Suzanne Palmieri's Blog, page 6

Writing under two names

As most of you know, I am being published by two publishing houses in 2013. Saint Martin’s Press asked that I use my real name (married name) because the book is THE WITCH OF LITTLE ITALY and I guess that name gives the book some street cred, so to speak. That book will be released March 26th, 2013.

My other book, I’LL BE SEEING YOU, (co-authored with the amazing Loretta Nyhan) will be published in June, 2013 by Mira Harlequin … and because of the nature of the book, as well as two different houses marketing my (our) work, I’m using a pen name. Suzanne Hayes.

That name is magical for so many different reasons. Suzanne Hayes was the maiden name of my father’s mother. My grandmother. She died when she was 39… many years before I was even born. My parents named me after her out of respect, and love. (though my mother also insists it was because she loved the Lenard Cohen song, Suzanne.)

Here’s the magic part. I’ve always loved her. I’ve always felt robbed not being able to know her. AND I’ve always felt her spirit around me.

Guess what? She wanted to be a writer. It was a dream of hers. My father recounted a story to me about the time she sent a story into readers digest, and got a rejection. How she was devastated by that.  And now, I get to publish a book (two actually, because we were contracted for two books), under her name.

How much more can you ask for?

Here she is, my beautiful grandmother when she was little:

 And here she is with my Grandfather, James Cooper, on her honeymoon.

 And here she is with my dad, James Sterling Cooper. Isn’t she beautiful?

I am so proud that her name will be in print. It puts so much joy in my heart.

Contest!

What’s Their Story?
This Contest is now CLOSED. I am overjoyed with the amazing entries and will announce the winner on Tuesday. Thank you all so much for entering!

So, I was thinking and thinking… and I was trying to figure out a good way to share some of the luck I’ve had this year in the publishing industry with other writers. I remember (because it was NOT long ago), feeling lost and adrift… writing hard, and searching even harder for an agent. I wanted nothing more than to have someone who was inside the industry take a look at my words.

And then it happened! It was so validating.

I’d like to give that gift to someone else who feels alone. So here goes:

Flash Fiction Contest! The winner of this contest will have their words (query letter, OR first ten pages of their manuscript) reviewed by either my agent at Pen and Ink Literary, Anne Bohner, OR my editor at Saint Martin’s Press, Vicki Lame. If you win, you get to choose who you would rather submit to, and what you would rather submit.

The flash fiction should be submitted in the comments. No more than 300 words. AND it must tell the story of the picture above.

To enter the contest and be eligible for the prize you must:
Tweet the contest (or Facebook announce)
Follow me on twitter @thelostwitch (so I can announce things there) (or “like” my facebook fan page)

If you don’t do social media, but have a blog, you can blog about it. Just let me know your blog so I can follow it and read your words too!

There will be THREE prizes:
1st prize: noted above
2nd prize: 25 dollar amazon gift card
3rd prize: A critique of either your query or first ten pages of your ms by YOURS TRULY.

Contest will close by midnight  (Eastern Standard Time) Saturday 15th, 2012.

I can’t wait to read submissions! Good luck!
PS: If you are don’t have a query letter or a manuscript and you still want to enter, please do! If you win, I’ll send you a gift card.

Doors open, doors close

On Wednesday I brought my oldest witch, Rosy, to college.

Born in a blizzard in 1994, I dropped her off in a vibrant, color filled place.

How do you leave  your child? How do you assess her safety? (How do you live without her?)

But, to her credit, Rosy made the experience shine. She was happy. She was secure. She was excited. And in turn, that excitement dulled the pain of driving home without her.

So there we were, stuck in traffic, two little witches in the back seat and a bear of a husband starting fights with other drivers.

Me? I was lost in thought. The seeds of a new novel growing like weeds.

My cell phone rings. It's my mother.

My grandmother had fallen and they thought she'd had a stroke. She was dying, they said.

I still had four hours of travel before I could get to her.

The cars stood still on the highway. I wanted to become a giant and walk over them, crushing them as I went, so I could get to her and say goodbye. Say goodbye... again. Goodbye to the child I raised. Goodbye to the woman who raised me. Too many goodbyes.

Finally, we arrived back in New Haven. My husband (who'd gone from Bear to Kitten because of the news), dropped me off at the hospital. So much dropping off. Dropping off my daughter, the EMT's dropping off my grandmother. Too many dropping offs.

I ran to her. Flew to her.

The doctors said to prepare ourselves. That she would not live.

She did, in fact, live. Only different now. No words make sense. Her thoughts are gone. Her memory? Gone. She's gone. So much leaving. My daughter leaving, my grandmother leaving.... too much leaving.

It wasn't a stroke. It wasn't an infection. It was the beginning of the end.

She's going to live somewhere else now. A nursing home for sure. The one place she didn't want to be.
She's confused. Thinks she's in prison. Thinks she's at a boarding house. Thinks we abandoned her.

She'll move into a small room. One we can decorate. Kind of like a dorm room.

My mind works in circles.

Doors open, doors close.

Doors open, doors close

On Wednesday I brought my oldest witch, Rosy, to college.

Born in a blizzard in 1994, I dropped her off in a vibrant, color filled place.

