the wb

"Suzanne," by Leonard Cohen: it's where I'm at today

2009-10-06T08:40:00.000-07:00

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

A year to the day

2009-10-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning thinking about my neglected blog, knowing it had been about a year since I had posted anything, and thought, this morning I'll pour a nice cup o' joe and write a few words...

And, while uncanny, it's not surprising to me that it has been literally exactly one year since I've dusted this thing off and took it out for a spin. This week as the wee one has started school and the hubby was out of town and I had a long-overdue few days to myself, I have been able to do a bunch of the things I used to do all the time, that I haven't done all year. Of course I was sick as a dog for 3 of the days, but hey, at least I was alone, right?:

Mop my floors (they have been mopped, but I have not had the pleasure of mopping them. I love the smell of Murphy's Oil Soap.)
Work on my next story. I am hesistant to call it a book, but at pg 140 and still kicking, it's certainly not a haiku.
Sit up in bed at night and read (for pleasure; not for school)
Nap in the mornings, after the kidlets scamper off to school
Clean out my nail polish drawer (how many shades of red does one girl need?)
Save all my photos onto CD, freeing up room on the computer and bringing peace of mind (if there's a random computer crash, the pix are safe) (if the house catches fire, I just need to grab that one case and run)
Clean out my closet
Change car insurance
Wash the windows
Bleach all the white towels and sheets

Sounds like a lot for a week, but mostly it felt like puttering. The wee one helped with the windows and the mopping. She can wield a broom like nobody's bizniz. Plus you know how when you have this running internal to-do list, of I can't wait till things settle down and I can... Well, I did all of them, and am still gonna do thank-you notes and ofoto albums today, if I can.

What was I doing, pray tell, that prevented all these things?

I was finding myself, then losing myself, then finding myself again.
I was, as Michael Douglas said in Flirting with Disaster, having an experience.

"And by the way...w-w-why are you not wearing pants?"
"I had an experience, that's why."
"What do you mean?"
"I resisted at first, and then it evolved, and it continues to evolve for me."

That's sort of what's been happening.

On my good days, I think back fondly and with a lite smile call it an emotional rollercoaster.
On my bad days, I seethe with resentment and call it my own personal blair witch project.

Some days it feels like I let myself out of a cage last year, other days I feel like I was in one. Emotions are weird; unprocessed emotions are weirder. And I realize that I am one of those remedial ones that needs time to process. Tasks I bang out super-fast. I pay bills the moment they arrive, I don't miss deadlines, I, as they say, get 'er done. But feelings...I need time. I need to chew them around slow like a horse - you know when they do that thing that looks like they're chewing? They're thinking. They do it most when taking in new information. And to interrupt it interrupts their thought process. This year I kept trying to digest and someone kept poking their finger in my mouth -- made it difficult. I think they thought they were helping (not).

So now I can just sit and chew to my heart's content, and see that even though it was a rough year, a life-changing year, a momentous, difficult, joyous, necessary, delightful, magical year -- I can see that it's okay for it to be over. This October can be something more quiet and introspective and personal than last October. I can focus on my kids, and their halloween costumes, and on getting enough sleep, and decorating the house, and keeping up with old friends, replying to emails, concentrating on school (only 3 quarters left!), and on my own sometimes-precarious sanity.

They weren't kidding when they talked about fall being a time of change, of going within, of solitude and clarity and peace and homefires and a strange feeling of bittersweet contentment.

Back to School!

2008-10-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

I'd better get me a little plaid skirt and some white kneesocks...

The letter came today (yes, again with the watched pot: the mail came while I was out running errands with the little one) --- they let me in! I'll be entering Antioch U winter quarter; it's their Bachelor completion program (BA/Psych). My patchwork-quilt of transcripts will have me entering with 112.5 credits, so I'm a little over halfway there...67.5 credits to go...BUT THEY LET ME IN! They like me! They really, really like me!

Oops...looking at the letter reminds me...I left the rest of the mail just sitting there in the mailbox all unwanted and sad. I'd better go get it.

PHEW!

also

WHOO HOO!

big fat sigh of relief!

2008-09-30T15:22:00.000-07:00

Jenni, you were right (rather, your Granny Spencer was) regarding the watched pot not boiling. Or the watched cell phone not ringing. The moment I let go, stopped obsessing (and you know I can obsess along with the best of 'em) and hopped in the shower, the mofo called me. I'm walking through the kitchen, hair in white towel-turban, other towel as strapless wraparound mini a-la the Go-Go's first album (minus the face masks) (what is it that I love so much about white towels? I still steal them from hotels and gyms; is that bad?) ANYWAY, I'm padding through the house to find me some clothes to put on, and BEEP! I hear my voicemail alert. I'm like, yeah, it's probably a wrong number, my mom, work, the dentist, anyone other than The Registrar. But guess what, it was her, and I called her back right away even though I had to move the towel to get my cell phone to my ear, and found out that 107.5 of my college credits will transfer!!! Add 5 to that from this biology class I'm taking this quarter, and I'm a mere 67.5 credits from my BA in Psychology...

Not that I've been accepted.

They probably won't let me in.

But IF I do decide to go for this, at least I know where I stand.

And can, quite possibly, get some sleep tonight......

cherry chapstick

2008-09-29T22:21:00.000-07:00

Well! Now that I know I actually have at least one blog reader out there, maybe I'll be more inclined to post things. But the things that are on my mind right now are not at all appropriate for public consumption...

So how about I'll stick to the stuff I can share in print, since this is about as public as one can get.

10 hours till the offices at Current University of Choice open; I left a voicemail for the registrar today. And get this: her secretary called me back just to tell me she was out for the day.

Thanks.

More waiting.

So I just stare at my phone and my email, waiting.

Oh - and the mailbox.

I'm not at all in the now, except for these occasional run-ins where I am so focused it's scary, so there. Other than that, I'm not here. Like tonight: I got in my car, turned on my Blondie Live in Concert (1980) CD, and next thing I know, I'm pulling up in front of the house. (To quote David Byrne: How did I get here?). Now I'm sitting here watching my cursor blink, and replaying conversations in my head. My mind wanders......

Maybe I should just go to bed...daydream some more...but it's nighttime..."nightdream" isn't even a word -- maybe it's just so freakishly redundant, like "past history," that no one bothered make up a word for it. (I hope Miss Registrar from CUOC doesn't read this; she'll think I'm a nuthead. Do admissions offices google prospective students? I would. I totally would.)

People Magazine, you are amazing!

2008-09-29T09:30:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the cover of this week's People? Clay Aiken: "Yes, I'm gay!"

How is this NEWS? Don't you have to be in, to come out?

What I want to find online and can't is the comedian who did the routine about George Michael's "coming out" --- "George Michael?? GAY??? No! Not the lead singer for Wham!" I guess you have to hear him do it; it's brilliant.

Also: Clay Aiken looks like a cross between Tea Leoni and David Duchovny, with the smallest bit of kd lang thrown in for good measure.

the latest

2008-09-24T11:30:00.000-07:00

OK, so Miriam continues to delight me the most out of the four main characters. She is just so flippin' NUTS. We're on page 140; we have 10 completed chapters and bits and pieces of a few more. We have an end in mind but not on paper. We practiced writing a little synopsis and posted it on facebook just for kicks (no one has commented on it though, likely indicating it's as bad an idea as my inner critic tells me it is). The story seems at least moderately entertaining to me, but maybe that's just the flip side of hating your own writing more than anyone, is you also love it more than anyone. Anyway, here's the in-a-nutshell gist of the latest endeavor:

'Westport' is a tale of secrets kept, secrets spilled, things found out, and things never told. A tale of surprisingly intersecting lives as told by Abby, a pregnant teenage surfer girl; David, a seemingly average guy with a hidden penchant for various forms of escape; Veronica, turning 40 and falling fast down the rabbit hole of obsession and desperation (mental illness?) regarding her possible infertility; and Miriam, a pill-popping, chain-smoking nurse with a mean streak whose desire for peace and quiet lands her with a dead husband on page one. It's small-town living at its finest: you can only get away with so much for so long.

I don't know...maybe it's just me. But I'm enjoying it.

And then there's the school idea.

