Mahbod Seraji's Blog
July 25, 2014
My interview with New-Asian-Writiing
NAW- Tell us about your book, ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN. How did you get the idea for it? What is it about? How did you select the title?
Lets start with the story first. Here’s the synopsis:
In a middle class neighborhood of Tehran, 17 year old Pasha spends the summer of 1973 on his rooftop with his best friend Ahmed dreaming about future, and struggling with a crushing secret: his love for his beautiful neighbor, Zari, who has been bethroad since birth to Pasha’s mentor and friend, Doctor, a university student and political activist on the SAVAK hunt list. Despite Pasha’s guilt, the long, hot summer days transform the couple’s tentative relationship into a rich emotional bond. But the bliss of their perfect stolen summer is abruptly shattered in a single night when Pasha unwittingly guides the Shah’s secret police to Doctor’s hiding place. The violent consequences awaken Pasha and his friends to the reality of life under the rule of a powerful despot, and leading Zari to make a shoking choice from which Pasha may never recover.
The title: The book was called ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN because so much of the story unravels on the rooftop of Pasha’s home. Incidentally, chapter 1 starts with the line: Sleeping on the rooftop in the summer is customary in Tehran. The book also starts and ends with scenes on the rooftop.
At a deeper level, the rooftop of Pasha’s house symbolizes the youths’ desire for openness and freedom. This is where they gather to talk, to socialize, to share the news, to discuss love and romanticize about the future; this is where they can reach out and almost touch the stars they’ve named after those they love. There is also something exotic about sitting or sleeping on the rooftop, which is a narrative tool I needed to give the story its unique texture.
NAW- Tell us about the characters of Pasha Shahed and Ahmed. How did you develop the characters?
The 17-year-old Pasha is an introvert who loves to read, watch old movies, and discuss philosophy, politics, movies, and literature. He’s aloof, polite, and always willing to please those he loves and respects. For example, he decides to major in engineering to satisfy his father despite hating math and sciences. He’s traditional in the way he views friendship and honor, willing to fight for Ahmed against Faheemeh’s brothers; feeling ashamed of loving Zari who is engaged to his mentor, Doctor. He’s a romantic in heart but rational and pragmatic in life.
Ahmed’s personality complements Pasha’s because he’s so unlike him. He’s a charming, rabble rousing, street-smart kid who loves and enjoys every minute of his life. Unlike Pasha who wants to go to America to get a college degree, Ahmed has no plans for his future. He lives in the moment, although somewhat recklessly, which to him is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. When Pasha is blaming himself for what’s happened to Doctor, Ahmed consoles him and points to the moon, to the stars, and to the planets in the sky and asks: “Do you realize the immensity of creation? Do you see the prescribed order of the universe? God has imposed his laws on everything. What makes you think he exempted you from that?”
Ahmed is the glue that keeps the neighbourhood together. When everyone is struggling emotionally to cope with Doctor’ssaga, he creates a false crisis over the width of the alley to distract people in the neighbourhood from the agony brewing in their hearts. Pasha accomplishes the same by doing something a bit more visceral. He secretly plants a red rose where Doctor’s blood was spilled. The red rose (which also appears on the cover of the book) becomes a symbol of love, friendship and struggle. In one of my favorite scenes in the book, the baffled neighbours engage in the following dialogue as they try to figure out who has planted the rose bush and why.
-Wait, why a red rose?
-Because red is the color of blood.
-It’s also the color of revolution.
-And the color of love.
Rooftops cover
NAW- The narrative technique used in ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN works quite well. How did you get the idea for it?
Thank you. Writing Pasha’s voice was perhaps the most challenging aspect of this experience for me. His voice had to be that of a 17 year old: simple, unwordly, and juvenile, but simultaneously, sophisticated on certaintopics, i.e., the movies, Erfan, psychoanalysis, literature. Capturing that duality without making the effort obvious to the readers was challenging. It was also important to make his voice believable and authentic, which is why he tells the story in a simple and unpretentious language. He had to be wholesome without being dull and uninspiring. His character accomplishes that by making clever observations on contradictions that exist in the Iranian culture and way of life. Also, his voice gradually matures as the story advances, and as he begins to speak authoritatively about Iranian politics, books, religion, destiny, God, social norms, relationships, etc.
NAW- Did you carry out any research for the book?
