorable.

          It will be whatever it will be, and it won't be what it won't be. But it's gone to print now, so I might as well enjoy the ride.

Happy new year.

-gae

p.s. Got resolutions? I'd love to hear, and cheer you on.

Missing the Ritual and the Open Water

The spring/summer/fall of 2010 will be remembered as one that brought my life a new source of inspiration: the challenge, beauty, and camaraderie of open water swimming.

It not only filled me with a renewed sense of energy and enthusiasm, but, for the first time in my life (since I was a gymnast at age 8 - 12 or so), at age 46, I actually felt physically powerful and capable.

As the winter slips in and I burrow more and more, I feel the glaring disparity between summer and winter even more than I have in the past. As someone who already suffers from a bit of seasonal affective disorder, this isn't the best thing. I already feel the winter sloth setting in. The lethargy. The 'everything aches and I don't want to go outside' blues.

Sure, I head to the pool on a tri-weekly (or more) basis, and the water fills me, but it just isn't the same.

I miss the open water.

I miss this:

and, this:

and, of course, this:

But, especially, I miss this:

Spring really can't return soon enough.

- gae





Of Bats and Beards

My lovely husband.

I have been married for hmmmmn-teen years now, and at times it has been great, and at times, um, maybe not so great. Through it all we have maintained a sense of humor (mostly) toward ourselves and each other and admired one another for our strengths and good qualities (truly), even if the lesser bad qualities were not doing it for us at the moment.

We've always said that the thing that has held our marriage together are our shared values and sense of humor. And if you asked me what I admired most about my husband, I would tell you that it is his humor, intellect, loyalty, and  quiet gentleness that move me.

Which is why it has me laughing for more than a week now, that when I conjure affection for him, I keep returning to the image of him leaving our house last week like The Terminator, a baseball bat gripped in each hand, on a day that he thought I needed some protection.

And, don't be fooled by his sweet face; he looked like he knew how to use them.

And it doesn't hurt that my usually clean-shaven man is now sporting a scruffy beard.

*swoons.*

Foolish of me? Perhaps. But, true, nonetheless. So, I confess.

Of course, I still admire him for his humor, intellect, gentleness and our shared values.

But, oh, the bats and the beard.

- gae

Reading is Exce(r)ptional

photo credit: Rick Kopstein

Oy, what a stretch that title was.

(Consider that for you, Mike Wood).

So, fine, sue me. I'm overdue for a blog post here.

I've been lavishing the attention on my YA-friendly blog lately because, well, because that's the only type of book I've sold so far. *waves two womens' fiction manuscripts wildly through the air.*

At any rate.

As usual, I've been reading three books at once, all too slowly: one classic (The Great Gatsby -- would have finished it sooner but I (ahem) lost it for a week and only re-found it last night in one of those "Alzheimery" places which we will not discuss), one YA (The Miles Between -- because I write it, I need to read it too, not to mention I like it) and one contemporary fiction (Tinkers by Paul Harding, which happened to win the Pultizer this year.) I'm not very far into it, but already I see hints of why it might have won, and decided to share an excerpt that I wish I wrote with you. There is nothing after it, because I feel it deserves to stand on its own.

At the outset of Tinkers, we meet George Washington Crosby who is dying in a hospital bed in the middle of his living room, and is seemingly in the hallucinatory throes of his final days:

     "Lack of exercise might have been the reason that, when he had his first radiation treatment for the cancer in his groin, his legs swelled up like two dead seals on a beach and then turned as hard as lumber. Before he was bedridden, he walked as if he were an amputee from a war that predated modern prosthetics; he tottered as if two hardwood legs hinged with iron pins were buckled to his waist. When his wife touched his legs at night in bed, through his pajamas, she thought of oak or maple and had to make herself think of something else in order not to imagine going down to his workshop in the basement and getting sandpaper and stain and sanding his legs and staining them with a brush, as if they belonged to a piece of furniture. Once, she snorted out loud, trying to stifle a laugh, when she thought, My husband, the table. She felt so bad afterward that she wept."

- gae

A Moment of Thanks

It's Veteran's Day and I wanted to take a moment to thank all the veterans who have so bravely and selflessly fought -- or otherwise put themselves on the line -- to protect the freedoms we all so strongly believe in.

My father is one. A reluctant one, who was anti-war and never believed violence was the way, but went anyway, because he was called, and served valiantly, in a MASH unit in Viet Nam, 1966-67.

