Sandra Beasley's Blog, page 20

Absinthe!

On my most recent endless drive, I stopped off to buy a bottle of wine for the couple that would home-host me that night. While up at the register, I saw a little basket of bottles of absinthe (or rather, "Absente"..."now with wormwood"). I thought "Hell, why not?"

Impulse buys under $10 are probably a bad idea when at a liquor store in Tennessee, but there you have it. 
So here I am, back at home in DC and readying for Hurricane Irene with bags to unpack, books to read, peaches to eat, and absinthe to drink. Here is my Vincent-Van-Gogh-inspired still life.
The taste? 110-proof licorice. Plus two varieties of food coloring, Yellow #5 and Blue #1. Can't say I love it, much as I love fennel. I'm probably doing it a disservice by trying it straight. I've had enough Sazeracs in my day to know it can be an excellent sweet grace note to an otherwise merciless rye drink. 
Hemingway had one of the great absinthe recipes: "Pour one jigger absinthe into a Champagne glass. Add iced Champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly." He called it "Death in the Afternoon." 
And this is what Oscar Wilde said of the drink: "After the first glass of absinthe you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world."
Of course, absinthe is primarily known as a poets' vice: Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Marie Verlain, two of the major Symbolists, drank it like water. Extremely corrosive water. The love story of Verlaine (young at 27, with a pregnant wife from a well-to-do family) and Rimbaud (younger still--still shy of 17) is an untamed tale that culminates in a gun going off--but not before one of the two had first been slapped in the face with a fish. If you're curious about the whys & hows I recommend the biography Rimbaud, which Graham Robb published with W. W. Norton in 2000.
Here is a video of the poet Christian Bok presenting and then translating Arthur Rimbaud's poem, "Vowels," which many believe to be a poem inspired by absinthe:

...Okay, okay. I confess: I may not be inspired to write a poem by this little bottle. I'd settle for being inspired to empty my suitcase. 

Foxfire Ranch

This snapshot was taken a little over a year ago, on one of my first weekends in Mississippi. My friend Jeff and I had driven out from Oxford to Foxfire Ranch, which is just south of Holly Springs. His girlfriend Nikki (on the left) was coming from Memphis and met us there. 


I didn't know what to expect, but I soon realized this was one of my favorite places on earth. During the rest of the week, Foxfire is a working cattle ranch owned by Annie and Bill Hollowell. But on Sundays they let folks come and camp out in their open-air barn out back to hear bands play--usually three sets between 4 and 9 PM. People bring a picnic cooler (BYOB) or take advantage of the BBQ and collards Miss Annie herself cooks on site. Kids run around with their dogs. Little Ole Miss girls get going in their hula hoops. You come out with the sun still blazing; you leave long after it has set. 


As for the music, it's where pros come out to  jam, from Kenny Brown to Revered John Wilkins to all three Burnside brothers. The vibe reminds me a little of a good late-night on U Street, after people have finished their paying gigs at Blues Alley or wherever and want to do a little pick-up playing. And there is dancing. Sometimes, everybody up on their feet; sometimes just a few brave souls doing their thing.  

A year later, I made a straight drive from DC to catch the Saturday night show of the annual North Mississippi Hill Country Picnic. I arrived about 4 PM, having left my apartment at 9 PM the night before, and realized there was no option other than to fill my flask, slip on some gold Mardi Gras beads, and catch a second wind. This was one of the headline acts--Garry Burnside playing with Cadillac Funk. That's Andrew in the hat and sunglasses on the right, the frontman for CF. I'd heard them play a few times, but never got to talk to them before. I stayed out as long as my tired body would let me.  


I'm typing this from Andrew's kitchen at the moment. Tomorrow I'll be at Foxfire again, wearing my favorite black skirt for dancing (not so short as to be scandalous, with a bit of a flare if I'm twirling). Cadillac Funk will be up on stage, with Garry on guest guitar and Bill Perry, Jr. on keyboards. I'm hoping Jeff and Nikki can make it out to join us. They are engaged now, living together in Memphis. 


A lot can happen in a year.  