Well, I lived in Iran until 1976, so my personal experiences were more instrumental than the research I did in writing the story.
NAW- What can readers expect to take away from the book?
Once you release the book you almost can’t control what people take away from it. I know readers who think ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN is a book about love, others who see it as a realistic portray of Iran’s culture and way of life in the 1970’s, and others who see it as a historical novel depicting the Shah’s brutality against intellectuals and dissidents, and its impact on Iranian families and the youth. One reviewer claimed that the book was an attempt to remind readers that the Shah was not a benevolent democratic ruler, which was quite accurate. Personally, I was adamant to challenge the distorted image westerners have of Iranians. Tremendous effort has gone into dehumanizing Iran since the Islamic revolution, especially in the west, and my goal was to show that traits such as love, friendship, and family are universal, transcending borders, nationality, creed and culture.
Of course, any time you publish a book, you subject yourself to misinterpretation. I’ve had my fair share of those as well.
NAW- How difficult (or easy) was it getting published? Tell us about your publishing journey.
Getting published is incredibly difficult, but it is a journey well worth taking. It requries patience, perseverance, flexibility, and thick skin. Every rejection letter – - and even the best of writers get those – - cuts fiercely through you no matter how resilient you are. Rejection of your work feels almost as hurtful of someone calling your baby ugly! I was extremely lucky to sign with a great agency and a great publisher.
NAW- Tell us about yourself. What do you do when you are not writing?
When I’m not writing, which is rare, I’m reading or watching classic movies. I maybe thinking about my next book, or the next chapter I plan to write. If you’re a serious writer you can’t limit your writing to a few hours a day. Even when you’re not actually writing, you’re somehow engaged in activities that help shape your story, plot, characters, etc.
NAW- Who are your favourite writers?
I have many favorite writers: Jack London, John Steinbeck, Maxim Gorky, Leo Tolstoy, Nikolai Gogol, Anton Chekove, Frank McCourt, Emil Zola, Sadegh Hedayat, Iraj Pezehkzad, Simin Daneshvar…. The list is endless.
NAW- How do you write, planning the complete plot beforehand or do you let the book take its course? Take us through your writing process.
I do very little planning. I often end up writing a different story than I intended to write. I start well, struggle in the middle, and finish fast if I know the ending. It’s the middle part that always slows me down. As for the process, I write at nights, and I read for an hour or two before I start typing. One important lesson I’ve learned is not to share my early drafts with anyone. My plot, story and characters evolve with each revision, and I can’t get everything right in my early drafts, even though the whole picture may be in my head from the start. The complete load down of what’s in my head to paper often takes a few tries. Therefore, suggestions, reactions or comments to those early drafts can be hurtful and even derailing to me. This was a lesson learned the hard way, even costing me certain relationships. So, no one but my wife gets to read my early drafts anymore.
By the way, writing is a lonely endeavor. It’s hard on the writer and those around him or her. Writers need to be alone and quietly focused for long stretches of time, and that’s not always easy on people around them. I’m extremely lucky that my wife is quite independent. Besides, she’s almost as anxious as I am to see how my story turns out, and as a result, she is always encouraging me to write. It’s a blessing to have her in my life.
Lets start with the story first. Here’s the synopsis:
In a middle class neighborhood of Tehran, 17 year old Pasha spends the summer of 1973 on his rooftop with his best friend Ahmed dreaming about future, and struggling with a crushing secret: his love for his beautiful neighbor, Zari, who has been bethroad since birth to Pasha’s mentor and friend, Doctor, a university student and political activist on the SAVAK hunt list. Despite Pasha’s guilt, the long, hot summer days transform the couple’s tentative relationship into a rich emotional bond. But the bliss of their perfect stolen summer is abruptly shattered in a single night when Pasha unwittingly guides the Shah’s secret police to Doctor’s hiding place. The violent consequences awaken Pasha and his friends to the reality of life under the rule of a powerful despot, and leading Zari to make a shoking choice from which Pasha may never recover.
The title: The book was called ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN because so much of the story unravels on the rooftop of Pasha’s home. Incidentally, chapter 1 starts with the line: Sleeping on the rooftop in the summer is customary in Tehran. The book also starts and ends with scenes on the rooftop.