War changed him, even in some good ways. It made him a better and stronger doctor, and, likely, a tougher soul. Things that were also good qualities for a father. :)

During the year he was gone, my father wrote to my mother, my sister and me every single day. I have stacks and stacks of the letters - they are a fascinating, poignant, and honest chronicle of young love, death, fear, disillusionment, family, hope, medicine and the horrors of war. It is a huge regret that my sister and I have not yet managed to do what we hoped we would: put them together in a cohesive collection and have them published. I still hope we will.

This photo, above, is from the day my father arrived home from Viet Nam, to two children who were young enough when he left that a year away made him a stranger to them. He was never a stranger again. He came to my sister's class for show and tell right after that ("see, I have a father!") and to every recital, school play, gymnastic competition, moot court competition, family dinner, grandchild's baseball game, etc., etc. after that. He has been, truly, the best father a girl could have -- those of you blessed to have strong, hands-on fathers who teach, champion, support and protect you -- not to mention love and adore you -- throughout your lives know how precious this is.

So, on this veteran's day, a valentine to my father, and by extension, to all fathers out there, then and now, who leave their families to serve in war. May there never be another one. Ever.

gae

inspiration and small signs

I blogged about them here: http://ghpolisner.blogspot.com/2010/10/inspiration-and-signs.html.

-gae

Under Cover Blues

I had planned to blog about my cover for The Pull of Gravity today, because after a first-cover misstep (ugh, don't ask, it was horrible), I got an email on Thursday containing the cover of my dreams.

The Cover Gods Had Interceded.

Giddiness ensued.

My kids and my mother went crazy. ;)

Ok, fine, my agent and I went crazy too.

I imagined coming here today to tell you how cool, hip, whimsical, smart, funny, graphic, and iconic it is and how I can't imagine a teen or grown-up alike walking by it without wanting to pick it up. I imagined how fun that post would be to write. Did I mention I was giddy?


But What the Cover Gods Give, the Cover Gods Taketh Away

(also known as: and then came yesterday...)

That's a long story made short, but suffice it to say, yesterday morning I got an email from my editor saying not to get too excited, that, while the creative dept. agrees and loves the second (new, shiny, fabulous) cover, sales & marketing is set on the first (don't get me started) cover.

Giddiness gone, misery ensued. Er. ensues.

After the email, I went through the well-known stages of grief:

Denial,
Anger,
Bargaining,
Biking,
Crying,
Whining,
Posting My Misery on Facebook,
Depression and
Acceptance.

Ok, I may have stopped short of Acceptance. We'll see how today goes.

In the meantime, I'm praying. You know, in my I-don't-really-believe-in-praying sort of way. I'm praying that people will come to their senses. The cover gods were there for me once. Maybe they'll be there for me again.

After all, it took me ten years+ to get to this point, they wouldn't desert me now. If they do, I'll be sure there is no (cover) god.

-gae

Hats for Sale

It's been one of "those" (two) weeks. Where I'm juggling hats frantically (mother, lawyer/mediator, writer, wife, friend). When the only hat I really want to don is a swim cap.

I've had a few mediation sessions and two mediations come to the drafting point (which now only means reviewing the 40-page agreements my partner writes -- as opposed to when I used to write them and my old partner did the reviewing, a smart change I made to my practice when I got my book deal, but which still requires several combined hours of my time); son One (15) has been preparing for PSAT's and needing rides places; son Two (12) has been juggling school/homework with travel baseball AND a new travel basketball team (and games and practices for both!); it's been the school physical/orthodontist/eye doctor/dentist (please, let's not count cavities) time of year; a dear friend's daughter desperately needed help on her college essays; and my revisions on my option book are taking way longer than I want (the book, despite lots of slicing away at dead weight is now about 20 pages longer and I am only half way through). And, of course, there are dishes and, ahem, laundry to do.

In the middle of that, something that should have been awesome happened: the rough final of my book cover for The Pull of Gravity came in. Except, instead of the moment I'd been waiting for, you know, the one where golden light streams down from the sky and book angels sing, I was underwhelmed both with the cover art and the tagline, and I spent the next week arguing (sweetly) via email with my editor and assistant editor about my concerns and frantically redrafting "suggestions." The cover has gone back for some tweaks. We shall see if there is golden light from the heavens still to come...

At any rate, with all of these hats flying, is it any wonder that all I really want to do is this?:

I know, I know. For a lot of you the answer may be, "um, yes?" But for me, that place, those moments, are bliss. Heaven on Earth. And some days even, salvation. A place where all the other hats drown (too harsh? er, melt away) and there's only me, the water, and sky.

And, the other "Pod" swimmers who completely understand what this means. And agree, wholeheartedly.

And with the temperatures dropping (a few days last week were barely above 45 with water temps a brisk 55 - 58) the Open Water Season is rapidly coming to a close. Honestly, I don't know what I'll do without it.

