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

Dream Five

This is Lori Landau.
She is working on a book of
dream poems and illustrations.

This is my friend Lori Landau. She and I have been friends for a long (long) time. Among many things, Lori is a columnist at Technorati (Lifestyle: Social Goodness) and shows and sells her photography and jewlrey at the Open Center, NYC.

As teens Lori and I wrote endless poetry together, but she has continued to work on her craft and grow as a poet, while I have veered in other directions (she has also forked and veered, but has taken her poetry with her).

And, the truth is, few other's poems move me the way Lori's do.

So, when, I found a poem of hers -- Dream Five -- in my email box the other day like a small gift, I did what I always do: I coveted it.
Her poems make me want to eat them, drink them in. I have tried once or twice to suck them up through the computer screen but the glass intervenes.

So this morning, I did the next best thing. I sat down in front of my computer, turned my webcam on and read the words aloud, hoping by doing so, I could somehow send them into the universe in just the way I heard them in my head and have you understand.

I sent the vlog to Lori and asked if I might post my reading of Dream Five here and she said yes. First I will post the written version below.

-gae

Mixed media dream dog by Lori Landau.

Dream Five

The plane has already taken off but I am unseated. The rows are full of travelers, settling in, gazing out windows, opening books, leaning back, eyes closed, to listen to iPods. I pass by them on my way to the doorway that separates coach from a part of the plane I never knew existed but enter anyway. The thrust of the plane overcomes the drag and the plane is pushed up through the bright air. I am in some type cargo space, stripped clean of carpet and seating and storage. The floor is whitewashed, with blackened steel planks, held down by rivets and antique fasteners. It is the type of place that in another time might have housed sturdy parts: landing gears, propellers, spare luggage bins, but as of now, it is empty, save for two seats that are anchored to raw metal and facing me from across a divide. They are slatted chairs like you’d find at a movie theater or a ballgame, attached at the legs and bolted to the floor with antique studs. No safety belts, just old-fashioned straps made to wind around knees and waists like a harness, clumsily buckled, like arms that are poised to grab hold. The whole thing feels like a throwback to the 40s, like some kind of old military jet, it hums with the purgatory air of a waiting room. By the force of motion, I know we’re ascending. The plane shifts then stabilizes, and I eye the two empty seats, deciding whether or not they will hold me to gravity, when I see that my two long-dead dogs, Annie and Gypsy, who are very much alive, are here, just a few steps from the sealed exit door. To see a dog in your dream symbolizes intuition, loyalty, protection, two must be doubly so. I know this as well as I know that I am dreaming. I am overjoyed to see them, but I am aware that in waking life they are still dead. I realize that they are here to tell me something I’ve forgotten, some important information that has slumbered long within me. I look out the windows of the plane to see what direction we are going in, to assess the likelihood of turbulance, to see if the plane is trailing some message, skywriting symbols that will decipher why I am here, and where I am going, and I see through the cold glass what has been there all along, the altitude of blue sky and everything beyond, and I am flying through it, carried like Dorothy hurtling toward Oz ,holding on by my feet, rooted to the unseen, to that which has come before and all that is yet to come, soaring toward the unknown without a safety net, flying far over the articulation of earth, away from the bent elbows of women squatting long over muddy water, over corrugated fences and bitter branches weighed down by leaves and birdsong, over the long slow trains that run past crumbling walls etched with graffiti, lifting over the hinge of the horizon, on my way to waking.

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