At a deeper level, the rooftop of Pasha’s house symbolizes the youths’ desire for openness and freedom. This is where they gather to talk, to socialize, to share the news, to discuss love and romanticize about the future; this is where they can reach out and almost touch the stars they’ve named after those they love. There is also something exotic about sitting or sleeping on the rooftop, which is a narrative tool I needed to give the story its unique texture.
NAW- Tell us about the characters of Pasha Shahed and Ahmed. How did you develop the characters?
The 17-year-old Pasha is an introvert who loves to read, watch old movies, and discuss philosophy, politics, movies, and literature. He’s aloof, polite, and always willing to please those he loves and respects. For example, he decides to major in engineering to satisfy his father despite hating math and sciences. He’s traditional in the way he views friendship and honor, willing to fight for Ahmed against Faheemeh’s brothers; feeling ashamed of loving Zari who is engaged to his mentor, Doctor. He’s a romantic in heart but rational and pragmatic in life.
Ahmed’s personality complements Pasha’s because he’s so unlike him. He’s a charming, rabble rousing, street-smart kid who loves and enjoys every minute of his life. Unlike Pasha who wants to go to America to get a college degree, Ahmed has no plans for his future. He lives in the moment, although somewhat recklessly, which to him is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. When Pasha is blaming himself for what’s happened to Doctor, Ahmed consoles him and points to the moon, to the stars, and to the planets in the sky and asks: “Do you realize the immensity of creation? Do you see the prescribed order of the universe? God has imposed his laws on everything. What makes you think he exempted you from that?”
Ahmed is the glue that keeps the neighbourhood together. When everyone is struggling emotionally to cope with Doctor’ssaga, he creates a false crisis over the width of the alley to distract people in the neighbourhood from the agony brewing in their hearts. Pasha accomplishes the same by doing something a bit more visceral. He secretly plants a red rose where Doctor’s blood was spilled. The red rose (which also appears on the cover of the book) becomes a symbol of love, friendship and struggle. In one of my favorite scenes in the book, the baffled neighbours engage in the following dialogue as they try to figure out who has planted the rose bush and why.
-Wait, why a red rose?
-Because red is the color of blood.
-It’s also the color of revolution.
-And the color of love.
Rooftops cover
NAW- The narrative technique used in ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN works quite well. How did you get the idea for it?
Thank you. Writing Pasha’s voice was perhaps the most challenging aspect of this experience for me. His voice had to be that of a 17 year old: simple, unwordly, and juvenile, but simultaneously, sophisticated on certaintopics, i.e., the movies, Erfan, psychoanalysis, literature. Capturing that duality without making the effort obvious to the readers was challenging. It was also important to make his voice believable and authentic, which is why he tells the story in a simple and unpretentious language. He had to be wholesome without being dull and uninspiring. His character accomplishes that by making clever observations on contradictions that exist in the Iranian culture and way of life. Also, his voice gradually matures as the story advances, and as he begins to speak authoritatively about Iranian politics, books, religion, destiny, God, social norms, relationships, etc.
NAW- Did you carry out any research for the book?
Well, I lived in Iran until 1976, so my personal experiences were more instrumental than the research I did in writing the story.
NAW- What can readers expect to take away from the book?
Once you release the book you almost can’t control what people take away from it. I know readers who think ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN is a book about love, others who see it as a realistic portray of Iran’s culture and way of life in the 1970’s, and others who see it as a historical novel depicting the Shah’s brutality against intellectuals and dissidents, and its impact on Iranian families and the youth. One reviewer claimed that the book was an attempt to remind readers that the Shah was not a benevolent democratic ruler, which was quite accurate. Personally, I was adamant to challenge the distorted image westerners have of Iranians. Tremendous effort has gone into dehumanizing Iran since the Islamic revolution, especially in the west, and my goal was to show that traits such as love, friendship, and family are universal, transcending borders, nationality, creed and culture.
Of course, any time you publish a book, you subject yourself to misinterpretation. I’ve had my fair share of those as well.
NAW- How difficult (or easy) was it getting published? Tell us about your publishing journey.
Getting published is incredibly difficult, but it is a journey well worth taking. It requries patience, perseverance, flexibility, and thick skin. Every rejection letter – - and even the best of writers get those – - cuts fiercely through you no matter how resilient you are. Rejection of your work feels almost as hurtful of someone calling your baby ugly! I was extremely lucky to sign with a great agency and a great publisher.