Meanwhile, another week is here. With it comes the juggling of hats. Luckily, if I have anything to say, one of those hats will be an ugly, magnificent swim cap.

A moment among moments...

About a year ago October, after years (and years) of trying, as most of you know (ad nauseam) I got my first book deal - for my YA novel, The Pull of Gravity.

Since that moment, there have been several moments, that have been surreal, exciting, wonderful: the look on my boys' faces when I told them I had finally succeeded; the moment I called my husband (my sister, my parents) to tell the good news. The first time I sat in the small, sleepy office of my editor, the incredible Frances Foster (Holes (Sachar), Someday this Pain Will Be Useful to You (Cameron) The Wall (Sis)) in the flatiron building in NYC and listened to her gush on about the characters in my novel.

The moment I opened a check from Macmillan in the mail. :)

But the truth is, there is one moment above all others that truly stands out in my mind: December 4, 2009, when some of my best friends I've known "forever," came togther with some of my best friends I'd never, until that very moment, even met (and who had travelled across the space-time continuum to be here -- okay, at least from as far away as Virginia, Seattle, New Mexico and, you heard me: Scotland) to celebrate my small moment of success with me.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime night that I'll truly never forget, and I hope in some way to return the love and support shown me to each and everyone of them. Even those who could only be there in spirit (you know who you are).

In the meantime, here is a tiny glimpse into one captured moment of it. A toast by my dear friend John Aragon, writer -- and human being -- extraordinaire.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWeBJjB_B5o

Happy Monday. I hope each of you has the chance to share at least one evening like this one.

-gae

Where Stories Come From . . .

This morning after my swim, as I floated and stared up at a sky so pure blue-gray that its solid, monotonous color was the only thing in my line of vision save for those little floater things (you know, the little paramecium that slip along the periphery of things, viscous, scientific and strange), a line came to me that I knew would likely be the last line of the novella I am working on, if, in fact, the novella ever comes to full fruition. And, trust me, it may, or may not.

That, and a conversation last evening with my dear friend Evelyn's husband, the gorgeous and gregarious (if slightly giddy ;)) Karlito, got me thinking again about where my stories come from -- my beginnings and middles and ends -- and how differently I seem to write than many of my friends who (enviably) write from well-formed ideas reduced to detailed outlines, their chapters and plot (oh dear god when will I EVER learn to plot?) mapped out before them in bulleted, organized glory.

I write with no such bulleted, organized glory.

For example, evolution of The Pull of Gravity: I read an article about this guy, see, and something about him intrigued me and I found myself wondering what his real life might be like. How what he had done (set out to walk across America to lose weight, in this case) would affect his marriage and, more importantly to me, his children, his family.

Here. This is a real photo of him walking:

He became the first central character driving the story, except that I knew that the story would be told from his son's perspective (I do not remember if the real guy has a son).

The second thing that happened was, as I was thinking vaguely about the story, my younger son spiked a fever, which brought the first line of the book to me, and the few lines that followed:

"A fever was what started everything. That, and the water tower, and the cherry cola. Well, also, Dad and his condition, and Mom being in Philadelphia and all."

Nothing else about the story had come to me yet. But I just started writing, and eventually a story unfolded.

Little known fact (nearly forgotten by me): the first working title of the book in my computer files was Fat Man Walking -- a far cry from Steinbeck, The Scoot, and the Pull of Gravity, now just The Pull of Gravity, eh?


Anyway, this is how I write, despite that all I had in this case was a character or two, some lines that appealed to me, and my own desire and intrigue. Lord knows how I got here from there.

For example, evolution of Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me:

The title came to me one morning as I woke up. Nothing but that title. There was a reason that Kerouac was on my brain, and I was ruminating on my next YA, but other than that, and the sudden realization that somehow butterflies were also to be involved, I had little else when I set the manuscript in motion. How the rest unfolded remains a mystery to me.

For example, evolution of Frankie Sky:

The first line, "The first time I see Frankie Schyler, he’s diving into the deep end of the Lawrenceville Country Club pool," came to me together with an image of a small boy, angelic looking, diving confidently into a swimming pool surrounded by onlookers, appearing to swim sort of miraculously, then drowning instead. I was in the pool, underwater, when the image came to me.

All of my stories are like this -- springing from bits and pieces, vague ideas, images that pull at me, call to me while I swim, or drive, or sleep. I suspect this is not the best way to write, and worse, I suspect it is why, while my writing is repeatedly praised, editors continue to struggle with my stories, my plotting, the way things unfold in my novels, over and over again.

Perhaps it is not the best way to write, but so far, it's the only way I know how.

How do your stories come to you?