Suzanne DeWitt Hall's Blog, page 2

Thank you for signaling back

Writing can be a lot like writing love letters to the world and then tossing them out the window, watching the wind blow them away forever. But every once in a great while, a message drifts back in, like this beautiful review. And I read: "I hear you. Your words matter. Keep going."

First born of my first born

 
Our daughter had a baby last month. Declan asked what the "new shape" was that I mention in the last line of the poem below. I replied that I didn't know, but what I'm sure of is that it is lumpy and expanding with emotion in search of words.

Watching Newness: a note to Theodora

In the days following the day

you emerged from warm safety

into a shocking world

first born of my first born

I got to watch you

eyes flexing toward focus

lips exploring the idea of hunger and satiation

soul grappling with sensations of separation and self

all of it new for you

and for her too, your mother.

 

I watched her as she watched you

examining her face

as she examined yours

as I’d examined hers

in the days following the day

she emerged, like you

miraculously manifest.

I watched as she watched

time unfolding

the wonder of the moment

pressing my heart

into a new shape.

People who read my books also read...

I was poking around on my GoodReads author page today, and came across this. Pretty great company, I'd say!

Book cover design and Halloween

It's October, which means Halloween, so I'm sharing what was almost the cover for my debut novel, THE LANGUAGE OF BODIES.
Book layout and cover design are super important. People do judge books by their covers despite the oft-stated advice not to, and encountering unreadable or unprofessional fonts, odd word or line spacing, non-standard front and back matter, and all the rest of the details which contribute to polish can also push readers away.
I've had training and experience in these kinds of tasks, so it was a bit scary to work with a publisher. What if I didn't like their choices? 
Luckily Woodhall Press created a lovely book design, and was happy to work with me on the cover. I'm sure other publishers have different processes, but for this book, I provided images and concepts about tone etc., and received back mockups. I offered feedback, and sometimes found it easiest to just create what I had in mind rather than trying to explain it. Showing versus telling, and all that.
The image at the top of this post is one of the designs I sent. I liked the idea of old, torn paper, and a vintage drawing of the human form. I liked that the words on the callouts didn't connect to the body parts which would typically be correlated. The Language of Bodies is odd, dark, connected to history, and a bit spooky, so this imagery resonated.
But this is the cover we went with:

It's completely different, and reflects the story's heart: beauty, darkness, love, pain. Both covers feel true and right for the book, while being near total opposites. So if you like spooky reads, have I got a book for you! But if you like novels which make you think, feel, laugh, and maybe even cry, I also have a book, and it's the same one.
I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Which version do you prefer? Which one would you choose if you were the author?

Poetry pub news: Rivers of Ink anthology

 

This week's lovely news is that a piece I wrote called Becoming the Food of Stars will be included in the Rivers of Ink anthology from 12 Willows Press this December! The anthology is a collection of work from Maine authors on the topic of the Penobscot river and watershed. Can't wait to read the other other pieces exploring the magnificence of our region.

Poetry pub news: Slamming Bricks 3 anthology

 

I'm honored to announce that two of my poems will be included in the 3rd annual edition of Slamming Bricks: an anthology featuring poetry from LGBTQ+, BIPOC, and AAPI poets addressing themes of resistance and liberation. The anthology is an extension of the Slamming Bricks Poetry Slam which was created to honor the resistance begun by the Stonewall Riots.

Get your copy now to support marginalized poets, and read explorations of how we push back against oppression.

What does fairness look like?

My beloved posts a lot of photos of our terrier puppy on social media: shots in the backyard, in the car, on the beach, or in random acts of naughty terriorism. In fairness to Declan, Penelope Pumpernickel is very photogenic. (Have I mentioned she's a puppy?) But the photographic abundance comes from a deeper place than mere aesthetics. The pictures are silent gasps of gratitude Declan can't help but utter; each one a thank you because Penelope was such a gift to us, and Declan is damned grateful.

Social media friends know we have two dogs, and people sometimes comment about our other pup (Phillip) not being with us on adventures. The questions seem to hint that we aren't being fair to him. So I wanted to talk for a moment about what fairness looks like.

We lost our Rumplepimple six months ago. He was a one-of-a-kind dog of high intellect and determination mixed with gentleness of spirit. He had all the makings of an alpha creature, but was too soft-hearted to step into the snark and snarl of the role, letting the dogs we fostered across a handful of years pretend they were in charge rather than taking them down a peg or two as they frequently deserved.

He was such a sweet, sweet boy.