Away Games

Since my last post was about home fires, seems only appropriate that this post be about away games. I have spent the last three days hammering out my Fall 2011-Spring 2012 book tour schedule, which I will share in every conceivable outlet (including this blog & Booktour.com) over the weekend. A few immediate highlights:


Reading at the AJC Decatur Book Festival in Decatur, GA, on Sunday, Sept. 4


Reading at Chop Suey Books in Richmond, VA, on Sunday, Sept. 11


Reading at New Dominion Bookshop in Charlottesville, VA, on Thursday, Sept. 29


Panel on persona poetry with Stephen Burt (swoon) and panel on memoir at the Boston Book Festival in Boston, MA, on Saturday, Oct. 15


...and that is just for starters: about 30 events in all. If you should happen to see a date that is close to your public library, book club, or PTA meeting, please let me know. I'm driving 99% of the time, which means my schedule is flexible. The more people I get to meet and share my books with, the better.


While I am being all self-promotional, I should say that it has been a really nice week for grass-roots blog reviews of Don't Kill the Birthday Girl. Thank you, Rebecca Tolley-Stokes, for calling my book "eye-opening." Thank you, Nina the Cooktivist, for letting me change the menu for your birthday party--and assuring you that you aren't alone. Thank you, Shelly Bowers, for assuring me I wasn't crazy with my Richard Scarry "Busytown" conceit in the closing chapter. Thank you, Kalen Landow, for saying "Most books I read require only a simple few sentences or maybe a few paragraphs, but sometimes a book hits so hard, so close to home,  that I feel compelled to say more. Sandra Beasley's Don't Kill the Birthday Girl is one of those books." That made my day.


I'll be running away from home again soon (damn you, Mississippi, and your siren call) but it has been a good week. Waking up to see rainbows splashed across the wall of my apartment courtesy of my sister's solar-powered prism; an amazing cocktail at P/X (gin, tequila, basil coconut water and turmeric) with Leslie; a familiar meal of sweet potato salad and tea-cured salmon at Teaism; lounging in the pool with Hailey; the ease of a post office within walking distance; the fun of stopping off at Politics & Prose to pick up my copy of Meg Waite Clayton's The Four Ms. Bradwells (is that a stunning cover, or what?). Funny that I've reached this point where being in one place for over a week feels like a luxury.


Someone asked me the trick to being on book tour. I said that I always unpack fully between each stop, even if in one place for less than 24 hours. True. Also: travel with your own towel--whether you need it to wash your face, or just to create a cozy texture on an unfamiliar pillow. Also: no matter small the town, look up the one hippie cafe with coffee + WiFi beforehand. There is always one. Also: figure out the magical technology to fit the ones you love in your suitcase. Still working on that last part.


My patron saint of writerly traveling is Naomi Shihab Nye. A favorite of hers:


BURNING THE OLD YEAR


Letters swallow themselves in seconds.   
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,   
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.


So much of any year is flammable,   
lists of vegetables, partial poems.   
Orange swirling flame of days,   
so little is a stone.


Where there was something and suddenly isn't,   
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.   
I begin again with the smallest numbers.


Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,   
only the things I didn't do   
crackle after the blazing dies.


-Naomi Shihab Nye

Home Fires

So it has been a quiet week on the blog, but not a quiet week in real life. After a great day at Politics & Prose, I zipped down to Mississippi to wrap up my book launch with readings at Square Books in Oxford (you can see a full video here) and Lemuria in Jackson. Then I promptly returned to DC to tape an hour of live conversation on The Diane Rehm show this morning for NPR & WAMU (archival recording here)--which was such a thrill. I remember hearing an American University MFA professor, Kermit Moyer, wax poetic on her show many a morning. 


Oh: my book was picked as a "Great Nonfiction Read" in the August 8 issue of PEOPLE. Doesn't get much more surreal. Amy Winehouse is on the cover, for goodness sakes.


But if you asked me what I spent the last week doing, here's what I'd say: I was tending the home fires. Because while this book launch is a thrill, the roller coaster ride to end sometime. (Uh...ignore the mixing of those two metaphors.) If you haven't put some time into developing real connections with real people, you're going to end up at the amusement park alone after closing time. And that's a lonely place. 


Here's what tending the home fires looks like...



