Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 519

She expects me to read her mind

This morning my daughter was making up a new song about a “twirly swing” at the park. She was in the midst of creation, inventing the lyrics and the melody at that very moment, when she insisted that I sing along.

There was no way for me to know what the words or melody were, since she didn’t actually know them either until they came out of her mouth, yet she became quite angry with me for failing to sing along.

She does this all the time.

It’s one of those few moments when she can be incredibly cute and incredibly annoying at the same time.

Second place sucks

I competed in The Moth’s StorySLAM last night and came in second place, losing to my storytelling hero, Steve Zimmer, by a tenth of a point.

It was actually an honor to compete against to Zimmer, who was exceptionally gracious in his victory, and I should be feeling good about a second place finish after competing against some of the best storytellers I have ever seen last night.

But last night also marks the third StorySLAM in a row that I have placed second, and in each of those second place finishes, I have lost by a tenth of a point.

In addition, I came in second at the most recent GrandSLAM Championship, losing by two-tenths of a point.

It’s starting to annoy me.

That’s not true. It’s starting to enrage me.

I know that I should be pleased with my consistently strong performance and grateful for my good fortune. I have been telling stories at The Moth for just over a year. I have told stories in six StorySLAMs and have placed first or second in five of the six.

I have also told stories in two GrandSLAM Championships and placed second and third.

I should be ecstatic over my early success, especially considering the number of skilled, talented, and experienced storytellers who I compete against on a nightly basis, but instead, I am just angry that I continue to lose by a smidgen, even when I am losing to my hero.  

My only solace:

In the video below, which features Zimmer, he describes himself as being at least as competitive as me and at least as disappointed as me when he loses. Other storytellers have expressed similar sentiments to me in the past. I may be a petulant, bitter loser, but apparently it is par for the course.

Also, at the time of filming, Zimmer had also placed second in three consecutive StorySLAMs, so perhaps there’s hope.

Maybe I’m simply walking a path similar to that of my storytelling hero, finding my way to storytelling glory. It’s a lousy, good-for-nothing path, but perhaps there is a light somewhere at the end.

If so, I can’t see it yet.

But it’s been less than 24 hours since I lost to Zimmer. Maybe I’ll be less annoyed and more appreciative with time.   

Three unique book reviews

The reviews of MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND have been pouring in, and while I will not share all of them with you, I thought that these three were worth a mention for their rather unique characteristics:

The review in which my wife, Elysha, is praised

The review that I appreciate very much but cannot actually understand

The review that includes a picture of a real life imaginary friend

Bookseller love

I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Stanley Hadsell of Market Block Books in Troy, New York, but he is my hero.

Actually, all booksellers are my heroes and heroines, but based upon sales data and anecdotal reports, Stanley hand sells more of my books than any other bookseller on the planet.

By the way, does anyone else think it a little too coincidental that a man with the surname Hadsell became a bookseller who spends his days hand selling books?

I did a signing at Market Block Books a couple years ago, but sadly, it was scheduled for a day when Stanley was not working. I will be returning to the store on September 22 to speak and sign books, and my first priority will shake Stanley’s hand and thank him for helping readers find my stories

Stanley has started recording some of his book recommendations on video, and this week’s installment includes MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND.

Even though I have never met the man, I knew that he was passionate about books. That passion is on full display in his vide:

Forgetfulness

At last night’s book launch, I read a poem by Billy Collins while recommending one of this books of poetry. I also spoke about the importance of listening to Collins read his own poems and the remarkable visuals that have been applied to some of his work.

This is one of my favorites:

My book launch included three very special people

Last night’s book launch at Barnes & Noble was wonderful, and I thank all of my friends and family and fans for their support. We had about one hundred people in attendance to hear me read a smidgen from MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND, tell some stories related to the book, recommend some of my favorite books, and answer some interesting, challenging and probing questions from the audience.

Included in the audience were three former students who were in my first class fourteen years ago. When I taught these three students, I was teaching second grade and they were seven years old. Today they are are preparing to enter their junior year in college, and yet whenever I launch a book or premier a musical or direct a Shakespearean play with my class, they always seem to find a way to be there.

I cannot tell you how much this means to me. 

Brandon was my first most difficult student, so he is also one of my most memorable students of all time. He was a handful to say the least, and he would have been a handful even with a decade of teaching experience under my belt. He was a class clown, a rambunctious boy, a slightly disinterested student and perpetually happy, which made it almost impossible to punish him. No matter what I did to make him suffer and learn his lesson, he would continue to smile. 

Today Brandon is studying to be a surgical physician’s assistant and doing great. He has a mature young man who continues to impress me every time I see him. At last night’s launch, I charged the audience to go home and write something and make it a habit that they never stop. Before I had even returned home and paid the babysitter, Brandon had written about something he had overheard that night and sent it to me for my review.

I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to see it.