NAW- Tell us about yourself. What do you do when you are not writing?
When I’m not writing, which is rare, I’m reading or watching classic movies. I maybe thinking about my next book, or the next chapter I plan to write. If you’re a serious writer you can’t limit your writing to a few hours a day. Even when you’re not actually writing, you’re somehow engaged in activities that help shape your story, plot, characters, etc.
NAW- Who are your favourite writers?
I have many favorite writers: Jack London, John Steinbeck, Maxim Gorky, Leo Tolstoy, Nikolai Gogol, Anton Chekove, Frank McCourt, Emil Zola, Sadegh Hedayat, Iraj Pezehkzad, Simin Daneshvar…. The list is endless.
NAW- How do you write, planning the complete plot beforehand or do you let the book take its course? Take us through your writing process.
I do very little planning. I often end up writing a different story than I intended to write. I start well, struggle in the middle, and finish fast if I know the ending. It’s the middle part that always slows me down. As for the process, I write at nights, and I read for an hour or two before I start typing. One important lesson I’ve learned is not to share my early drafts with anyone. My plot, story and characters evolve with each revision, and I can’t get everything right in my early drafts, even though the whole picture may be in my head from the start. The complete load down of what’s in my head to paper often takes a few tries. Therefore, suggestions, reactions or comments to those early drafts can be hurtful and even derailing to me. This was a lesson learned the hard way, even costing me certain relationships. So, no one but my wife gets to read my early drafts anymore.
By the way, writing is a lonely endeavor. It’s hard on the writer and those around him or her. Writers need to be alone and quietly focused for long stretches of time, and that’s not always easy on people around them. I’m extremely lucky that my wife is quite independent. Besides, she’s almost as anxious as I am to see how my story turns out, and as a result, she is always encouraging me to write. It’s a blessing to have her in my life.
April 3, 2009
On the Same Flight with Annette Bening
A long trip to Iran was about to come to an end. I was delighted to be coming home to my family in the U.S. The flight out of Tehran was scheduled for 9:00 AM and I left my friend’s home with whom I was staying at 4:00 AM. They warn you to be at the Ayatollah Khomeini Airport three hours before your departure time. Given the mess of a traffic you will encounter in Tehran, you can never leave home early enough to feel safe that you’ll make your flight. Given all my recent travels overseas I had accumulated enough mileage to upgrade to the first class—a huge relief when you’re traveling long distances.
I got through the security, the check in, and the immigration quickly and headed down to the First Class Lounge. There I had a cup of tea and began reading the morning paper, when a noisy group of people walked in – obviously foreigners given the way the women in the group struggled to keep their head covers on. I ignored them and looked down at the newspaper and saw a picture of Annette Bening and a group of people from the Academy Awards, including Sid Ganis, the president, who had traveled to Iran. The paper said the group was asked to apologize on behalf of the movie industry for the way Hollywood had been portraying Iranians in movies like 300, and The Wrestler. Wow! Annette Bening in Iran, I thought to myself. I looked up and suddenly noticed a cheerful, beautiful, blond lady walking toward the snack bar, happy, carefree and relaxed, talking to the person who was walking along side of her, smiling, moving her arms—great energy for someone who like me must have woken up in the wee hours of the morning to make the damn flight! Wow, the Academy Award wining Annette Bening and Alfre Woodard, one of the most underrated actors of all time! Both their pictures were in the paper in front of me. The ladies checked out the meager snack bar counter, and settled for a cup of coffee. I have to admit, I felt a little giddy being in the same room with an Oscar winning actor, but I decided to rise above my giddiness and pretend like I hadn’t noticed her. I buried my head back in the paper.
The announcement to board came soon after and I headed up to my gate. On the way out I threw an inconspicuous glance toward the Oscar recipient and the underrated actor and walked up the steps. They, of course, didn’t and had no reason to notice a humble individual like me.
In Iran traveling in the first class doesn’t mean much, and they don’t board by rows. I think, and I don’t mean this in a malicious way, we Iranians have an aversion to order, and an acute affinity toward chaos. So when boarding a plane, we all get in the same line, and try to get on at the same time. If someone pushes us or cuts in front of us, we don’t get mad—we just push back and try to get in front of someone else. We’re a pretty peace loving nation in that way.