Cooking dinner for new friends and adored ones. Menu: lemon chicken with olives, parsley, and red onion, herbed couscous with stir-friend portobello mushrooms and spinach, carrots glazed in ginger ale & chile powder, and fresh fruit with peanut brittle (the only store-bought indulgence) for dessert.
Adding a day to my return drive to DC by first driving down to Jackson, Mississippi, to see my beloved former boss Mary Lynn Kotz receive an award at the Mississippi Museum of Art for her contributions to the arts (among other things, she wrote an incredible biography of Robert Rauschenberg). Finding this package leaned against my door in DC, sent by a young woman I met at my Lemuria reading. Now, by all standard accounts that was the least successful of my launch readings--teeny-tiny crowd. But that meant I had time to connect and really talk with Rachel, a talented teenager who at first claimed she came only to get out of family cleaning chores at home. But her attentive questions made me suspect otherwise. So I bought  her a copy of Don't Kill the Birthday Girl. And receiving one sincere thank-you makes the reading worth more than 50 books sold. Opening my package to discover a copy of her school's literary journal, which she had a hand in editing. Editors of little journals, unite! I particularly love how she signed the masthead page.

...and discovering that she, like me, is fascinated by the Orpheus & Eurydice myth (I have several poems that reference it in my first collection, Theories of Falling). Editor and poet. Go, Rachel, go! ...As for today, a confession: what I should have done, after The Diane Rehm Show, was rally for a high-powered happy hour downtown with literary types. But I was exhausted. So you know what I did instead? Curled up in bed with Molly Birnbaum's book Season to Taste--a memoir about being a chef-in-training, then losing one's sense of smell in a freak accident--which I have loved for its smart writing, vivid imagery, and sensitive blend of memoir and science. I finished the book. And I took a nap. I am tending the home fires. I am tending to my heart first, my career second.

Blog Love & Coming to the Writer's Center

The Writer's Center just announced the line-up of fall workshops being taught not only in the Bethesda location but in Annapolis, McLean, and the new Hill Center in Capitol Hill. Our instructors include winners of a Guggenheim Fellowship, the American Book Award, and the National Book Award. You can read up on these by clicking the linked course names, or see the whole fall via The Workshop & Event Guide...


Martin Espada (Barbaric Yawp)
Barbara Esstman (Advanced Novel & Memoir)
James Mathews (Building a Page Turner)
Lynn Stearns (Memoir: Story Construction)
Stanley Plumly (Poetry Master Class)
Rose Solari (A Sense of the Whole)
David Taylor (Writing Brilliantly About Science)
Kathryn Johnson (The Extreme Novelist 1 & The Extreme Novelist 2)


& TWC highlighted my class as well, The Strategic Poet, which will run on Tuesday nights in September through mid-October. I describe it in these terms:

Poetry is both an art and a craft, complete with its own toolbox. In this workshop (which will dovetail but not overlap with "The Strategic Poet: 1") we'll use weekly readings to help identify strategies for writing effective poems, and identify the tactics that can be used to follow those strategies in your own writing process—whether at the point of drafting, revision, or the shaping of a collection. For the first meeting, bring 15 copies of two poems: a poem that you love, and a draft of your own.

Traditionally, my workshops have a great time.  I have the Writer's Center place a cap on enrollment to 12 people so we don't feel rushed in class, and I return handwritten individual feedback on each poem. One of the amazing writers in my "The Strategic Poet: 1" class even went on to win this year's DCCAH Larry Neal Award! Those who know me well know I don't teach often, but I'm really proud to connect with DC's writing community through these workshops. If you're interested, please consider signing up. 


If you're in town this weekend, I hope to see you at Politics & Prose on Sunday at 3 PM to celebrate the hometown debut of Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life. My wonderful fellow DC writers Leslie Pietrzyk and Paula Whyman were kind enough to mention it on their blogs; Paula called it a "don't-miss author event." 


Speaking of blog love, I wanted to send out a big, sloppy, e-kiss to Kristin Berkey-Abbott : if you don't follow her blog you should, because it is one of the most frequently updated and substantive ones I am reading right now. I was so honored and delighted to find her mediation on DKTBG, which included these good wishes..."Perhaps Sandra will be our next Natalie Angier or Laurie Garrett, someone who can make science accessible for those of us who haven't had a science class in decades.  She's done that for the world of allergies in this book." Wow. I got to work with Natalie Angier once or twice in my American Scholar days, and I have to say that if I could become half the nonfiction writer she is, I would be thrilled. Thanks for setting the bar so high for me, Kristin--and for believing in my voice. 