I decided it was long past time to finally complete the degree I left by the side of the road when I was but a wee lass...so I'm applying to {gulp} Universities, and have (as of Monday) officially gotten the science-requirement ball rolling and enrolled in an online class through the local comm coll: Bio125, AKA "The Survey of Human Diseases." It's spectacular so far. Who knew Memmler's The Human Body in Health and Disease 10th Edition could make such entertaining bedtime reading? Though I must say I've been having the strangest dreams this week, and am trying real hard to not self-diagnose.

My latest obsession: finding old pictures and posting them on facebook (1985 seems to be a year rife with snapshots from 10th grade lunchtime and I find myself weirdly sentimental -- mid-life crisis, anyone? Can I be pre-menopausal at 38? Or do I just need to up the St. John's Wort?)

All this while being a mom and a wife and working 40 hours a week at the best darn treatment center in the world, and my life is like, way super-full. The book might have to simmer away on the back-burner for a bit while I do the school thing. If I even get accepted to one (Will I? It's the question of the day, every day, and my sole reason for sprinting to the mailbox as soon as the mail jeep pulls away)...

So there's the skinny. I'm going to run out with this little one of mine and enjoy the last of this crisp autumnal Indian-Summer-with-a-hint-of-a-cold-front we're having up here in the Pacific NW.

Guess Who's Writing Again?

2008-06-07T08:50:00.000-07:00

Yes, dahlings, we are about 35 pages in to the most interesting little tale...so far all I really have are 4 VERY ODD characters (whom I love) and their deep dark secrets, which are interwoven and about to come boiling and screaming to the surface! Fun!

If anyone remembers Miriam, the crazy nurse from early drafts of Beachglass, she's baaaack... and crazier than ever. My favorite line describing her so far? "As if Miriam weren’t unattractive enough already, she had a frown on her face when she returned. A single thought in Veronica’s head: Where The Wild Things Are. If Maurice Sendak had drawn a nurse, this would be her." Oh, she's ugly and crazy -- and she's guilty of things we can't even begin to imagine. Not even me. I sit down to write, and every time, she takes a left and totally surprises me with how warped she is.

Stay tuned...

our new blog

2008-01-26T09:33:00.001-08:00

http://hestlegur.blogspot.com/
it's all about the horse experience...

veterans' day

2007-11-11T07:18:00.000-08:00

If I time it right, I get to listen to "This I Believe" on NPR during my Sunday morning drive to work; this week's essay was submitted by Joel Schmidt, a clinical psychologist at the VA's Mental Health Clinic in Oakland, CA. As expected, there was mention of soldiers and medics and airmen: people who have served in Vietnam and Iraq and Germany, a Bataan Death March survivor, a Marine who was at the Chosin Resevoir. But there was one paragraph that hit me in an unexpected way -- he was talking about war veterans when he said:

I have gained a surprising belief from hearing about so much agony: I believe in the power of human resilience. I am continually inspired by the ability of the emotionally wounded to pick themselves up and keep going after enduring the most traumatic circumstances imaginable.

But my thoughts went to our work in the treatment field. I could have easily written his words, all of them (minus maybe "Iraq" and "infantry"). The women we work with might not be "veterans" in the usual sense, but they have been through their own personal wars, they have endured some of the most traumatic circumstances imaginable, they are emotionally wounded. There is no purple heart for living through violence, assault, suicide attempts, overdoses, rape, abuse, abandonment, neglect, loss, self-mutilation, addiction . . . But when I look around the circle during a group and they are talking about these things for the first time and starting to heal those ancient wounds, I honestly feel like going around and pinning a medal to every single one of them. Talk about resilient. Any word you can attach to a war veteran, you can attach to these women. Brave. Strong. Damaged too, sure -- but not permanently.

That's where the hope and inspiration come in. Knowing that we can overcome anything. That emotional pain is bearable, temporary, and brings with it the courage and strength to get through it.

But he put it SO MUCH better than I ever could. You can find the essay in its entirity here.

Armless Man Delivers Fatal Headbutt

2007-10-19T19:43:00.001-07:00

Seriously this happened. It was in the news. They were fighting over a woman. In Snellville, Georgia, of all places. I know; go fig.
Imagine the dialogue between these three. . .

MWNA: "Hey! Git yer hands offa her, she's mine!"
MWA: "No she aint, she's mine! Plus at least I got hands to git offa her with. Yall aint got nuffin but nubs."
MWNA: "No, but I got me one fine lady, and yall is just jealous."
MWA: (shove)
MWNA: (kick in the shins)
MWA: (shove)
MWNA: (kick in the shins)
MWA: (shove)
MNWA: (kick in the shins)
W: "Now stop it you two! Stop it! STOP! I love both yall!"
MWA: "Whut? Nuh-uh! You caint love him! You're with me, and plus - he don't even got no arms!"
MWNA: (headbutt)
MWA: (drops to the ground)
MWNA: (long pause) "Dangit. I think I dun hurt the poor bastard."
W: (gets down, checks for pulse, breathing; looks up, tears in her eyes) "No you dint, you went'n kilt him!" (and takes a Winston out of his breast pocket and lights it. Then thinks better of it, and takes the whole pack and tucks it into her bra next to her lipstick) "Now you've really dun it. I'm gonna call the cops."

Maybe it was more refined than that but I doubt it.

Bottom line: DO NOT mess with the armless. DO NOT think you have the upper hand (NPI). These folks, the armelss, they are a plucky people, ready to headbutt at the first insult, no-arms-no-legs joke, or "hey can you give me a hand with that" request. All that anger built up. The schoolyard teasing. The gloves they can't wear. The rings and watches that taunt them from jewelry store display cases. When they get mad they don't just give the finger and move on. No: They kill.

Seriously.

Watch out.

And a question for the ladies: if you had your choice between boyfriend with arms, and boyfriend without arms? Is this really a tough decision? Don't make them duke it out. Someone will just end up dead.

Bottoms Up!

2007-10-19T14:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's my favorite current event; I can't help it:

Last week, negligent comicide charges against Tammy Jean Warner were dropped -- Tammy Jean being the woman who gave her husband the fatal sherry enema in 2004. She wasn't trying to kill him, he asked her to help him out. The problem was, his BAC shot up to .47, and he died.

See, he was an alcoholic with some sort of throat condition, so he did what any good alcoholic would do: he got creative. And she did what any good enabler would do: she squeezed two bottles of sherry through a hose and up into her hubby's rectum. Actually, I think that's considered above-and-beyond, even by hardcore codependent standards.

Good thing it wasn't a Mai Tai; those little umbrellas are pointy! Ouch!

But here's my question: If red wine goes with red meat, and white wine goes with fish and poultry, what in the heck goes with rectal sherry?

So again I ask: WHY ARE PEOPLE SO WEIRD???

Feel free to the rest of the article here...

Mothers Against Drunk Dialing

2007-10-08T18:20:00.000-07:00

OK, here's a "what would you do if you were me" question.

You're a recovering addict. You have 20 years clean. You, your husband, and your 2 children are sound asleep. Your cell phone rings at 3:23 a.m. You jump out of bed, run to the kitchen, grab your purse, dig around for the phone, and find it -- just in time to see "1 missed call" and then "number unavailable."

How weird, you think. Who could THAT have been? Wrong number?

4:19 a.m.: It rings again. You grab it asap (it's on your nightstand now, so no running across the house) and it's an old friend. That you spent years in AA with. Who is drunk, slurring, emotional, and tells you that the person they have been seeing for years has just left them. You respond, but your voice has that dead-of-night sleepy sound to it, and they say, "WELL. You sound tired, I'll let you go." AND HANG UP.

You turn your cell off and lay there wondering, worrying, imagining the worst. Are they going to drive? Overdose? Fall down? They sounded REALLY awful. Your husband, who is now awake too, is also concerned.

But what can you do? The friend, the breakup, and the booze are all out of state, thousands of miles away, out of reach in more ways than one.

When you wake up and turn the cell back on there is a message. Of course there is. 6:08 a.m. Same person. Still drunk. (more drunk?) Letting you know that they are really [messed]-up and that so-and-so has left them. Really? You don't say? It's like Deja Vu all over again.

10:40 a.m., a hang-up from "unavailable."

Then a series of emails stating a) it was a one-time thing; b) that it's been happening "occasionally"; c) that they want to quit.

Of course alcoholics lie. DUH. But you try to help someone based on one story, then the story changes.

