Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 340

Smart, book person and crazed football fan does not always compute.

Editor Katie Adams - a fellow New England Patriots fan - tweeted this on Thursday night prior to the game:

“It’s football season now. If you’re new, I’m still a smart book person but now I wear the skin of a crazy football fan for a few months.”

I understood this sentiment completely. 

While I hardly think it's surprising that I'm a football fan (I'm actually shocked and confused when a guy tells me that he's not a football fan), the assumption is often made by readers that because I'm (stealing Katie's words) a "smart book person," I could never be a crazed football fan.

They are even more stunned to discover that I am a Patriots season ticket holder.

Writing novels and simultaneously being emotionally attached to a team of uncommonly large men who seek to run into and through another team of uncommonly large men does not compute for many people, and especially for those who read my novels.  

As a woman, I expect that it computes even less for the people in Katie's life.

But it's true. On Saturday morning, you can often find me sitting at my computer, writing novels and thinking bookish thoughts. 

The next day you will find me in section 331, row 24, seat 5 of Gillette Stadium, cheering for men who I have never met as they throw and catch and tackle other men who dare to wear an opposing color. I scream and swear and hug strangers and sometimes even cry as the Patriots march up and down the field in pursuit of a victory that will not be mine but will feel like it's all mine.

I'm a smart, bookish person, but I also wear the skin of a crazed football fan.

Go Patriots. 

Verbal Sparring: Flip and Own

This is a simple comeback that works in certain situations.

Last week, I was listing all of my petty grievances to a friend and how I planned on conquering each one. 

His response: "It must be exhausting being you."

My comeback: "No, it's exhausting not being me."

He laughed.

I followed up by ensuring him that I'm the least exhausted person I know, and that the only real solution to exhaustion is being me. 

I'm not sure if I really am the least exhausted person I know, but in verbal sparring, unassailable hyperbole is a legitimate tactic. 

The verbal strategy that I used here is what I call the "Flip and Own."

You simply take an accusation made by your opponent, flip it on its head in some way, and then fully own the flip.

If you imagine an opponent's attack as a river of potentially damaging words heading your way, the "Flip and Own "is your way of damming up the river, diverting the flow of water in a direction of your choice, and owning all the water as a result. 

In this case, I flipped an attempt to make me seem petty and obsessive into a compliment for myself and a insult of the rest of humanity. 

It was a good flip. One of my best. 

But "Flip and Own" can be as simple as this:

Opponent: "You're a terrible golfer."

Me: "No, I'm actually the worst golfer on the planet, and yet I'm still only two strokes behind you. You're barely beating the worst golfer who ever lived."

Or this:

Opponent: "I can't believe that you didn't finish that report yet."

Me: I can't believe you already finished that report. My life is so full of wonder and joy that all reports must be completed at the last second and perhaps late or maybe even never because there is simply too much of this world to see and do. How sad it must be for you to have the time to complete something as meaningless and stupid as that report with days or hours or even minutes to go. Should we schedule an intervention?

The Flip and Own.

Only applicable in very specific circumstances but so much fun when the opportunity arises.   

Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend: Fan art

There are few things more exciting than discovery a bit of fan art inspired by one of your books. This was sent to me via Twitter and is entitled 'Budo." 

I just love the thought that something I create inspires another human being to also create.

Can't fight logic like this.

Conversation between our two children.

Clara is six year-old. Charlie is three. 

Clara: Charlie, here's a long word I want you to learn. Excluding. It's when you won't let others play with you. It's not nice.

Charlie: It is nice.

Clara: I don't like it.

Charlie: Yes you do. 

They may be teenage boys, but they are also a couple of pathetic cowards.

This is a horrific act of cowardice.

The boys who are guilty of this assault are claiming that the referee directed racial slurs at them just prior to the attack. 

The referee denies this. 

Even if the referee said something racially offensive, you don't physically attack him.

Even if you choose to attack him, you never attack an opponent who is much older than you and not equipped with the same body armor and helmet that you are.

Even if you choose to attack an opponent who is older and who isn't equipped with the same body armor and helmet that you are, you never double team your opponent.  

Even if you choose to double team your opponent, you never attack someone from behind like this. Stand toe-to-toe with the man - one on one - and slug him if you must, but never creep up on an unsuspecting person from behind and spear him with your helmet.

You'd be an idiot and a fool to do so (and would probably still face criminal charges), but at least it would be the despicable act of cowardice demonstrated in this video.   

Publicity for The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs

A couple good bits of publicity from my novel's first day on bookstore shelves:

The Hartford Courant ran a large piece about me and the book, which you can read online here. 

The NY Post named The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs one their "must reads books" of the week. 

The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs: Pub day has finally arrived!

My latest novel, The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs, is in stores today!

If you pre-ordered a copy, it should be arriving in the mail today. Perhaps at this very minute. 

Thanks so much for putting up with my excitement over these last couple months. A book launch doesn't happen very often (it sort of represents a dream come true again for me), so it's both a thrilling and a nerve-wracking day.

Thrilling because:

Look! My book! I thought of the idea six years ago, spent two years of my life writing and revising the story, and a year waiting for it to be ready. And now, at last, it's here. Something I made up in my head is now a thing. Hooray!