And while I'm at it, I'd like to take Miss Ada Limon out for a night of cherries...and dancing. 


Since folks have been so generous in supporting me, I'd love to pay the blog love forward. So please check out Laurel Snyder's efforts to book 100 school visits in 100 days (via Skype) in celebration of the release of her latest children's book, BIGGER THAN A BREADBOX. This is such a fabulous idea, and trust me--Laurel's personality is big enough that it will project through a screen just fine. BTAB is a brave look at how a child copes with divorce, while displaying Laurel's signature blend of humor and fantasy. Here's a synopsis:

A magical breadbox that delivers whatever you wish for—as long as it fits inside? It's too good to be true! Twelve-year-old Rebecca is struggling with her parents' separation, as well as a sudden move to her Gran's house in another state. For a while, the magic bread box, discovered in the attic, makes life away from home a little easier. Then suddenly it starts to make things much, much more difficult, and Rebecca is forced to decide not just where, but who she really wants to be. Laurel Snyder's most thought-provoking book yet.

If you're a parent or know of a worthy local school, please encourage them to query Laurel. You also might be interested in this ongoing giveaway via Goodreads leading up to the book's September release. 

Bright Lights, Big City

It has been an absolutely wonderful first week for a book. If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you've already been bombarded with a daily link. I'm not going to retread all that here. Suffice it to say that I've had some glowing reviews and some thoughtful interviews, not to mention generous hometown coverage leading up to this Saturday's Politics & Prose reading (3 PM: come on out!). I am a very lucky woman.


Yesterday morning I hopped on an Amtrak Acela train for New York City, where I would give my first public reading from Don't Kill the Birthday Girl. Even though I've been fortunate to give readings in New York before, this felt different. For one thing, I was on Crown's dime: as someone accustomed to long Bolt Bus rides and crashing on a friend's couch, this was truly a whole new ball game. Arriving at the hotel they had reserved for me only affirmed my excitement...


The Warwick is one of those fabulous old-school hotels, in one direction a few blocks from The Ziegfeld theater (which was staging the premiere of Crazy, Stupid, Love the same night, starring Steve Carrell, Ryan Gosling, and Emma Stone--I wish I'd had time to gawk), a few blocks from Radio City Music Hall the other direction, and adjacent to the iconic "LOVE" sculpture. The lobby features beautiful chandeliers and a tall wall of built-in shelving and books--always a comfort to an author. And though chicly arranged (sans slipcover, arranged by color of binding), they were in fact real books. I know because...I pulled a few down off the shelf and checked. Perhaps not my most sophisticated moment.

My jaw dropped when I saw that my hotel room had its own living room. Since I was traveling alone, it was a bit overwhelming. One by one, I sat in all the chairs. One by one, I turned all the lamps on...then off again, so as not to be wasteful. (Just to be clear: I'm not trying to gloat by showing this. I just know that -I'd- want to see, if someone else had this opportunity. A month from now? I'll be back on my friends' couches!)
A few days ago my lovely poetry-friend Maureen Thorson, who I have known since our undergrad workshops at University of Virginia, had sent me this sneak peek of the display of my book at the Upper East Side Barnes & Noble. (Aside: Maureen's Applies to Oranges collection from Ugly Duckling Presse is killer. Check it out.) When I arrived on Tuesday night, through welcome coincidence the first familiar face I saw was Jeff--Maureen's husband. Also, the book was stacked all over the place. And pictured on the Jumbotron screens overhead. Crazy. 
What can I say about the reading? Reading prose is very different from reading poems, in the same way that running a series of wind sprints (poetry) is very different from running a marathon (prose). I had agonized over my selections beforehand, before settling on a trio that I hoped capture a few different aspects of my personal story: a part of the introduction, a section from childhood, a section on dating as an adult with food allergies. The question and answer session was lively, a nice mix of people who came to the topic from firsthand experience and people who were just curious. Afterwards--plenty of books, sold and signed. Here are a few glimpses... Upside: I'm an impassioned reader. Downside: I'm destined to make funny faces when I read. This is my signature "oooopen mouth" look, frequently captured on film.
Here I'm with Barbara Rosenstein of the Food Allergy Initiative. Such a great group--focused on research and long-term solutions. And I now know (from this morning's meeting) they are also fun, lively, super-smart people. I'm excited to work with them.
This lovely lady, Lisa, came to the reading after having heard me read poetry as part of last year's Boog City Festival. She's a talented poet herself. That is one of the surreal aspects of touring for this book: integrating it into the identity I've already built as an author of poetry. This morning I dropped by the offices of W. W. Norton--the paperback of I Was the Jukebox is out August 1--and chatted with my editor, Jill (who is also an author in multiple genres) about this balancing act.
 This guy said "I just like memoirs." You can see how I'm beaming. Refreshing to have an audience who attended in equal parts for the topic and for the craft. 
I love this photo for three reasons. One: it shows the random friend-of-a-friend who gave me two of his own CDs--I love it when artists randomly cross paths. Two: it shows me signing a poster for the Barnes & Noble wall of fame. Three: it shows the yellow origami turtle given to me by poet-friend Kimmy Grey. Talk about your talismans of good luck! (She was inspired by the origami poems in IWTJ.) 