"You can always count on me being honest with you," they say.

But they've been drinking for years and just happened to forget to mention that to you. OOPSIE.

You suggest AA, they get all irate. Say you're rigid and judgmental and everyone else was nice and you are mean. Everyone else "listened" and "supported" them. You say a million times you love them no matter what, but they continue to say you didn't support them.

Was I supposed to have hopped a plane and stayed up to watch the sunrise while salting margarita glasses? What does a recovering alcoholic/chemical dependency counselor/friend/suburban mother of two supposed to do for her drunk friend in the middle of the night, 2 states away?

These are rhetorical questions I suppose, because there really is no point to this -- the friendship had been over for longer than I wanted to admit, the drinking had been going on for longer than this person cared to mention, and to quote Carly Simon, I haven't got time for the pain. I haven't got room for the pain. I have a life, a very full, very healthy life, filled with non-toxic people who know better than to call me in the middle of the night drunk. If it's an emergency, call 911. If it's not, it can wait till daylight. The people in my life are very precious to me, but I also need to be selective about who I let in. And who I let out.

Everyone I talked to -- family, friends, co-workers -- they all reminded me how insane it is to try to talk rationally with an irrational person. An addict in relapse is not a rational thinker.

So I put some distance there. Possibly permanent distance. If I wanted to hear from drunks in the middle of the night, I'd have been a bartender.

9 months later...

2007-10-08T17:45:00.000-07:00

Yeah, all those new year's resolutions? Not so much.
Too much else going on. Can't write! Can't even blog! Lucky I get my hair washed!

Excuses, excuses.

What has been going on since I last blogged?

Beachglass came out in paperback in June - I like the cover and look/design so much better than the hardback! It's super-pretty!
I'm not writing. Like not at all.
Paid off the car.
Went down to LA in July for my 20th year high school reunion. I was reminded a) of how I kicked a classmate right in his poor little 7th grade family jewels in our English class (arguing over grammar, no doubt); b) that spending lots of time in the sun doesn't make you look very good later in life; and c) the 80s were a better era for music than I give it credit for. There were the requisiste amount of sloppy-drunk guys dancing alone and badly (1), inappropriately-dressed 38-trying-to-look 18 oversized breast implant girls (2), people who used to be cute that aren't anymore (13), people who didn't used to be cute who are (2), people who used to be fat who are thin (2), and people who used to be thin who are fat (8). There were a lot of people I would have loved to have seen who weren't there, but luckily our fave classmate (appropriately voted "Most Popular") organized a space on ning.com, so we have all gathered there for a myspace-like virtual reunion, which I love more than anything.
We did the flagstone-and-bamboo project in the front yard that I have been wanting to do forever. It's sooooo lovely.
We are no longer on dial-up and gave up the land line, which was quite a leap for people a little leery of change...but we are a cell phone/high speed family now. (I know, I know: Welcome to the 21st century, right?). I can go on YouTube at home! email photos in less than 20 minutes! Leap from site to site like a little grasshopper, pages downloading as soon as I hit "enter" -- I tell ya, this internet thing is gonna catch on.
We have been up to Orcas Island a few times and fallen madly in love. Going back in November. Someday we might have to lose our ferry ticket home and accidentally stay there.
And did I mention I haven't been "working on anything?" That's the question that comes if you write a book, you know. If you're writing another one. It's like kids. You have a baby and people ask when you're having another one. SHEESH.
I miss summertime terribly. We had many dinners on the sand at the lake, many nights of ice cream outside, walks to the park, mornings spent pushing the baby on the swings and watching the pre-teen climb trees, but now we're back to Seattle gloom. I'm trying to think of it as "cozy" instead of "suicidally dismal."

That's the update. I actually have a topic I want to post, so I'll start writing that next. Maybe. Hopefully.

January 8: David Bowie turns 60 and Elvis would have been 72.

2007-01-08T16:18:00.000-08:00

I'm really only posting something because it's been weeks -- and that's no way to keep my fan base happy [all three of you]. It's a new year, and that deserves a post . . . but about what? Hmm. Okay, brace yourselves, 'cause here's something unique: resolutions. My originality frightens me sometimes.

Things I will or will not do this year that I did too much or not enough of last year:

1. I will write every day
2. I will participate in some form of physical activity (I'm thinking either crunches or mall-walking or excessive gum-chewing. Anyone have any other ideas? It has to be indoors, because I live in the soggy wet suicide capital of the western hemisphere and refuse to go *out there* any more than is absolutely necessary, i.e. from the car to the house, from work to the car, etc.)
3. I will not be sarcastic to total strangers (unless they really deserve it)
4. I will be less judgmental of creepy gross people (unless they are just so creepy and gross that I can't help myself, i.e. obese people in leggings, anyone with muffin-top love-handle pants, anyone with so much bronzer on their face that they look orange or George-Hamilton-like and their head does not match their body).
5. I will purge my closets of all the clothes I hate and never ever wear, instead of "waiting for them to come back in style."

Um...I can't think of anything else.

And I probably won't even stick to any of these things. Maybe 1 and 4. 5 sounds like a great idea on paper, but totally overwhelming as an actual "thing to do." Do I ebay them? Goodwill? Take them to consignment stores? Set them on fire just to watch them burn?

That I can't think of lots and lots of resolutions probably means A) I like my life the way it is and don't feel the need to change much, or B) I know "resolutions" don't work in the way that "diets" don't work, or C) I am just that lazy.

I will blog more often though, I swear.

me and power outages: not a cute couple

2006-12-22T19:12:00.000-08:00

For those of you who do not live in the Seattle area or have otherwise been oblivious to our situation, *news flash* we had a major wind storm blow through here last week. Reports were of 60 - 70 MPH winds in the city, 90 out by the coast. Trees were felled, power lines were severed, millions were left without electricity. Well, A million, not millions, but still: it was HUGE. Several neighborhoods remain in the dark a week later, some with no estimate of when power might be restored. Freaky.

Here's how it went for us:

Thursday night (December 14) around midnight, the lights started flickering, sometimes just a blink, then enough to make the clocks flash 12:00, then these mini-blackouts, then that weird transformer-blowing noise, then it was pitch black. The wind was loud, the stuff blowing down our street was louder, the Christmas lights slapping against the house, the deck furniture and trashcans blowing over, it was a symphony, a cacophony rather, of weird sounds. The one noise we somehow slept through was the wind blowing the skylight off our roof. Missed that. Instead woke up at 3 a.m. shivering. We (translation: my husband) were able to reattach it, but not before the house was filled with freezing cold air.

So I went off to work that day (WITHOUT A SHOWER mind you) and my family went to stay with my parents, who were also without power but with two fireplaces. We thought that would keep everyone nice and toasty. It did not. Also remember, my people are from California; we are not a "camping" "REI" "outdoorsy" sort of people. We do not own a generator. The only time I use open flame to cook my food is in a nice cozy booth at a fondue restaurant. By day 3, we said this is bunk and went to a hotel.

What I wore, generally:
Shirt, shirt, sweater, coat, gloves, polypropylene leggings, pants, long socks, fleece socks, boots, gloves, scarf. The variation for sleeping was flannel PJs instead of pants, and 3 blankets instead of coat. Imagine wearing all that and still being cold! It was 25 degrees at night, 33 in the daytime. It was between 45 and 50 degrees indoors. I could see my breath indoors.

We were without power at work as well, so while I did leave the family compound for several hours a day, I was no warmer than they were, and plus I had to be "together" at work, and not "whine" and curl up in my down comforter and pout like I maybe could have at home.

The best ones through all this were the babies: my daughters were serious troopers. They kept their spirits up. They are brave little people. I whined a whole lot more than they did.
i.e.:

Things I was miserable having to go without:
1. Heat
2. A shower (from -- brace yourself -- Wednesday to Sunday).
Subset: blow dryer, flat iron, hot water
3. Starbucks
4. The Internet
5. Light
6. My cell phone (it ran out of battery on Saturday)

I mean -- really now. Puh-leese. None of us got frostbite, hypothermia, or -- as apparently lots of dimwits did -- carbon monoxide poisoning from running generators, BBQs, etc. indoors. We were not out in the wilderness, trapped in a Saab like the Kim family or in an ice cave like the Mt. Hood climbers. We were a little chilly and didn't see home from Friday to Tuesday -- but we are fine. We were fine all along. We were superfically not fine, and I did feel like a petulant little brat a few times, but we were never in any real danger. We were simply very, very uncomfortable.