So anyway, I boarded the plane and sat in my seat and took out the advance reader copy of my debut novel, Rooftops of Tehran, which was due to be released in 2-months. I had been carrying that copy everywhere with me. It was the first copy I had pulled out of an envelop containing a couple of galleys of my book, sent to me by Penguin. My book…. It still sounds surreal when I say it. It had taken me three years to write my book and another three years to find a publisher for it with the help of my ever diligent agents Danielle Egan-Miller, and Joanna McKenzie. We had come so close to selling it on three different occasions – so close, and each time something bizarre had happened and the deal had fallen apart. Those kinds of close calls are devastating to a debut novelist. Yes, that copy was the first copy of my book – the first one I had seen with my title on the cover, with my name… yes, my name on the cover…. So you probably shouldn’t be surprised to learn that I began to cry as soon as I saw an actual printed copy of my book. I wasn’t crying because I was sad or overjoyed; I really couldn’t tell you why I was crying. Some things are just inexplicable. I did pray for no one to ring the bell at that moment though; I would have felt pretty embarrassed if someone had seen me in that state.
The first class wasn’t crowded and people kept walking by. Some looked down curiously at my book, as they waited for the line to move forward, and I wanted to say, yes, this is my book, with my name on the cover. It took me three years to write it and another three to sell it. And yes, this was the first copy I had pulled out of the envelope. I’ve been carrying it everywhere with me. This is the copy that made me cry, and it wasn’t a cry of joy or sadness – I really can’t tell you what kind of a cry that was.
Suddenly, I saw Annette Bening and Sid Ganis board the plane. Wow! They were on my flight.
They sat two rows in front of me, Row 2, seats A and B, Annette by the window and Sid on the aisle. Alfre and a gentleman I didn’t recognize sat one row behind me across the aisle. The plane took off. A few minutes later we ate, as I kept reading my book, and as I looked up once in a while to check out Annette and Sid.
Sid fell asleep as soon as they turned the lights off, and Annette started reading a book.
“It would have been so nice if she was reading my book,” I thought to myself. But how could she be reading my book? It wasn’t even released yet. A thought flashed through my head and I tried fighting it. “Give her the book,” my alter ego kept screaming.
“No,” I screamed back. “This was the first copy.”
“Well, you have another one at home.”
I shook my head. “No, no, no. This copy and I have cried together!”
“Oh, get real.”
“And how would I get it to her anyway?”
“Just write something on it and hand it to her.”
I wrote, “To Annette Bening – one of the greatest (and most beautiful) actors of all time.” I wrote the line on a piece of napkin. I still couldn’t stand the thought of parting with the first copy of my book. “Maybe I shouldn’t say ‘and most beautiful,’” I thought loudly to myself. “What if Warren Beatty didn’t like it?” After all, if I was giving my book to Warren, I wouldn’t say anything about how good looking he was! Suddenly, Annette stood up. Ever so carefully, she stepped over the stretched body of Sid, extra mindful not to wake him up. She walked to the bathroom in front of the plane.
“Write it on the book,” the bad guy inside me screamed.
But it was my first book. I looked at it. Despite all the places it had been with me in the last couple of months, it was still clean and as good as new. “Write in the book,” the voice screamed one more time. Annette came out of the bathroom and opened the overhead compartment, again quiet and careful not to wake up Sid. I quickly scribbled the line on the first page of the book, omitting the “most beautiful” line, and rushed up to her. “Can I help you with your luggage Ms. Bening?”
“Shush…,” she pointed to the almost lifeless body of Sid. “He’s asleep,” she whispered.
The look on her face was not very friendly, and I immediately felt like going back to my seat. A couple of weeks later, I read on the internet that Annette is a very private person. If I knew that I wouldn’t have bothered her, but it was too late. “I’ve written a book,” I mumbled. “Here it is, my book, can you take it?” My voice cracked. I knew that I was screwing up big time. “I mean may I give it to you?” I corrected myself.
“Yes,” she whispered her tone friendly now. A tiny splash of a smile sneaked up to her face. She took the book, and I dashed out toward the bathroom, feeling sicker than I had ever been. I’d given my first book away and in such a clumsy manner. She would never read it. I wouldn’t read a book written by a guy who sounded like me. While in the bathroom, I took an Ambien, and went back to my seat, trying to avoid eye contact with the person in row 2 seat A
I tried to fall asleep, but the damn Ambien was no match for my crowded disturbed mind and for the feeling of melancholy that had suddenly engulfed me.