Kimmy, know I carried that guy around in my purse for the rest of my New York trip.
And here we are. I've said this before, but I'll say it again: the people at Crown are awesome. Meet Julie Cepler (black jacket), Rachel Rokicki (black skirt), Sydny Miner (plaid dress), and Anna Thompson (gray skirt). They are my editorial and publicity team. They are my safety net and saviors. They are my "Oh, it's 4:55 PM? Yep, we can get that out before end of business day" people. They are the best. 


Mom...thanks for helping me pick out that dress. Dad...thanks for that red coral necklace. I couldn't have asked for better birthday gifts. Let the adventures continue~

Birth of a Book

I have to admit: I wasn't sure what to expect today. So much of what would pop up as "new" to the big, wide world was not new to me. I'd already held the book in my hand. I knew there was a flurry of interviews and guest posts scheduled to go up--my favorite is at eHarmony--but having written them, there was no surprises in store there. I knew good friends would gather at City Grocery, but I've had drinks with them at City Grocery dozens of times before. So I thought: well, we'll just head on down to Square Books. We'll see. And this is what I found...




The flowers my mom had delivered to me, care of the bookstore. 

A stack of copies--more than I'd ever seen in one place before!

Then I turned around and realized, Oh my goodness. That was just the stack of extras. Here's the real stack, complete with a teaser for my July 26 reading.

A friend walked in, said hello, and the next thing I knew...my book was at the check-out counter! (If this photo is a bit blurry, I know it's because I looked really strange photographing a banal commercial process.)

This is me with that friend--Jere, aka the man I got to see buy my book on the day my book went on sale. He's pretty much my favorite person on God's green earth right now.

Sometimes a day of celebration doesn't have to be epic. Sometimes it's the small gestures of the people who love you. Sometimes it's taking a deep breath and knowing: So it begins.

Writer's Center DKTBG Giveaway

The lovely folks at the Writer's Center are helping celebrate the release of Don't Kill the Birthday Girl by giving away of a copy of the book! Registering to win could not be easier: go to their Facebook page and leave a comment in response to this query~

Tell us about an experience with food allergies in your community. Or share your thoughts on how this issue has changed in society over time.


The answers people have left show the gamut of our experiences with food allergy--from firsthand reactions to nervous waitressing. The winner will be chosen on Monday, July 11, so get a move on adding your take. Good luck!

Kyle Semmel of the First Person Plural blog was also kind enough to do a short Q&A with me, which is here. In response to Kyle's request for a "sneak peek" at what the book contains, this is what I said:

I tried to balance a substantive, interesting look at the science of food allergies (from prick tests to epitopes) with the quirky realities of managing them in the everyday. Hives from a kiss? Yep. Stunt-eater friends who sit next to you at weddings and make your dinner plate look like you had a few bites, so as to not offend the bride? Yep. Having a mother who tries to keep you safe by packing your suitcase for every trip with a loaf of "Sandra-friendly" bread and the knife to slice it with? Yep. You can bet how surprised the security guard was to pull an eight-inch serrated blade out of my suitcase on my way to Disney World with my high school choir.