Things I really appreciated during our ordeal:
1. My family
2. Fire
3. The Holiday Inn
4. Laughter
5. AM 710 news radio
6. These really cool crank/rechargeable radio/flashlights my dad gave us
7. My car heater
8. The Outback Steak House
9. My big thick wooly J. Crew mens sweater

Coming home on Tuesday, turning on the Christmas tree lights, starting to clean out the refrigerator, doing laundry, listening to the stereo, standing by the heater -- things that had always seemed so routine were now luxurious. I will never ever ever take this stuff for granted again. It's so good to be home, to be warm, to have warm babies, one layer of clothes, light to read by.

Not to mention the computer, my blow dryer and the drive-thru Starbucks.

fyi: new interview online

2006-12-22T19:07:00.000-08:00

Seattle Writergrrls, an email discussion list/support group/networking sort of thing, did an interview with me for their online 'zine. Check it out at:

http://www.seattlewritergrrls.org/uncapped/2006i2_spotlight.html

that's why it's anonymous

2006-12-12T11:28:00.000-08:00

It's not to protect the members of AA (or any of the other As...OA, NA, GA...there are over 200 twelve-step programs for whatever ails you) that it's an anonymous program. It's to protect AA itself from looking bad.

Take these comments from Lindsay Lohan, this morning on MSNBC.com (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16172919/):
“I haven’t had a drink in seven days. Or anything,” she says. “I’m not even legal to, so why would I? I don’t drink when I go to clubs. I drink with my friends at home, but there’s no need to. I feel better not drinking. It’s more fun. I have Red Bull." And then, later in the article, she says, about her well-publicized pantiless drunken nightlife: "I was off from work, I was getting ready to start a film, and I was, like, going out just to get it out of my system.” This is after she says she has been going to meetings for a YEAR.

Thanks, L. Now someone will hear you and think this is what AA does to people. That being of legal drinking age - or not - has anything to do with the disease of addiction, that you can pound Red Bull as an alternative, and that you can go out and get it out of your system on occasion, when you're off work, or like, whatever.

For many people, recovery from addiction is not a quick-and-easy thing. We all know that. More often than not, the addict relapses one or two or four hundred times before they find lasting sobriety. But what happens when celebs (see: Robert Downey, Jr, Courtney Love, Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Bennett) make their AA-ness known, they become sort of a spokesperson, an example, even if that's not their intention. We listen to what famous people say. We watch their every move. So when some dingbat celeb comes along and talks so flippantly, so not-getting-it about AA, it makes AA look bad and gives those addicts looking for one more excuse to not go that excuse to not go.

Notice the ones for whom it's working are pretty darn quiet about it. You might not even know who they are. And that is my point exactly. If you're famous, and just sorta-kinda in-recovery-but-not, ZIP IT until you have something intelligent to say about the process. What you'll probably find is that by the time you do, you'll know why you shouldn't. Do not mistake your fame as a great podium from which to start helping people. It's not about recruiting. People know where to go and what to do when they bottom out, they don't need newcomer celebutantes spouting toxic misinformation to help get them there.

Au contraire.

annoying is the new black

2006-12-02T14:59:00.000-08:00

I must be officially at the end of my rope with this book thing. People and their questions are making me feel very, very bitter and sarcastic as of late. Maybe it's the cold snap up here in the suicide capital of the world. Whatever it is, I just have to say that if anyone asks any more stupid questions about the book, I am liable to GO OFF on them.

I thought my rock-bottom worst customer service moment came over the summer when some woman asked me if it was an autobiography. She had already purchased the book, it's not like I was losing the sale, just my reputation as a nice person (?) -- anyway, I actually closed the book, pointed to the words "A Novel" that are right there on the cover, and said, "NO, it's *a novel*" -- underlining the words with my (index) finger for emphasis. But that wasn't as bad as the last person who asked me that: I just stared at them, sighed, did one long (you freaking moron) blink and looked away, and started talking to the next person.

Then last week I get this call from a local county agency, this woman, a social worker type, says she wants me to come talk to the clients/inmates/whatever of theirs. She said they had heard of my book and I "have an incredible story to tell." I said, so is it like a prison book club, or what? You want the story of the writing and publishing of the book, or what? "Oh no -- your story: losing your best friend to AIDS, losing your twin brother at birth, surviving all of that, your addiction and recovery." My fists immediately clenched, as did my jaw. I can't help it. I closed my eyes, counted to ten. "This is A NOVEL," I said, evenly, trying not to scream. I tried to tell her that yes, I am a recovering person, as is about 10% of the US. And all that means for me is that I maybe used a few too many chemicals in high school and quit. Not that I have "A Story." At least not one with a capital S, not one worth writing, and certainly not one worth publishing. I mean -- we all have "a story" -- like we all have lips. But there are lips (you and I), and there are Lips (Angelina Jolie). No one wants to pay a zillion dollars for these lips. Angelina's yes, mine no. Most of the population no. As is with this whole "my story" crap. So of course once I clarified that with her, that there is no twin and there is no dead best friend, she rapidly became very uninterested.

Which is FINE with me.

I just don't GET people.

I do get JK Rowling, and maybe I'll fashion my next book after the HP series, so outlandishly not my life that no one will ask if it is. Do other writers get this hopped up about this line of questioning? I know I have a bad attitude and a great deal of people-loathing, but still, even for the most tolerant, patient, people-person types, can't this get old and annoying?

I am trying to work on this next book/whatever, and am now just seething -- I may need to make the narrator a male. A male dwarf. From Japan. A male dwarf amputee burlesque singer from Japan. With a lisp and naturally curly red hair. Maybe that would shut people up.

OH, and if that weren't enough, what about the people who look at the title and go, "Ooh, I just love beachglass!" There's some idiot on Amazon that has my book listed with all the coffee-table books on seaglass and beachcombing and such. Do people not understand metaphor? Symbolism? That the book is not about the beach, glass, beachglass, or anything actually found at the ocean's edge? THAT THE TITLE IS NOT LITERALLY WHAT THE BOOK IS ABOUT???

What are we coming to that these are the issues I have to grapple with? Can't a girl just bust out a few pages of fiction and call it good?

new event!!!

2006-11-25T15:51:00.000-08:00

Secret Garden Bookshop in Ballard is having their 30th annual holiday author celebration, and I've been invited to be a part of the festivities! I'll be there to meet and greet, sign books, spread holiday book cheer, etc. Should be much fun; they are a terrific store.

It's all day next Saturday, December 2, and I'll be there from noon to one.

Secret Garden Bookshop
2214 NW Market Street / Seattle, WA 98107
206-789-5006

OJ, the sequel: if they cancelled my book

2006-11-20T13:39:00.000-08:00

Whoo-hoo! Breaking news from PW:

News Corp. CEO Rupert Murdoch has pulled the plug on the upcoming Regan Books title from O.J. Simpson, If I Did It. A tell-all of a different variety, the book, which was to be Simpson's outline of how he might have committed the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman, was scheduled for release on November 30 and was to be accompanied by a two-part TV interview to air on Fox on November 27 and 29.

After the book was condemned by booksellers (many of whom said they would donate proceeds to the victims' families), media critics and even pundits from Fox News, News Corp. announced in a terse statement that the book and TV special have been dropped. Murdoch said: “I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project. We are sorry for any pain this has caused the families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson.”

How fantastic! It was an ill-considered project. To say the least.

miracle bag

2006-11-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

So, I just found this on some celeb website, a quote from Tom Cruise (I was looking for pix of the TomKat wedding, but nothing yet) and couldn't resist sharing it with yall:

"Cruise also explained his philosophy of life includes enjoying everyday chores. He said: "I cannot lie and putrify in the sun. I love to work. I love nature. I love even mowing the lawn. I am safe: I can learn everything. Life is a miracle bag."

I'm sorry: LIFE IS A MIRACLE BAG? WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

It's creepy, is what it is.