It's not easy to bear the brain and stubbornness of an alpha canine but the heart of a lover, so when we heard about Phillip 8 or so years ago, we thought he might be a good companion for Rumple. Phillip was neglected for some time before being picked up by animal control, and was scheduled for euthanasia when a terrier rescue got him out, cleaned him up, and loved him into readiness for our family. The rescue knew what we were looking for in a new family member, and Phillip fit that bill; energetic but submissive. And so he came to live with us.

The match was remarkable. Rumplepimple got to be alpha without having to be a brute. Phillip had a brother, leader, and friend; regular meals; and lots of love. They made a brilliant team.

In many ways Phillip is a simple dog, with simple desires: to eat as often as possible, to cuddle, to occasionally perform astonishingly fast zoomies. He's not a deep thinker, nor is he demanding, but the rough start to Phillip's life left emotional scars. He doesn't like having wet feet, being cold, or being hot. He wants the mailman to be fired. He wants all dogs to be banned from the streets near our house. He wants joggers to just... not. He wants horses on television to stop being horses, and cartoon monsters to evaporate. And he makes these desires known physically; leaping at windows and knocking over lamps in response to passers by, jumping at the TV and bashing it with his nose, panting, pacing, and trying to tell us that SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT IS GOING ON.

Our attempts at training him to not freak out didn't work. Xanax didn't work. Cannabis oil didn't work. Trazadone didn't work. Anti-depressants didn't work. We've simply had to accept that he's an anxious little guy and give him lots of love to balance that out.

Prior to Phillip, Rumplepimple went many places with us. He loved car rides, meeting new people, and checking out the world. Phillip, on the other hand, becomes dangerously unhinged in the car. He's chewed through multiple kinds of restraints, barks in the driver's ear, and tries to climb on the driver's lap, crying as if the world is on fire. Taking him places isn't safe and doesn't make him happy. And so, out of fairness, we thought we should leave Rumplepimple with him when we went out. It didn't seem "fair" for him to get to go when Phillip couldn't handle it. Fairness, in our minds, meant treating the two creatures the same way.

When Rumplestinky was diagnosed with degenerative myelopathy, the ticking of his life clock pounded loud in our hearts. The pain of that timeframe isn't something I'm going to delve into now, but one of the things we eventually did was resume taking him places. Water therapy was the start, and then it morphed back into the kind of travels he used to experience. And Phillip stayed at home, away from windows so he couldn't hurl himself through the glass in a bloody blast of unhingedness. 

We don't have a lot of regrets related to our time with Rumple. Our love as a family was grand. But one thing we do regret is that our idea of fairness to Phillip created an unfairness for his brother. Rumplepimple missed out on a lot of joy during those years. And so did we.

Now here we are with a silly, headstrong adventure dog named Penelope Pumpernickel, who loves car rides, watching people, and experiencing new things. And Phillip remains the creature he's been from the beginning; a dog who longs to be an indoor cat.

Fairness doesn't mean serving peas as the sole vegetable every day because it's the only veg one child will eat. Fairness isn't spending the same dollar amount on Christmas gifts for two children, when the heart's desire of one of them can be purchased for a quarter of the amount of the other. Fairness isn't doling out the same thing across the board. 

Fairness is evaluating the wants, needs, and anxieties of individuals, and responding to each with the same level of attention and care. The "fair" action for one creature might be the very definition of torture for the other.

If you're a contact on social media, you'll continue to see photos of our fur babies in a variety of settings. They spend hours playing, napping, and sniffing around the yard together every day. They love each other and bring us all joy. But you'll also see pictures of Penelope on car rides and beach adventures, with Phillip nowhere in sight. He and Chicken the cat will be at home where the boundaries are known, the food is available, and the bed is comfortable. The place where mom, dad, and Penelope always return for hugs, treats, and playtime.

Because that's what fairness looks like.

Going to be in Maine mid-July? Come say hello!

 

When real life appears in fiction, you get: COOKIES!

Fiction is a surreal mix of things from the real lives of authors, and things which are formed solely in the neural pathways of their brains. Sometimes it's easy to spot the drawn-from-life bits, sometimes not. Reality snippets can range from personalities authors meet, locations they visit, illnesses they've dealt with, even foods they've eaten.

My novel, THE LANGUAGE OF BODIES, is an interrupted love story: a tale of passion and vengeance, set in vintage oddness and with a driving tempo. Given the darkness of the theme, it was important to regularly intersperse moments of light and humor, which is managed both through the narrator Maddie's voice, and through the presence of an old Italian woman named Maria. 