We landed in London several hours later, and she and her gang walked out of the plane in front of me. In the jet way, she looked back a couple of times but I didn’t have the courage to smile. I don’t know why. I don’t think it was because I had given the first copy of my book away (after all, I had another copy at home, as my alter ego had reminded me so forcefully). To be honest, I don’t know why I was feeling that way– after all there are some things that are inexplicable like the reason you cry the first time you see a printed copy of your book, or when you give it away, in one moment of weakness, to one of the most famous people on the planet, who may never read it.
I got through the security, the check in, and the immigration quickly and headed down to the First Class Lounge. There I had a cup of tea and began reading the morning paper, when a noisy group of people walked in – obviously foreigners given the way the women in the group struggled to keep their head covers on. I ignored them and looked down at the newspaper and saw a picture of Annette Bening and a group of people from the Academy Awards, including Sid Ganis, the president, who had traveled to Iran. The paper said the group was asked to apologize on behalf of the movie industry for the way Hollywood had been portraying Iranians in movies like 300, and The Wrestler. Wow! Annette Bening in Iran, I thought to myself. I looked up and suddenly noticed a cheerful, beautiful, blond lady walking toward the snack bar, happy, carefree and relaxed, talking to the person who was walking along side of her, smiling, moving her arms—great energy for someone who like me must have woken up in the wee hours of the morning to make the damn flight! Wow, the Academy Award wining Annette Bening and Alfre Woodard, one of the most underrated actors of all time! Both their pictures were in the paper in front of me. The ladies checked out the meager snack bar counter, and settled for a cup of coffee. I have to admit, I felt a little giddy being in the same room with an Oscar winning actor, but I decided to rise above my giddiness and pretend like I hadn’t noticed her. I buried my head back in the paper.
The announcement to board came soon after and I headed up to my gate. On the way out I threw an inconspicuous glance toward the Oscar recipient and the underrated actor and walked up the steps. They, of course, didn’t and had no reason to notice a humble individual like me.
In Iran traveling in the first class doesn’t mean much, and they don’t board by rows. I think, and I don’t mean this in a malicious way, we Iranians have an aversion to order, and an acute affinity toward chaos. So when boarding a plane, we all get in the same line, and try to get on at the same time. If someone pushes us or cuts in front of us, we don’t get mad—we just push back and try to get in front of someone else. We’re a pretty peace loving nation in that way.
So anyway, I boarded the plane and sat in my seat and took out the advance reader copy of my debut novel, Rooftops of Tehran, which was due to be released in 2-months. I had been carrying that copy everywhere with me. It was the first copy I had pulled out of an envelop containing a couple of galleys of my book, sent to me by Penguin. My book…. It still sounds surreal when I say it. It had taken me three years to write my book and another three years to find a publisher for it with the help of my ever diligent agents Danielle Egan-Miller, and Joanna McKenzie. We had come so close to selling it on three different occasions – so close, and each time something bizarre had happened and the deal had fallen apart. Those kinds of close calls are devastating to a debut novelist. Yes, that copy was the first copy of my book – the first one I had seen with my title on the cover, with my name… yes, my name on the cover…. So you probably shouldn’t be surprised to learn that I began to cry as soon as I saw an actual printed copy of my book. I wasn’t crying because I was sad or overjoyed; I really couldn’t tell you why I was crying. Some things are just inexplicable. I did pray for no one to ring the bell at that moment though; I would have felt pretty embarrassed if someone had seen me in that state.
The first class wasn’t crowded and people kept walking by. Some looked down curiously at my book, as they waited for the line to move forward, and I wanted to say, yes, this is my book, with my name on the cover. It took me three years to write it and another three to sell it. And yes, this was the first copy I had pulled out of the envelope. I’ve been carrying it everywhere with me. This is the copy that made me cry, and it wasn’t a cry of joy or sadness – I really can’t tell you what kind of a cry that was.
Suddenly, I saw Annette Bening and Sid Ganis board the plane. Wow! They were on my flight.
They sat two rows in front of me, Row 2, seats A and B, Annette by the window and Sid on the aisle. Alfre and a gentleman I didn’t recognize sat one row behind me across the aisle. The plane took off. A few minutes later we ate, as I kept reading my book, and as I looked up once in a while to check out Annette and Sid.