I would have preferred he said: "Life is a banana hammock."
Now that would have been funny. Creepy too, for sure, but at least funny at the same time.

if i did it

2006-11-19T07:03:00.000-08:00

Haven't posted for a while because nothing is going on. At least not with the book. Things are going along swimmingly otherwise, but the big flurry of interviews, readings, jet-setting, hob-nobbing, etc. seems to have quieted down. Maybe it's the holidays coming up. Or maybe everyone is too excited about the new OJ book to bother with my little creation, since it's apparently small beans compared to the sensational not-really-a-confession-but-if-I-had-been-the-one-to-turn-my-wife-into-a-human-Pez-dispenser-this-is-how-I-may-have-done-it sort of story. I guess those are, sadly, much more interesting to the masses. They get the press. And will sell millions more copies than Beachglass ever will. Well...sales figures aside, I'd still rather be me than him. I don't want to write an "If I Did It" -- what would I write it about? If I did what? If I sold some more books, maybe. If I actually worked on my alleged second novel (more than the 25 bad pages I have so far). If I posted to my blog more often. If I got my Christmas shopping done early this year. If we got that new bathtub and re-tiled the bathroom floor. If I ironed. If I switched back to caffeinated coffee. If I wore socks with sandals like everyone else in Seattle. If I were a carpenter. If I could turn back time. If I cared about OJ writing a book about neck-slicing. The possibilities really are endless.

Hey, idea: OJ and Britney Spears could team up for a duet . . .
"Oops, if I did it again."

32 hours in LA

2006-10-24T15:54:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know I had originally said 37, but that was counting travel time. It was really only 32 hours on land. But I packed them as solid as I could, and only used 7 of them for sleeping. So the other 25? Let's see:

[Below:The Biltmore Bowl/SCBA trade show]
After getting settled in my room, changing out of airplane grubbies into something more appropo, and dining in the hotel ristorante, we (my agent Charlotte and I) took the boxes of my books down to the trade show--which was being held in the Biltmore Bowl. The Biltmore Bowl? Why does that sound familiar? Because it was the site of several of the first Academy Awards ceremonies, in the 1930s. That gave me pause. You know how rooms retain energy. Well. So here's a photo of that room, full of tables of books. I camped out there for 2 hours signing books, meeting booksellers, other writers, etc.

[Below: me, Charlotte; at the Authors' Feast]

The Authors' Feast was the highlight of the day, where I got to break bread [and pumpkin/yam/ brown sugar soup, a Thanksgiving-themed dinner, and chololate-raspberry torts] with 300 of my closest friends. Awards were given, conversation was rich and exciting, laughter was abundant. Table 19 was quite lively. Toward the end of dessert, I did indeed waltz on over to sit by one of my writer-idols, Janet Fitch, and ask her to sign the copy of Paint It Black I'd been toting around all afternoon. We talked about books and writing and 'the process' as it were, and she was one of the nicest, most easy-to-talk-to people I met all weekend. I won't directly dis any of the other people I met, but let me just say, there are some whackos out there. Especially when you add a bottle (or three) of wine. But mostly I adored everyone I met, I hope I made some good connections, and I felt really honored to be in such great company. I got to spend time with my bud Debra Ginsberg, who a) so brilliantly edited Beachglass before it went to publishers and b) has her own novel coming out next week (called Blind Submission: go to www.debraginsberg.com). I also got to chat with Michael Walker, author of Laurel Canyon; and Amy Stewart, author of Flower Confidential; also met some very nice folks from Vroman's, Russo's, and Village Books; and for the first time in person got to connect with the St Martin's sales reps, Mike & Marshall. All really, really great people. In case I didn't go on enough, yes the Biltmore is super-swanky. Quite possibly the most gorgeous hotel in LA. Old-time, large-scale. Regal. Gargoyles, arches everywhere, flowers 5 feet tall, indoor palms against marble walls, grapevines carved into the pillars. Rugs for days. 40-foot ceilings. Here's a glimpse, though the photos don't do it any justice (you might be able to view them larger by clicking on them).

Then after it was all over we each got to claim our lovely parting gift: giant boxes of books! I teetered back to my room on my high heels with this carton that likely weighed as much as I do, and opened it while on the phone with hubby. It was like Christmas all over again: hardcover books, paperback books, children's books, books I've been wanting to read, books I would have bought soon anyway, books that aren't even out yet, books piled high all around me! Books, books, books! I was in heaven! Well, except for the few weird sci-fi/fantasy/freaky books, but those we can ebay. No offense. I fell asleep listening to the street sounds of downtown LA, sirens and the occasional random shout, a pile of new books by my bedside, a smile on my face.

THEN JUST WHEN I THOUGHT MY WEEKEND COULDN'T GET ANY COOLER, my oldest bestest friend Jenni picked me up the next morning, and we not only got to spend the day together (a perfect dry blue sunshiney 85-degree day I might add) but we had bagels & lox at the Bagel Broker and coffees from the Coffee Bean; and later, nasty greasy burritos from Dos Burritos on Hollywood Blvd. Jenni ordered in espanol: Burrito con frijoles y queso for me; I'm a purist. Same for her but con arroz. Carne asada and nachos for the rest of her fam. Giant Sprites: Sprites in white styrofoam cups the size of small children. Grease from the cheese coming through the papery tortilla and running down my wrists. Love sitting on the porch in the shade talking and sweating and watching the traffic on Franklin. Love the 101 through Hollywood, and Wilshire out of downtown. Even the drive to LAX was spectacular. The sunset through the plane window, brilliant. Landing at a wet 50-degree Sea-Tac airport, not so much...

Here are Jenni & me, and LA:

new quote for the trade paperback version

2006-10-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

It's one thing to get cool quotes for your book jacket; it's another to get cool quotes from authors whose books you've really loved...
A few weeks back I took a chance and sent a note to Martha O'Connor (see www.marthaoconnor.com) asking if she might consider reading Beachglass and providing us with a quote for the trade paper version (to be released in May 2007). We have the same publisher and publicist, after all. Lo and behold, she read and loved the book, and sent me this gem:

"With richly textured scenes and characters, Wendy Blackburn's debut novel explores the fragile world of addiction, recovery, and loss. She navigates this tough territory effortlessly and with the clear-headed vision of one who's been there. Delicately portraying friendship and loss, temptation and redemption, the turmoil of addiction and the hard-won gifts of recovery, BEACHGLASS is highly recommended for every reader--and required reading for all those in recovery. You know how they tell you "Don't leave the meeting five minutes before the miracle happens?" Well, don't leave the bookstore without BEACHGLASS in your hand. It's a miracle on the page. Kudos to Wendy Blackburn; I read this book in two days, and I'll be watching for her next."

She signed off with, "Thanks for the gift of your book. It was very moving. "

And I am very honored. It looks like this one (shortened just a touch in the interest of design, space, and potential-customer attention-span) will go on the front of the book.

There are two other authors I hope to acquire quotes from; I feel like I'm seven years old and writing to Shaun Cassidy -- but this time people are writing back.

as if you haven't heard enough of my babbling...

2006-10-13T19:58:00.000-07:00

There's a new interview/review on the fabulously-named site/blog "Conversations with Famous Writers." Go to: http://conversationsfamouswriters.blogspot.com/ and scroll down a bit. It was posted on Monday 10/9.

oh, but what ever will i wear!?

2006-10-09T15:59:00.000-07:00

So I haven't posted in a while because my every waking moment has been consumed by everything else, namely the fab news that I have been invited to attend the SCBA Authors Feast and Trade Show in LA later this month!!! At the Biltmore. The Biltmore! With fancy famous real-live writers -- and, apparently, me! I'm even on the schedule for autographing books -- right after the luncheon with Ray Bradbury. OMG.

So the afternoon will be about meeting booksellers and getting gads of copies of Beachglass into the hands of people who can help get it into the hands of readers. This is exciting beyond words. Then at night, the dinner is a musical chairs sort of meal: each course is spent at a different table so everyone winds up meeting and talking with lots of differnt people -- authors, sales reps, booksellers, publishers, etc. There are awards and a reception and it all just sounds so great. Many thanks to my agent, my publisher, the SCBA, the fates, for making this happen. Flights are booked, books are being delivered, and I am actively on the hunt for a new LBD.