If only he had been so quick to complete his homework assignments in second grade.

Liz is the reason that I teach Shakespeare to my students. I was having an especially difficult day in class. No one was listening to my instructions, students were unfocused and loud, Brandon was probably causing trouble, and so in an act of desperation, I shouted, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” The class went quiet, everyone stared at their wild-eyed teacher, and then little Elizabeth, seven years old at the time, said, “What does that mean?”  I took a deep breath, calmed my nerves and explained that the line came from a play entitled Julius Caesar. Then Liz asked, “What’s the play about?” I began to summarize the plot of the play to the class, and for the first time in what seemed like a week, my students were paying attention to me. Seizing on the moment, I gathered them at my feet and told them the entire story of Julius Caesar and his tragic fall from grace. When I was finished, the class was staring at me in utter fascination. They asked if they could perform the play, and thus my career in children’s theater was born.

Liz was one of my best and brightest students during that first year of teaching, and she remains so today. She is also going to be a junior in college this year, and as expected, she is doing remarkably well.

Allison is one of the few students who I had the pleasure of teaching for two years in a row. After teaching second grade for that first year, I was moved up to third grade and about half a dozen students moved up with me, including Allison. I call them “The Tainted Few.” Allison was a quiet but inquisitive student  who wore the same purple sweatshirt almost every day and never stopped smiling. She has thankfully left that purple sweatshirt behind and is now attending college and studying marketing, though she also wants to pursue a career in set design and lighting. More than just my former student, Allison has become my friend and an informal member of our family. She is now the primary babysitter for our children and a fixture at family events. Clara refers to Allison as her best friend, and I couldn’t imagine a better best friend for her. 

When I began teaching elementary school fourteen years ago, I never expected that three of my tiny second graders, who who were still learning to read and write and behave, would continue to be such an ever-present part of my life. There were many other former students in the audience last night, and each of them mean a great deal to me, but these three former students from my first class own a special place in my heart. They serve as a reminder of who I once was and who I am today, and they have taught me that the bond that forms between a student and a teacher can last long after the students  have left the classroom and moved onto bigger and better things.

It’s not something they tell you about you when you’re in college, studying to become a teacher, but they really should.

The paycheck isn’t great, but the benefits are incalculable.

Pub day outfit

I came home from the gym this morning and found my little boy wearing this pub day celebratory outfit.

First she hires someone to mow the lawn for me, and then she does this.

My wife is truly the best.

I am not alone on this new journey

My latest book, MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND, lands in stores today. In the book industry, it’s known as pub day, and it could not be more thrilling. I was recently asked in an interview if pub day begins to lose its luster after experiencing three of them.

I assure you that this is not the case.

With the publication of this book, a new journey begins, and so much of it  continues to surprise me. People around the country will begin reading my story, and a shocking number of them will begin communicating with me, via email, Facebook and Twitter, leaving me feeling like a stinker for not reaching out to enough authors myself after finishing a book that I loved.

Some of these people will write to tell me how much they enjoyed my story. They may begin following me on Twitter and friending me on Facebook. Some will become regular readers of this blog. Some may begin reading my backlist.

Reviews of the book will continue to trickle in. Some may be negative, but I have been fortunate so far in that the majority of the reviews that I have received have been positive. Reviewers will praise my authorial skill and expertise. They will recommend that readers buy this book. I will smile and breath a not-so-small sigh of relief, as I expect that many authors do when told that their book has been reviewed.

Then the amazing things will begin to happen.

Some of these readers will begin communicating with me often enough that I will begin to think of them as friends. I will meet some of these readers in person, at literary festivals, book signings, live storytelling events and other public appearances, and I will discover that they are even more interesting and delightful in person.

Readers will begin sending me links to stories, hoping that I might share my opinions on an issue or take a stand on their behalf. They will share secrets with me that they have never shared with anyone before. They will reach out to libraries and bookstores and convince the people who run these establishments to stock my books or invite me for an appearance. They will begin championing my books through social media and old fashioned word of mouth and will send me tallies on how many sales they have generated on my behalf. 

Some will write to me to tell me that my books or blog have inspired them to take action in their lives. They will begin writing books of their own, They will change careers after thinking about it for years. They will begin spending more time with their children. They will reunite with long, lost parents or siblings. They will go back to college for a degree they have always wanted to pursue.

They will even reunite me with long, lost family as well.

I know. It sounds crazy. Doesn’t it? But it happens all the time. I receive the most amazing communication from readers about how my words have touched and changed their lives, and it happens more often than you could ever imagine.

More often than I could ever imagine.

New opportunities will arise. Film producers, show runners and screen writers will reach out to me. Options will be signed, scripts will be written, talent will be cast, and the slow, meandering, uncertain, unlikely process of bringing a story to the big or small screen will begin.