As the World Turns

It has been comically frustrating to have no internet service this past week. Or rather, to have had only a wan, intermittent stolen signal from someone's house nearby. My sublet's network, perkily named "BoatsandHoes," has been MIA--and since I'm not the account holder, there hasn't been a damn thing I could do about it. All my hard-earned nagging skills from dealing with Comcast in DC, wasted! That's the peril of choosing to be miles from home in the week leading up to having one's book born. 


Writers love to romanticize a lack of internet, particularly when it comes to colonies. I get that. But the good people at Crown have been working their butts off on bookings and media queries--each in one in delicate balance with the others, based on who gets "first" this or "exclusive" that--and I hate holding them up. When you find yourself driving to a Pizza Hut parking lot so you can skulk in your car checking email, something has gone awry. 


Anyway. Enough whining. The magical interwebs seem to be back. 


On Thursday, I got a note from the Reviews editor at the Wall Street Journal asking if I might have 800 words I could contribute to their weekend edition on the topic of living with food allergies. Um...yes? The only problem was that I'd already made plans for the night; a beer with this year's Ole Miss Summer Poet in Residence, Jay Leeming, then a dinner party in Taylor, then meeting to see friends of a friend play on the Square. I've been somewhat stubborn about maintaining a work/life balance down here in Oxford. 


So, after having a Reb Ale with Jay on the balcony at City Grocery--after meeting my dinner host's pet Jackson Lizard (oddly enough named "Iguana," but they call it "Cucumber")--after enjoying a meal of marinated chicken and Honey Bee Bakery French country bread and homemade tequila-watermelon-line sorbet--after a great meandering conversation about trying to grow apples in Mississippi and Billy Collins and radio interviews gone wrong and living on the Lawn--after listening to an hour of music at Parrish's--I came home. 


And slept. And got up at 2:30 AM. And got to writing my piece for WSJ, with a 9 AM deadline hanging over me. 


Admittedly what I'm calling "work/life balance" might, in fact, be burning the candle at both ends. But it all worked out. Here it is: "An 'Allergy Girl' Comes Out of Her Bubble." 


DC-area folks might get a kick out of knowing that the opening scene takes place at Bethesda's Jaleo, on a night when I hosted two Emerging Writer Fellows for dinner before a Story/Stereo reading at The Writer's Center...

At a recent dinner with friends, I was determined to enjoy a night without any allergic reactions. I had asked for the dairy-free menu, but when the waiter brought our drink orders, I eyed my martini glass with alarm: It was garnished at the bottom with a pearl of milky liquid.

"What's in that?" I asked.

He proudly described a liqueur containing essence of pine nut. I groaned.

"You didn't ask for the nut-free menu!" he said.

I looked at him. "The nut-free menu for cocktails?"

...and for the record, they replaced that drink gratis with an amazing concoction that combined cava with edible gold leaf, which swirled hypnotically in response to the wine's bubbles. Hooray for José Andrés! I like to tease ThinkFoodGroup for their tendency toward self-grandeur, but he really has some of the most allergy-friendly restaurants in the country. 

Book Countdown: One Week

When I got the news about my book deal, I was at Reagan National Airport waiting to fly to Chicago for the 2009 AWP Conference. My agent reached me right before they announced boarding. The news was big--this was a deal that would move my writing from a side love to a full-time job--and after I hung up I looked around the terminal and thought, with a twinge of sadness, Nobody here knows me. Then I realized the liberation of that: Nobody here knows me! I jumped up and down. I wiggled my hips. I dipped my shoulders to a silent dance track. I grinned like a happy fool.


When I landed in Chicago and got to the conference hotel, I did the usual dashing about--check-in, conference registration, tote bag critique, hello to five hundred friends. But I stopped in the middle of the lobby and ignored the noise long enough to call my Grandma Beasley back at home. (Agh. Just writing this...I miss her.) Someone would pay me to write a book, I told her. A book about growing up with food allergies. 


"Well, darlin'," she said in her accent, still Texan from younger days. "After all these years, there turns out to be a silver lining."