I mentioned to my hubby that I wanted to bring a sharpie and have everybody sign my t-shirt, but he thought that might be a tad bit gauche. I know - me, gauche? HA. Well, at the very least, I'll bring my copy of Paint It Black for Janet Fitch to sign, as we will apparently be breaking bread together. Maybe I'll even bring my tattered, sticky-noted, well-loved copy of White Oleander so she can sign that too. Or I'll just stick with the t-shirt. Either way, she'll see what a big fan I am. Or think I'm a stalker. Whichever.

The best part? Shoe shopping. I may need to find something new and black and strappy, as my other black and strappies are, well: not new anymore. Is there anything in the world like wearing never-ever-before-worn shoes to a special event? I think not.

AND...and I get to spend time on Sunday with my very best childhood buddy. Total bonus. Throw in a trip to Canter's Deli and a burrito from Campos, and I am one happy traveler. How much LA can one squeeze into 37 hours? A lot.

I'll be sure to post photos upon my return; if not of the dinner, at least of the shoes.

borders gig

2006-09-28T11:35:00.002-07:00

New event!

I've been invited to come hang out at Borders / Redmond Town Center during their Educators' Awareness Week Expo. No presentation this time, just signing books, hanging out, talking to people. All weekend! Should be fab. Pass it on.

Saturday October 14
& Sunday October 15
1 - 3 pm
Borders Books & Music
Redmond Town Center

(16549 NE 74th Street, Redmond, WA 98052 / Phone: 425.869.1907)

recovery walk, part two

2006-09-23T15:04:00.000-07:00

It was just like I'd pictured it but even happier! Down to the babies and puppies and beautiful people and glorious sunshine. And we sold about 40 copies of Beachglass! YAY!

The best part for me though...what is it about seeing the before and after in people? There were several ex-residents in attendance today who all look and sound and feel and act and LIVE so much better than they did the very first time I saw them, and without fail (even all these years of "doing this job") I still get the chills when I see that transformation.

So thanks to all who participated, it was awesome! And look for it again next year...apparently this was a "First Annual" sort of thing.

recovery walk: today!

2006-09-23T09:18:00.000-07:00

So -- I will be signing books at the Recovery Walk in Kirkland today. My post is at the Carillon Point end of things, the mid-point, where there will be a band or two, some inspirational speakers, hot dogs, t-shirts, mingling, etc. After a week of our stereotypical rainy gray 50-degree Seattle Gloom, we have a 75-degree day, complete with THE SUN!

The Recovery Walk is sort of like the Gay Pride Parade, but for recovering addicts and their friends and family. To remind the public that we aren't all skanky crack whores and skid row bums. That we are well-behaved citizens. That we are Bellevue soccer moms, doctors, artists, teachers, tech nerds, sisters, daughters, friends, neighbors. That we are healthy, young, old, everywhere-in-between, attractive, successful, smart, together people--who also have a disease. For which there is the hope of recovery. So here we go parading down the street, from the Marina to Carillon Point, along the waterfront, in the sunshine...I can see the strollers and golden retrievers now. Like Greenlake, only with this current running underneath all the cute workout gear, this feeling of unity and gratitude and celebration. The mayor will be there. News vans. I can't wait.

Especially since this morning over breakfast I learned that one of our ex-patients felt the need to leap from an overpass about a month ago.

Not everyone gets it.

If you have it, hang on to it--that window of opportunity doesn't always open and close as freely as one might think. Sometimes it only opens long enough to let you in (or out, depending on how you want to think about it) and then slams shut.

That's what I'll be thinking about as I sit in a chair in the sun watching this gorgeous bunch of people who should for all intents and purposes be dead or at least very intoxicated and alone and miserable. I'll think about the ones who jumped, who are huddled indoors, who are passed out, friendless, crazy, sad, afraid. I'll think about the ones who want to come back but are scared, whose ego won't let them, who are prying and picking at that window with their fingernails and it won't budge. And while I'm thinking about them, I'll be talking with old patients, laughing with co-workers, visiting with family, signing books, enjoying my blissful life, and not for a second forgetting that I am like, WAY lucky.

talk about handy

2006-09-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

What's the deal with this recent trend in book cover art involving hands? Just...HANDS. Sort of disembodied almost, or at least alone. Lone hands.

Albeit great, eye-catching cover art; it's vivid; it's memorable. But HANDS? And so many of them at once. A hand epidemic.

Note to self: If (knock wood) this stuff I've been writing turns into another published novel someday, no hands on the cover. Hands off. It's creepy. Reminds me of the Six Feet Under episode "The Foot."

new dilemma

2006-09-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

The good news: I've gotten on a bit of a roll with what might wind up being book #2. I can see the story, the plot, the arc if you will...I am starting to see the characters...and I have written what might almost be considered Chapter One.

The bad news: First-person or third-person? I can't decide.

And I can't go on until I know. What comes naturally for me is first-person; I like being in someone's head and getting that inner dialogue down on paper. But the problems with that are a) I am real annoyed with all the "you" comments that have come out of the whole Beachglass thing (see previous post entitled peeve du jour under July) that is the result of people not separating between "narrator" and "author," and b) I want to be able to let the story unfold and have the few little twists be surprising, not this whole let-me-tell-ya-what-happened thing that seems to happen in first-person...

And yet, the 'voice' I seem to lose in third-person. I tried to convert what I have here from first to third and it's just ODD. And I don't like feeling like some fly on the wall, like who the heck is lurking around during these private moments, who is in the characters' heads...I dunno.

Any hot tips from you writers out there?

I thought about the old tell-the-story-from-3-different-peoples'-POV trick, being in first person for each of them, developing three distinct voices and letting them tell the story each from their "side" but I don't know if I could pull it off. Barbara Kingsolver could (see: Poisonwood Bible, AKA sheer genius). But, to paraphrase: I'm no Barbara Kingsolver.

I just really like this narrator's voice so far. She's feisty. And a little intense, almost high-strung, but in a good way. Fast. Amusingly bitter. I would even say "plucky" but that sounds too much like the small hero animal in some animated short. Anyway -- I like her and am afraid I would lose that whole voice-thing going to third person.

Hmm.

just when i was getting resentful and bitter about the lack of celebs in seattle

2006-08-28T15:49:00.000-07:00

I can't help it; as much as I love being here, and would never ever move back to LA -- especially not now, with 2 daughters whom I prefer steer clear of career choices such as being an extra in low-budget porn or selling sacks of oranges out on the median strip -- I do miss the stars. I miss seeing Tom Petty at Book Soup, selling undies to Olivia Newton-John (true story; my first after-school job was in the underthings section at Fred Segal), watching Sean Connery eat lunch, walking past Rodney Dangerfield on the beach, spotting Noah Wyle waiting for his car at the valet...

and then...

AND THEN! I find this item in Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Seattleites

Turns out Kurt & Courtney weren't all this little northwestern burg had to offer. I knew about Dave Matthews, Peter Buck, and Lauren Tewes (the Love Boat's coked-out greeter Julie McCoy), but guess who else lives up here?

Sir Mix-a-Lot.

Can you imagine? I really should carry my autograph book with me everywhere, just in case.

two pet peeves in one sentence...

2006-08-28T15:25:00.000-07:00

...imagine my delight.

And on KJR no less. Aren't they supposed to be sort of, I don't know...commercial? Mainstream? Partially literate? The DJ (if I had caught her name I'd be sending her an email instead of blogging about it) announced that Blondie will be at Bumbershoot this weekend. Except she referred to Blondie as "her" and not "them" and called "Bumbershoot" "Bumpershoot."

How stupid can a person be?

The Blondie thing has been a peeve of mine since like third grade. Goes along with the Pink Floyd thing and the Jethro Tull thing, people thinking those are people names and not band names.

"She will be taking the stage at 2 pm."

Whatever.

my head is a strange place to be

2006-08-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

So, I went to a reading last night. After doing a string of my own over the past three months, it was so luverly to simply sit with a latte and listen, be part of the audience, be able to (save for one very squirmy and yappy 11-month-old daughter on my lap) just close my eyes and soak it all in. I didn't have to worry about what I was wearing, how I sounded, who was there, how many books were selling, if my pen had ink in it, nothing. Just kick back. And she was great -- a well thought out presentation interspersed with excerpts from her book to illustrate the points being made. Nice! Calling out various themes of the book, like creativity, work, and love. A lively Q & A ensued. In the world of Author Events, this was a good one.

