Debra Galant's Blog, page 2

Shaved Eyebrows and Crucifixes

The woman who lived next door to us when I was a little girl had shaved eyebrows with fake ones painted on about three-quarters above them. Thinking about it now, squeamish kid I was, it must have freaked me out. But nobody ever said anything about it, least of all my mother, so I never said anything about it either.

I'm sure my mother had an opinion about the eyebrows, but she kept it to herself. The woman with the shaved eyebrows was Jewish too,  I think, so it must have been doubly disturbing that this person, this responsible female adult, in charge of young children, and a co-religionist, could come to her door every day looking only slightly less freakish than Marcel Marceau.

I had nothing to really be afraid of in my young life, but that didn't stop me from being afraid of everything. My neighbors on the other side were Irish Catholic and their house was darker their ours and had unfamiliar smells. But what really creeped me out were the crucifixes. My friend Maura had one in her room, right over her bed. When I played there, I must have felt like a character in the DiVinci Code going deep underground with the Priory of Sion.

My mother tells me that when I was very little, before Maura's family moved in, there was a family living in that house that raised Dalmations, and further (the story goes) I adored the Dalmations, of which there were many. But this can't possibly be true. Because for as long as I remember, I was terrified of dogs.

I wasn't on such friendly terms with Roman Numerals either. Or public bathrooms. And nothing terrified me more than a slumber party invitation. Losing consciousness around other children simply invited humiliation.

There really was only one dangerous thing in our neighborhood and that was the railroad track that ran through the woods behind the houses that faced the bottom of our cul-de-sac. Now that I live in a neighborhood with commuter trains, with train tracks everywhere, it doesn't seem like the grave danger that my mother painted it to be. But it was the one inviolable law of my childhood. You didn't go anywhere near them.

Then one blizzard, when the whole world of northern Virginia had turned white and all children were chomping at the bit to go outside and play, my father walked the railroad tracks. Some kid in the neighborhood had gotten sick and needed medicine and my dad, with another dad or maybe two, walked down the tracks to big chain drug store about a mile away. Walked the railroad tracks.. This journey took on the burnished glow of Legend, as if to get to the drugstore my father had had to slay fire-breathing dragons.

Filed under: Uncategorized

Time for Boot Camp

Here's where the pathetic, soft-bellied princess is whipped into shape by a ruthless drill sergeant with a bad attitude. And really, I could use someone to march me up to elliptical trainer on the third floor or make me take 25 sit-ups, but no. I'm so wimpy I need boot camp to start writing again.

To the rescue (maybe) is writing coach Lisa Romeo, who apparently could use a drill sergeant herself. But I like this (quoting Lisa):

Self, I say, you simply don't have enough time to write that. Pathetic little self, you don't yet have the credibility you need to get that project sold. Little nobody self, what makes you think you can get access to those interview subjects? Insignificant little writer self, how do you plan to execute such a vast project, the likes of which you've never even tried?

Well at least she knows how to talk to me.

Lisa seemed a little perplexed at first that I, Debbie Galant, "queen of hyperlocal bloggers" and author of three published novels, would sign up for her boot camp. But the last time I put together a subject and predicate in service of fiction was December 2008. No, that's not true. That's when I turned in "Cars from a Marriage." I did write about 50 pages toward a new novel in October 2009, the last time I was at VCCA. But I lost faith, or interest, in it as soon as I got home.

Truth be told, I'm tired of writing about upper-middle class suburbia. I'm bored of it, bored of New Jersey, bored of myself. I admired Jonathan Franzen's "Freedom" but it was way too familiar. I want writing to take me to strange, exotic places, with the smell of unfamiliar spices and frightening sprites. I want to be from India. But northern Virginia during the Cuban Missile Crisis might just have to do.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: boot camp, Lisa Romeo, writing

Loved Loved Loved Loved Joan Rivers

Saw the new Joan Rivers documentary last night and I have to say I love that gal. I love her foul mouth, I love her insane work ethic, I love how she is singlehandedly fighting society's prejudice against age, I love her honesty, her hilarious self-abasement, her vulnerability, even her cosmetic surgery.

You may go into the movie thinking Joan Rivers is an over-the-hill has-been, a stereotypical old Jewish lady and a Michael Jackson-variety plastic-surgery freak.

But you come out seeing a...

A Garden Gnome Comes to Life

I hope that when I'm 70, I can clearly state the goals of my life and smile about them.

Sitting yesterday afternoon in the back yard of Pat Kenschaft, I felt like I'd entered a a magical world, in which garden gnomes come alive and then shar the secrets of life. When I asked Pat if I could interview her for Baristanet's new "Coffee with…" series, she said she would squeeze me before 2:30 pm — when a friend was coming to pick up some arugula plants — but she couldn't see me after 4 because...

The Charm Game

I've been watching other writers work their magic lately. Intensely watching. A few weeks ago, I went to a luncheon where my friend Dottie Frank was the keynote. And tonight, I went to a reading at my local bookstore by Josh Braff, whose book "Peep Show" came out this week. I'm studying them because I'm doing the donor reception at the Newark Public Library on June 22. I want to be charming and lovable and to sell books.

Dottie, whose books always make the best-seller list, is an old hand at t...

Daniel Ellsberg, Arianna Huffington and Me

One of the advantages of being a disciple of the great Jeff Jarvis is getting invited to speak at a lot of cool events. I've got three coming up in June: the Personal Democracy Forum, the Citizens' Campaign Jersey Call to Service and a small private lunch for "18-20 superstar thought-leaders in digital media" at the Hotel on Rivington. The PdF Conference starts off with a speakers cocktail party at Google's New York City offices. Best part of the invite: "Due to the size of the venue this...

Southern Book Tour

Whose idea was it to send Debbie Galant on a 900-mile "Cars from a Marriage" car trip by herself over four days? Oh yeah, it was mine. It seemed like such a simple thing in the planning, three and a half hours to Baltimore, three and half hours to Charlottesville, back to northern Virginia, back to Baltimore, back home. No leg of the journey was supposed to be longer than four hours.

Discovery number one: the air-conditioner was broken on the minivan.

Let us just say this, because I really...

Guys Like "Cars from a Marriage" Too

Last week I took a trip to the Westport to do a reading at their public library. By the numbers (8 attendees, 1 book sold) it was a huge disappointment. But of course, you always meet nice people on these things. I couldn't have had a nicer person picking me up at the train station than MarySue Waterman and the one buyer of my book was the lovely Jill Johnson, who's shopping a memoir called Blue Collar Model. But I really lucked out when the barista who served me a cup of sledgehammer coffee ...

All in a Night's Work

Went from speaking to a small group at Temple B'nai Abraham in Livingston to covering a shooting at a carnival in Bloomfield.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: bloomfield carnival, shooting, Temple B'nai Abraham

Perspective

There's nothing like a call from the emergency room to make a person snap to attention and concentrate on the important things. The one I'm referring to came on Saturday afternoon, when I was sitting on the front porch, trying to read a book after a fight with my daughter, when my husband matter-of-factly announced that he was in the ER because he'd been hit by a car while out on his bike.  Everything was fine, he hastened to add. Just waiting for the brain scan to come back. "We'll be home s...