I don't know a Maria (though everyone should have someone like her in their life) but I DO know the cookies she teaches Maddie to make. They were a favorite when I lived in a city with a large Italian population in New York State, and were known as Lemon Meatballs. I had a hard time finding a recipe while researching the novel, but eventually, I found this post on a blog from 2011, and it seems the closest to the dense, lemony cookie balls I remembered. I modified it a tiny bit; adding in food coloring so the finished product is the vivid yellow of my memory, but otherwise, the recipe is essentially the one from the blog.

My book isn't cozy. It isn't the kind of read which includes recipes at the back. But it does convey the warmth of a kitchen, and the importance of care and nurturance which sometimes takes place through food.

Want to make the cookies? First, read the book. 

Then, here you go!

Lemon Meatball CookiesDOUGH INGREDIENTS1 cup shortening
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
4 eggs
1/3 cup plus 2 Tbsp sour cream
2 1/4 teaspoon lemon extract
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Yellow food coloring
Grated zest of 2 lemons
4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour4 1/2 tsp baking powderGLAZE INGREDIENTS1 cup confectioners' sugar
2-3 Tbsp lemon juice
Yellow food coloringDIRECTIONS

Preheat the oven to 350F.  Spray baking sheets with non-stick spray, or line with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, beat together the shortening and sugar until light. Add eggs, sour cream, lemon extract, vanilla extract, and lemon zest; beat until combined, scraping down sides of bowl. Add a few drops of food coloring until it reaches a bright yellow color.

In another bowl combine flour and baking powder; add to wet mixture and beat just until moistened. Do not over mix.

Shape dough into small balls, using about 1 level tablespoon for each. Use a cookie scoop if you have one.

Arrange the balls about 1 inch apart on cookie sheets. Bake 10 min, until lightly browned. Do not overbake. Remove from pans and cool.

Combine confectioners' sugar, lemon juice, and a few drops of food coloring in a small bowl; whip lightly until smooth and slightly thick. 

While cookies are still warm dip tops in icing. Let set until icing is dry to the touch.

Enjoy!

When real life intrudes in fiction, you get: COOKIES!

Fiction is a surreal mix of things from the real lives of authors, and things which are formed solely in the neural pathways of their brains. Sometimes it's easy to spot the drawn-from-life bits, sometimes not. Reality snippets can range from personalities authors meet, locations they visit, illnesses they've dealt with, even foods they've eaten.

My novel, THE LANGUAGE OF BODIES, is an interrupted love story: a tale of passion and vengeance, set in vintage oddness and with a driving tempo. Given the darkness of the theme, it was important to regularly intersperse moments of light and humor, which is managed both through the narrator Maddie's voice, and through the presence of an old Italian woman named Maria. 

I don't know a Maria (though everyone should have someone like her in their life) but I DO know the cookies she teaches Maddie to make. They were a favorite when I lived in a city with a large Italian population in New York State, and were known as Lemon Meatballs. I had a hard time finding a recipe while researching the novel, but eventually, I found this post on a blog from 2011, and it seems the closest to the dense, lemony cookie balls I remembered. I modified it a tiny bit; adding in food coloring so the finished product is the vivid yellow of my memory, but otherwise, the recipe is essentially the one from the blog.

My book isn't cozy. It isn't the kind of read which includes recipes at the back. But it does convey the warmth of a kitchen, and the importance of care and nurturance which sometimes takes place through food.

Want to make the cookies? First, read the book. 

Then, here you go!

Lemon Meatball CookiesDOUGH INGREDIENTS1 cup shortening
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
4 eggs
1/3 cup plus 2 Tbsp sour cream
2 1/4 teaspoon lemon extract
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Yellow food coloring
Grated zest of 2 lemons
4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour4 1/2 tsp baking powderGLAZE INGREDIENTS1 cup confectioners' sugar
2-3 Tbsp lemon juice
Yellow food coloringDIRECTIONS

Preheat the oven to 350F.  Spray baking sheets with non-stick spray, or line with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, beat together the shortening and sugar until light. Add eggs, sour cream, lemon extract, vanilla extract, and lemon zest; beat until combined, scraping down sides of bowl. Add a few drops of food coloring until it reaches a bright yellow color.

In another bowl combine flour and baking powder; add to wet mixture and beat just until moistened. Do not over mix.

Shape dough into small balls, using about 1 level tablespoon for each. Use a cookie scoop if you have one.

Arrange the balls about 1 inch apart on cookie sheets. Bake 10 min, until lightly browned. Do not overbake. Remove from pans and cool.

Combine confectioners' sugar, lemon juice, and a few drops of food coloring in a small bowl; whip lightly until smooth and slightly thick. 

While cookies are still warm dip tops in icing. Let set until icing is dry to the touch.

Enjoy!