And then I went home and had this dream:

I'm at a big, fabulous bookstore in New York, something very Elliott-Bay-Book-Company-like, all the bricks and shelves and the undercurrent of activity, that hum of literary energy running like a pulse through its walls. My editor and agent and publicist and all their friends are there. The room is packed. I am dressed really, really well (this is also how we know it's a dream) and feel somewhat confidant and non-nervous while waiting in the wings (ditto). I get up to the podium, there is a smattering of applause, I look down at my hands -- and realize I don't have my trusty old dog-eared, post-it-noted, penciled-in galley copy, the one I from which I always read. I panic. I try to stall. Someone hands me a new hardcover copy off the table, but there is something weird about it -- like the whole thing is in a foreign language, or has been taken out, shuffled, and re-bound as a book, one that I cannot make any sense of even though it has my name and my cover and my title attached to it. I try to describe scenes that I wanted to read, saying things like "wait...I'm sure I can find...um...okay...hang on...just a sec..." as people are getting up to leave. I actually ask (beg?) one man on his way out to please just give me just another few minutes, that I am sure I can find what I wanted to read, but he just sort of hangs his head and shakes it gently, as if to say, "sorry, kiddo." My hand has dropped to the podium, wrist flopped backwards at a funny angle, limp, defeated, the book splayed out like an offering, a weak explanation.

And then I woke up.

Writing, publishing, and promoting this book has been one of the most incredible experiences of my whole life. (If I had not experienced pregnancy and childbirth, I would say it has been the single most incredible experience, but something about a) creating and then b) birthing a whole new human or two -- that's the ultimate party trick) ...but as I was saying -- incredible experience. Love the reviews. Love that I haven't even gotten a single bad one (Kirkus was neutral, with one unflattering comment and one compliment, as per their formula). Love radio interviews and signing-only events* Love hearing sales figures and watching my Amazon ranking, nebulous as it may be, shoot from like a million-something up to 2,269 last weekend (it's fallen back to the 6-10 thousand range, but STILL!). But the getting up in front of large groups of googly eyeballs, people hanging on your every word, staring, waiting, just camped out in their seats wanting to be entertained, dazzled, taught, enlightened, while my mouth goes dry and my hands shake...not so much.

The first few were pretty bad (according to me) (and to one brutally honest friend) (there are times one would much, much prefer to be lied to. Tell me I have lipstick on my teeth maybe, but let me think, for one more blissfully ignorant day, that my favorite jeans do NOT make my butt look big. I'll take a simple yet dishonest "hey, you were great" over a full-blown critique any day. I am fragile. Some things I don't want to hear, at least not NOW and maybe not EVER) ...but then a really freaky thing happened, eventually, where I got pretty comfy at the podium, making people laugh, reading with dramatic pauses and a strong voice; suddenly possessing the ability to look away and look back down and not lose my place with a swiftness that would impress even the most seasoned newscaster. Fielding questions, sounding smart and witty and confident, chatting away about the publishing biz like an old pro.

And then the dream. A mortifying little reminder that I am still a total introvert, a spaz, not a performer, and that there are still even worse fears that I hadn't even thought of yet.

Well, no more speaking engagements for a while. PHEW.
Just these things on the slate for now:

*Monday, September 4 (Labor Day) at 9:30 a.m. on KMUN 91.9 -- a radio station out of Portland, Oregon. I'm splitting a half-hour interview show called "Literary Cafe" with writer Jami Attenberg (http://www.jamiattenberg.com/lipstick.htm). the interviewer is Kerri Buckley, and it'll be streaming online worldwide (!) at www.coastradio.org

*Saturday, September 23 from noon-2 pm I'll be at the Carillon Point end of the Recovery Walk in Kirkland, Washington. It's like the Pride Parade, but for recovery, and it's along the Kirkland waterfront. Pretty! My part will include me, at a table, with a buncha books and a pen, talking to and selling and signing copies of Beachglass and generally just hanging out and having a grand time. Should be fabulous, we're expecting thousands of people. See www.recoverywalk.org

OMG. beachglass is the #1 selling hardcover book at the secret garden bookshop!

2006-08-05T14:09:00.000-07:00

The good things just keep happening and happening and happening!
Check this out, in this Sunday's Seattle Times (August 6):

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/books/sell.html
(Scroll more than halfway down)

I have stars in my eyes, like in the cartoons, when people would fall in love and the stars would circle around and around, dreamy, swirling, happy; usually also with the tongue sticking half-way out and the lids at half-mast. Were there bluebirds like a halo around their heads too, or was that for injuries? Well, whatever -- it's that feeling, birds or no: dreamy; almost punch-drunk; goofy; a little stunned and more than a little ecstatic.

Go Book!

another feather in its cap

2006-07-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

Beachglass made it onto the Seattle Times' Summer Reading List! Check out my website for the quote, under "reviews."

Or, here, to make it easy for ya:

"Seattle-area author Wendy Blackburn's first novel is a deeply affecting, hard-hitting story of a former teenage drug addict and alcoholic who has turned her life around in Alcoholics Anonymous — but now faces a new crisis when she goes back to Los Angeles to be with her dying best friend. Will Delia's hard-won sobriety withstand this ordeal, back in the milieu where she first went astray? Richly imagined and full of vivid characters, this novel is clearly told from the voice of experience (the book's acknowledgements include a thank-you to the AA of Los Angeles, which Blackburn says saved her life)."

Yes, that's really it, despite the unfamiliar cover art -- I don't know how they found it, but somehow the very first draft for the cover showed up in the paper! Veddy inter-esting. With my luck, people will see the book in stores and not buy it out of confusion and a lack of connection to the one in the paper! OY! If it's not one thing, it's another.

So YES, that IS it, despite the photo.

First Amazon, now the Times. Next? Oprah.

amazon.com editors' picks for july

2006-07-22T08:58:00.001-07:00

Holy cow!
Check this out:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/browse.html/103-6513993-7968649?ie=UTF8&node=13759931
go to "See more of July's Fiction picks" and there it is!
Here's a direct link:
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/guides/guide-display/-/YMJKPGSXJMK1/ref=amb_link_3218382_5/103-6513993-7968649

And here's what it says:

"Set mostly in late-eighties Los Angeles, which is depicted in all its gritty, glittering glory, 'Beachglass' tells the story of Delia, a recovering alcoholic who must face down her past as she cares for her dying best friend. This beautifully-written novel is about many things, including love, lust, and addiction, but the core of the story is about friendship, and the ways in which it both tests and strengthens us. Author Wendy Blackburn suffuses “Beachglass” with Delia’s hard-earned optimism, and even though the story makes us weep (don’t read the ending of this book in a public place!) it ultimately uplifts, making us aware of just how messy and miraculous the human condition is."

Aw, shucks!

july 26: new event added!

2006-07-09T15:47:00.000-07:00

If you've missed the other ones or want to come again (love the book? enjoy watching an introvert at a podium? need to pick up another signed copy as a gift?) -- you're in luck! Come on down to the Ballard Public Library on July 26. Here's the deal:

Secret Garden Books (www.secretgardenbooks.com) does an Author Series at the library, and this month I'm one of the lucky writers who will discuss, read, sign, Q&A, etc.

5614 22nd Avenue NW ~ Seattle 98107
Doors open at 6, the event starts at 6:30

Seattle Writer Goddess Debra Dean (The Madonnas of Leningrad) is going to be there the night before me; hopefully that doesn't jinx it and the whole town goes that night and no one comes to mine. That would suck. But I have to say -- that worry aside -- it's really cool to even be listed on the same page as her! Have you read her book? It's PNBA-bound, that's for sure.

after-party @ the pink door

2006-07-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

Here's another photo, this one with (from left around the table) Brooke Chapman, writer and freelance editor; me; Diane Reverand, my editor at St Martin's Press; Swain Wolfe, author of The Boy Who Invented Skiing, among other books, who also belongs to Diane (see http://www.swainwolfe.com/); Alle Hall, Hugo House's InPrint Series coordinator; Laura Kalpakian, another of Diane's writers; and Rebecca Agiewich (see http://rebecca.agiewich.net/home/) author of BreakupBabe.