But nerve wracking because::

Will anyone even buy it? Will they like it? Will stores carry enough copies? Will it be as good as my last book? Did I just get lucky with the last three books? Do I suck?

If you'd like to help alleviate some of my anxiety and support the book, you could do the following:

If you see my book in a bookstore, take a photo of the display (and you!) and send it to me. Or share your photo on social media. I love to see pictures of my books from around the country (since sadly, I can't visit every store). If you're in a store that isn't carrying the book or has sold out, ask that it be ordered. Demand that it be ordered! Tell a friend (or two or three hundred) about the book. Encourage them to purchase it. Remind them that it makes a great gift. Remind them that you deserve a gift, and it should be this book.  Check my appearance schedule and join me for an author talk at a local library or bookstore if there is one in your area. I'd love to see you.

Thanks, everyone. Your support means the world to me. The family and I will be heading to a local bookstore or two tonight to see the book on the shelves and display tables, and then we will celebrate with ice cream for dinner.

Mashable on The Moth

Last month I competed in a Moth StorySLAM at The Bell House in Brooklyn (and won!).

Mashable was there, shooting a story for their website. The result is a beautiful look at The Moth and all it does for the art of storytelling.

It was also great to see StorySLAM manager and storyteller Robin Wachsberger featured in the video. Robin is a fixture at almost every Moth StorySLAM and GrandSLAM, ensuring that things are running smoothly and the event is trouble-free. Seeing her always puts me at ease, and you couldn't ask for a more supportive person of storytellers.

Audience members may not notice all that Robin does, but storytellers do, so it was nice to see her thrust into the limelight for this video.  

I've also heard Robin tell stories on the stage, and she is an equally great storyteller.

The worst thing you can say to a storyteller (you passive-aggressive douchebag)

While in Brazil, I spoke to audiences as small as 50 and as large as 500. Part of every talk was one more stories from my life, similar to the stories that I tell onstage for The Moth, Speak Up, and similar organizations.

I made it clear to every audience that the stories I tell are true. I explained that although there are storytellers who specialize in folk tales, fables, and other types of fiction, my brand of storytelling is personal and real.  

While eating lunch with a group of adults following one of these talks, a person at the table told me that he liked my story a lot.

"I don't know how true the story was, but it was a good one either way."

This is a passive-aggressive means of calling a storyteller a liar, and these kinds of statements never sit well with me. There have been times when I have questioned the veracity of a storyteller, and while I might express my doubts privately to my wife or a close friend, I would never question the storyteller, especially in mixed company.

Even if I saw a reason to question the truthfulness of a storyteller (and I can't think of one), I would do so both privately and directly. Maybe if I was casting a show and unsure about the truthfulness of a story, I might probe a bit. See if there was a hint of falsehood in the storyteller's answers. But again, I would be discreet and direct.  

Passive-aggressiveness is for cowards. It's not as vile or gutless as an anonymous criticism, but it's close. 

My honesty as a storyteller was questioned once before. After telling a story in New York about cheating on a science fair project in high school, I went to the bar to get a drink. A man standing beside me in line complimented my story and then said, "I'm not sure if it really happened, but the way you told it was great."

I assured the passive-aggressive weasel that my story was true and returned to my seat. I was tempted to mention that I have a newspaper clipping that details my unexpected science fair success, and I have friends from high school who could attest to the veracity of the story, but I thought that doing so would be a waste of time.

But three years later, that stranger's comment still bothers me, as I expect the comment from the man in Brazil will, too.

Why?

I suspect that it has something to do with the seriousness that I apply myself to this art form. Storytelling is important to me. I work exceptionally hard to craft and tell a great story. While I've been known to take the stage on occasion after only a modicum of preparation, most stories take weeks or even months to prepare. Some stories can only be told after decades of reflection. The last thing I want is for someone to belittle my craft and my hard work by implying that I'm a cheat or a liar.  

For me, storytelling is an opportunity to share a part of my life with an audience that is ready and willing to listen. It's a chance to speak a truth about my life that I might not normally share. Taking the stage means taking a risk. It's a moment in which I am most vulnerable and exposed. 

Accusing me of lying in a moment like that sucks.

It would be easy for me to invent stories about my past in order to win over the crowd and the judges, but oddly enough, I think it would be difficult as well. 

Easy because as a fiction writer, I'm sure that I would construct some fantastic bits of fiction for the stage if I really wanted to. I write whole novels based entirely in fiction. A five minute story would probably be a piece of cake. 

But where's the fun in that?

But it would also be difficult because I can't imagine connecting emotionally to a fictional story onstage, which in my mind is one of the most critical elements to great storytelling. I would end up as a storyteller who says the words but doesn't feel or experience them as he or she speaks. 

That's no way to tell a story.

Either way, I can't stand passive-aggressive douche bags of any kind, and both of these guys fit the bill perfectly.

If you doubt the veracity of a storyteller, keep it to yourself. 

Or share your doubts with a friend or loved one privately. 

Or question the storyteller privately and directly.

Anything else and you're comparable to the pestilential crud that sticks to the soles of your shoes after stumbling through the men's room at halftime of a Patriots-Ravens football game.

I blame my wife.

My home is slightly disorganized and cluttered, but my kids are incredibly happy and love books and music and libraries and museums.

Both are my wife’s fault.