Teachers will ask me to visit their classrooms. Book clubs will invite me to their meetings. Authors will ask me to blurb their books.

It’s a glorious journey that begins today, but the most important part to remember is that it does not happen alone. The act of placing words upon the page is a solitary process, but it is the only solitary part of this journey.

There is my literary agent, Taryn Fagerness, who plucked my first manuscript from the slush pile and launched my career. She changed my life, and I would not be standing here today without her. I know many authors who do not like or do not have a relationship with their agents that extends beyond business. They are envious over the relationship that I have with Taryn. They sometimes don’t believe me when I describe it. I think of Taryn as my friend first, my hero second and my agent third.  

There is my film agent, Shari Smiley, who works hard to bring my stories to to life in the mysterious and impenetrable world of film and television. I think of her as my own version of Lewis and Clark, off on a journey in an uncharted country, with hopes that she might return someday with riches.

There is Melissa Danaczko, the editor for my first two books, who was the first person willing to pay money for stuff I made up in my head. Then she  made that stuff better through her skill and expertise. Melissa took the first financial gamble on me, and that is something no author ever forgets. She  taught me that the rumors about editors are not true. They are not hackers and slashers who tear your books apart without thought or concern for an author’s feelings. They are partners and surgeons who make books better through precision and collaboration, and in the process, they become your friends.  

There is Brenda Copeland, the editor who I sometimes think believes in Budo more than I do. Changing editors and publishing houses was a scary and sad process for me, but this talented, funny, quirky, brilliant, loving person took me by the hand and made St. Martins Press feel like a second home to me. I thought I was getting an editor when I signed on with Saint Martins, but Brenda has become my mentor, my boss, my confidant and my friend. 

There is my friend, Lindsay Heyer, who first gave me the idea for MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY friend after listening to the story of my own imaginary friend and insisting that it would make a great book. And there are the dozen or so readers who followed my story, chapter by chapter, offering words of encouragement and advice along the way, Lindsay included. 

There are the editorial assistants, copy editors, publicists, marketers, art departments, sales people, sound engineers, narrators, foreign editors, foreign publicists, translators, book store owners and a hundred other people whose titles and importance are being left out of this paragraph because I am too stupid to remember them.

Beginning today, this new books will launch a new and amazing journey, but the person deserving the most praise will often go unnoticed. Standing beside me will by my wife, Elysha, the love of my life. MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND has as much to do with her as it does with me.

I still cannot believe how fortunate I am to have found this woman and bamboozled her into marrying me. She is the best mother I know, the best wife I could imagine, and my biggest fan. She reads the reviews, hears the praise and listens to the stories from readers about how my words have changed their lives, and at every moment and every turn, she feels nothing by excitement and pride for me. She is the pillar that supports me, the iron that defends me, the rock that steadies me and the clarion that trumpets my accomplishments. She has blessed me with an an embarrassment of riches that I will never be able to repay. When I look at this book, sitting beside me as I write this, I see Elysha and all that she have given to me to make this possible.

When writers as me for advice about finishing a novel or finding an agent or getting published, my first piece of advice is my most sincere and least helpful:

If you don’t already have one, find the perfect spouse. Not the good spouse or even a great spouse, but the perfect spouse. It is remarkable how quickly your life can change when you have right person standing beside you. Novels get written, agents are found and books land in bookstores much faster when you have the love of your life supporting you. Defending you.

Loving you.

Best tea party ever!

I walked back into the kitchen after folding some clothes, and this is what I found:

My daughter, Clara. sitting in front of her brother, Charlie, with all the accoutrement required for a tea party sitting between them.

“What are you doing, Clara?” I asked.

“I’m having a very special tea party for my baby brother! I love him so much!”

I called for Elysha, not wanting her to miss a moment of this, and she was quickly invited to join the kids for tea.

I suspect that this will remain as one of my top 10 parenting moments for a very long time.

There’s a time and place for bad news

My wife sent these photos to me while I was on the golf course this morning.

 

I have played golf with many married men and women whose spouses seem to feel the need to inundate them with bad news while on the golf course.

“The kids knocked over a lamp and are hitting each other with frying pans. When are you coming home?”

“Your mother called. Why can’t she be nicer to me?”

“The UPS man just rang the bell and woke up the triplets. Why the hell did you order a new power drill?”

I always feel terrible for these poor souls. Why not save the bad news for when the poor guy or gal gets home? When my wife is out with friends and I am home the kids, I make it a rule to tell her only positive things if she calls. If Clara has gnawed on Charlie’s pinkie finger to the point of making it bleed, there is no reason she needs to hear this news while enjoying dinner with friends.

There’s plenty of time for these stories when she returns home.

It’s a shame that more spouses don’t follow this advice. There’s nothing better than knowing that for the three hours that I am shanking drives, skulling wedges and missing putts on the golf course, the wife and kids are happy and having fun.

Even if they’re not.