We had all just come from the Richard Hugo House (http://www.hugohouse.org/), where Diane, Laura, Swain, and I talked to a group of about 60 people about the editor-writer relationship/process and Diane met with writers afterward as they pitched their ideas/works in progress to her. I've been to several events there, but always on the other side of the looking-glass. How weird and wonderful to be sitting on a panel (on a stage!) talking to other writers about this wacky life of ours... It was such an honor. Plus I got to spend some time with some really fabulous people. And OH MY GOD the lasagna. If you're ever in Seattle, go to the Pink Door in Post Alley, and have the lasagna. I'm dead serious. It's a life-changing experience.

say cheese!

2006-07-07T15:05:00.000-07:00

Just in case you missed the issue of Publisher's Weekly that featured this photo as their "picture of the day"...here is me with my angel of an agent Charlotte Gusay (left, proudly holding my - "our" - book) and Noel, events coordinator at Skylight Books in LA.

This was the event which had such history in attendance as childhood and high school friends, one (Cindy) dating back to 1976, many others (Jenni, Kori, Debbie) to the bad-hair 80's; my mom's dear friend from high school who knew me in the womb; Debra Ginsberg, who performed such editing magic on my book; my old boss and one of my favorite people Scott Robertson (13 years of history there); my friend Rick, to whom the novel is dedicated, who I have known for more than half my life, and who makes me smile if not nearly wet my pants laughing nearly every day in some form or another, even if it's just me remembering or recounting something from years ago; Dana, who, speaking of wombs, brought her as-yet-unborn daughter to the event (and looked smashing!).

The party at Chez Werndorf afterwards was gorgeous, catered, perfect (tiki torches, 80 degrees at night, Kori baked some killer desserts, and Jenni has the most beautiful home you can imagine) and went on into the wee hours (well -- 10:00. We have kids now. 10:00 is the wee hours anymore). It was like a 20-year high-school reunion but a year early and not at the Airport Marina Hotel, and without having to put up with seeing (and trying to identify) people we never hung out with anyway. Speaking of kids, we all had a bunch (11 between 6 of us) and they all look just like little replicas of us.

That's the kind of stuff I wasn't imagining when I wrote this book. All the cool other stuff that would happen because of it. That one night, getting all those people together, seeing all the mini-me little-people, the laughter -- always the laughter -- the This-is-Your-Life-ness of it all...that was worth all the hours at the keyboard in itself.

peeve du jour

2006-07-03T17:52:00.000-07:00

If one more person refers to my narrator as if it is me, I am going to scream.

i.e.;

"I'm at the part where you're talking about your twin brother."
"I loved the party-in-the-woods scene, that must have been fun."
"I didn't know your first husband was Mexican."

Yes, I am female; yes, I am a counselor; yes, I grew up in LA.
No twins, no woods, no Mexican husband, no swimming naked at Venice Beach or having a drag queen for a neighbor. No beachglass necklace aside from the one my dad gave me just before the book came out. No dying best friend. No temptation of an ex-boyfriend. No house by the lake, no porch swing. No office in a hospital with a gold nameplate. (And certainly no naturally blonde hair! I pay good money for these streaks.)

As Kevin said to Maggie in Herbie: Fully Loaded, "Herbie...is a CAR."

And Beachglass is a work of FICTION. I thought we put a little disclaimer in the front of the book? No? Author's note? Or the word "novel" on the cover?

I mean, YES, I'm happy -- thrilled, in fact -- that people are reading (and loving) my novel. I suppose I should just smile and say thank you when they say they were inspired by my life, instead of telling them that no, they were really inspired by a fictional character's life; and that, big shockeroo here, I am actually capable of making things up. I should take it as a compliment that the writing is such that people feel they are reading about real-life stuff. I should remember that most people make assumptions; still others speak before they think.

I should just...let it go.
And yet I collect pet peeves like some people collect...um...collectibles.

Does Jeffrey Eugenides have this same problem?
"Jeff, I didn't even know you were a hermaphrodite. You totally look like a dude!"

i'm ready for my close-up, mister de mille...

2006-06-23T16:10:00.000-07:00

This is my favorite photo of my book in a store.

Good lighting, good angle, good company.

Taken at Skylight Books, 1818 Vermont Ave, Los Angeles

June 4, 2006

an inside job

2006-06-23T14:21:00.000-07:00

The original idea was to have started blogging months ago, so I'd have this great written record of my pre-pub time and all the starry-eyed anxiety-slash-excitement that happens in those magical months leading up to The Big Event.

But what I found is that the pre-pub months were very much like pregnancy or wedding planning, things that sound dreamy, things that you buy journals in which to document all the dreaminess, but then when they actually happen, you get so swept up into the minutae and exhaustion and reality of it that all the journals stay blank. And then you get to the end and go, OH. I should have written that down while it was happening. Or taken more pictures. Or something.

So I will try to reconstruct a little bit of what the "before" was like in the next few posts, taking comfort in knowing that I have saved every single email I have ever sent or received over the past several years, and that that will be my journal of sorts.

I have to say that I was recently visiting Rebecca Agiewich's website (http://rebecca.agiewich.net/blog/) -- I had the pleasure of meeting her on Monday at a Hugo House event, but more on that later -- and her leading-up-to-publication postings really say everything I would have said, down to the dates, as we are both from the Class of May 06. As do Martha O'Connor's blog (http://www.marthaoconnor.com) and Anne Lamott's chapter on Publication in her I-couldn't-have-gotten-this-far-without-it book Bird by Bird (if you are a writer, and do not have this book: why not? what is wrong with you? Good Lord. Go get it.)

Anyway. There was a bunch of really cool stuff leading up to this mythical Day Of Publication, and then a bunch more cool stuff, and now here I am, a month later, still thinking it's all really cool, but still wanting More (more sales, more reviews, more articles, more phone calls from the NY Times and Oprah and the Today Show) (or...any phone calls from them would be nice). Which means that no matter what is happening, I'm always looking for the "next." And I need to practice enjoying the "now." And not think things like "When____happens, then I'll be happy." It's just like Mme. Lamott said, when she's quoting the coach for the Jamaican Bobsled team in Cool Runnings (and I'm paraphrasing here): If you weren't okay before the gold medal, you won't be okay after the gold medal. Or when she writes about talking to her son's preschool priest about serenity and peace and that deep sense of self that she imagined would come after Being Published (again paraphrasing): "He said, The world can't give you that stuff--but by the same token, they can't take it away from you either."

That is to say, it's an inside job, and Being Published did not suddenly make my self-esteem skyrocket, alter my overall level of (in)sanity, etc. What it did do was give me the very fine, precious gift of being able to walk into a book store, point, and say, "That one's mine."

That's what it did.

But I have to admit, that little thing...it goes a long way.

welcome to my blog

2006-06-21T09:55:00.000-07:00

I figured what with the book out and all, it might be good to have somewhere, aside from my website, to do some shameless self-promotion, keep people in the loop on various events & happenings, have discussions about writing and publishing and whatnot, and invite others to do the same.

What better place than a blog to do that?

* * *

So about the book, briefly: It's called Beachglass. It came out May 20. And when I say "came out," I mean at your local B & N, Borders, cute Indie bookshop -- not like I'll be picking up my black-plastic-spiral-bound xeroxes at Kinko's. This is "a real book" -- hardcover, published by St. Martin's Press, with all the bells and whistles. Having grown up in LA, where everyone and their brother has a screenplay, I am used to people claiming to be writers who are really waiters (it's only one letter off, so it may be more a spelling issue than an inflated ego issue)...so I hate to say it, for fear of sounding phony and self-centered. And yet here I sit, a published author, with a hardcover book, some reviews and interviews and book signings, a radio spot here and there, and even the occasional fan mail!

"What's it about?" you may be asking (hopefully not aloud, since this not an actual conversation). It's about a girl's adventures in her recovery from addiction and her best friend who is dying of AIDS. But it's not depressing. It's even funny at times. Could say it's a coming-of-age story, but one of those 'coming-of-age in your twenties' things, not a 'coming-of-age as a young teen' thing. (People are coming of age later and later anymore.) Could also say it's a friendship story. It's an AA story. It takes place mostly in West Hollywood. There are drag queens and strippers and artists (oh my!). And it's fiction. Not the James Frey kind of "fiction," where I claim it's real and then get busted by the Smoking Gun and reamed by Oprah, but the intentional kind of fiction, where I made stuff up and then wrote it down.

* * *
I’m hoping to post stuff at least a couple times a week. We’ll see how that goes.