Sid fell asleep as soon as they turned the lights off, and Annette started reading a book.
“It would have been so nice if she was reading my book,” I thought to myself. But how could she be reading my book? It wasn’t even released yet. A thought flashed through my head and I tried fighting it. “Give her the book,” my alter ego kept screaming.
“No,” I screamed back. “This was the first copy.”
“Well, you have another one at home.”
I shook my head. “No, no, no. This copy and I have cried together!”
“Oh, get real.”
“And how would I get it to her anyway?”
“Just write something on it and hand it to her.”
I wrote, “To Annette Bening – one of the greatest (and most beautiful) actors of all time.” I wrote the line on a piece of napkin. I still couldn’t stand the thought of parting with the first copy of my book. “Maybe I shouldn’t say ‘and most beautiful,’” I thought loudly to myself. “What if Warren Beatty didn’t like it?” After all, if I was giving my book to Warren, I wouldn’t say anything about how good looking he was! Suddenly, Annette stood up. Ever so carefully, she stepped over the stretched body of Sid, extra mindful not to wake him up. She walked to the bathroom in front of the plane.
“Write it on the book,” the bad guy inside me screamed.
But it was my first book. I looked at it. Despite all the places it had been with me in the last couple of months, it was still clean and as good as new. “Write in the book,” the voice screamed one more time. Annette came out of the bathroom and opened the overhead compartment, again quiet and careful not to wake up Sid. I quickly scribbled the line on the first page of the book, omitting the “most beautiful” line, and rushed up to her. “Can I help you with your luggage Ms. Bening?”
“Shush…,” she pointed to the almost lifeless body of Sid. “He’s asleep,” she whispered.
The look on her face was not very friendly, and I immediately felt like going back to my seat. A couple of weeks later, I read on the internet that Annette is a very private person. If I knew that I wouldn’t have bothered her, but it was too late. “I’ve written a book,” I mumbled. “Here it is, my book, can you take it?” My voice cracked. I knew that I was screwing up big time. “I mean may I give it to you?” I corrected myself.
“Yes,” she whispered her tone friendly now. A tiny splash of a smile sneaked up to her face. She took the book, and I dashed out toward the bathroom, feeling sicker than I had ever been. I’d given my first book away and in such a clumsy manner. She would never read it. I wouldn’t read a book written by a guy who sounded like me. While in the bathroom, I took an Ambien, and went back to my seat, trying to avoid eye contact with the person in row 2 seat A
I tried to fall asleep, but the damn Ambien was no match for my crowded disturbed mind and for the feeling of melancholy that had suddenly engulfed me.
We landed in London several hours later, and she and her gang walked out of the plane in front of me. In the jet way, she looked back a couple of times but I didn’t have the courage to smile. I don’t know why. I don’t think it was because I had given the first copy of my book away (after all, I had another copy at home, as my alter ego had reminded me so forcefully). To be honest, I don’t know why I was feeling that way– after all there are some things that are inexplicable like the reason you cry the first time you see a printed copy of your book, or when you give it away, in one moment of weakness, to one of the most famous people on the planet, who may never read it.
April 2, 2009
Book give away contest
If you belong to a reading group, please check out http://readinggroupguides.com/content... for a free copy of ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN
March 24, 2009
Nearing the release date
Reading events have been confirmed at:
-Clayton Books in Clayton CA on May 14 at 7:00 PM
-Bay Books in San Ramon CA on June 9 at 7:00 PM (ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN is the book club pick for the month of May at Bay Books)
-Kepler's Books in Menlo Park on June 4 at 7:30 PM
Dates for appearances in Chicago, Portland, Iowa City and Washington DC will be posted on this blog soon. Please also check my website at www.rooftopsoftehran.com
Wish me luck!
-Clayton Books in Clayton CA on May 14 at 7:00 PM
-Bay Books in San Ramon CA on June 9 at 7:00 PM (ROOFTOPS OF TEHRAN is the book club pick for the month of May at Bay Books)
-Kepler's Books in Menlo Park on June 4 at 7:30 PM
Dates for appearances in Chicago, Portland, Iowa City and Washington DC will be posted on this blog soon. Please also check my website at www.rooftopsoftehran.com
Wish me luck!