How do you leave  your child? How do you assess her safety? (How do you live without her?)

But, to her credit, Rosy made the experience shine. She was happy. She was secure. She was excited. And in turn, that excitement dulled the pain of driving home without her.

So there we were, stuck in traffic, two little witches in the back seat and a bear of a husband starting fights with other drivers.

Me? I was lost in thought. The seeds of a new novel growing like weeds.

My cell phone rings. It’s my mother.

My grandmother had fallen and they thought she’d had a stroke. She was dying, they said.

I still had four hours of travel before I could get to her.

The cars stood still on the highway. I wanted to become a giant and walk over them, crushing them as I went, so I could get to her and say goodbye. Say goodbye… again. Goodbye to the child I raised. Goodbye to the woman who raised me. Too many goodbyes.

Finally, we arrived back in New Haven. My husband (who’d gone from Bear to Kitten because of the news), dropped me off at the hospital. So much dropping off. Dropping off my daughter, the EMT’s dropping off my grandmother. Too many dropping offs.

I ran to her. Flew to her.

The doctors said to prepare ourselves. That she would not live.

She did, in fact, live. Only different now. No words make sense. Her thoughts are gone. Her memory? Gone. She’s gone. So much leaving. My daughter leaving, my grandmother leaving…. too much leaving.

It wasn’t a stroke. It wasn’t an infection. It was the beginning of the end.

She’s going to live somewhere else now. A nursing home for sure. The one place she didn’t want to be.
She’s confused. Thinks she’s in prison. Thinks she’s at a boarding house. Thinks we abandoned her.

She’ll move into a small room. One we can decorate. Kind of like a dorm room.

My mind works in circles.

Doors open, doors close.

Of Love and other things

“Abandon ship!”
the captain cries,
panic under moonlit skies

The crew, astounded, sleepy eyed
notice calm and peaceful seas.

“What ever is the matter, Sir?”
asked simple john who swabbed the deck
a moment in his captains air
the scent of his disease

“Sirens, lads! The sirens come to drown us
one by one, and I shall not be taken. No not I!”

The sailors scanned the waves
No sign of lonesome mermaids
or their songs

“The captain’s lost his mind,” said John.

Daddy

It's odd how someone can shape your whole existence without even being there. My father, James Sterling Cooper, was a man who came and went.

He had his demons. He was so very young when I was born.

His ability to run from what he loved the most is something I've grown to admire. Really.

The older I get, the more I realize that everything I do, I do for him. For his attention, for his love, for some sort of ticket in a time machine that will let me be a little girl again.

A little girl who loved her daddy. A little girl who saw herself in his eyes. And when he left, over and over again, I disappeared.

Like the seas he sailed on, the water rose and engulfed the person I wanted to be. The best sort of person. Only I couldn't shine without him.

Last week he called me.
"Hey, Girl," he said.
"Hey, Pap," I replied.

"I'm real proud of you and these books," he said.

"Thank you..."

And I was shining.

No matter what, a little girl loves her daddy. Forgives his sins and dances in front of him waiting for him to notice.

I'm 41, not 4... and it doesn't matter. I'm on his shoulders again feeling proud of who he is, damage and all. Wanting him to carry me forever.

Daddy

It’s odd how someone can shape your whole existence without even being there. My father, James Sterling Cooper, was a man who came and went.

He had his demons. He was so very young when I was born.

His ability to run from what he loved the most is something I’ve grown to admire. Really.

The older I get, the more I realize that everything I do, I do for him. For his attention, for his love, for some sort of ticket in a time machine that will let me be a little girl again.

A little girl who loved her daddy. A little girl who saw herself in his eyes. And when he left, over and over again, I disappeared.

Like the seas he sailed on, the water rose and engulfed the person I wanted to be. The best sort of person. Only I couldn’t shine without him.

Last week he called me.
“Hey, Girl,” he said.
“Hey, Pap,” I replied.

“I’m real proud of you and these books,” he said.

“Thank you…”

And I was shining.

No matter what, a little girl loves her daddy. Forgives his sins and dances in front of him waiting for him to notice.

I’m 41, not 4… and it doesn’t matter. I’m on his shoulders again feeling proud of who he is, damage and all. Wanting him to carry me forever.

A New List of Dreams

When I was younger… much younger… I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish. Late at night, while my baby slept, I created dreams to fulfill. This was the list, straight from my journal:

Get married
Have more children
Buy a house
Write a book
Get a full time job

Now, to most, this seems like a doable list… but to me? Not so easy. I was coming off of state assistance (better known as welfare) and I had so many mountains in front of me. (A whole range of them already behind)

I can say that it took me twelve years, but I’ve completed all of these dream-tasks.

So, I need a new list.

Here it is:

Have Stephen King read one of my novels, enjoy it and then have coffee with me
Write professionally and become a writer in residence at a university somewhere
Have one of my novels made into a movie
Home school my children
Age like J-lo
Meet Loretta Nyhan
Earn enough money to situate my mother and my gram

What do you think? Too lofty?

I don’t know… I like shooting for the stars.

What about you? Do you have any Dream Lists?

XO S

And the dream has a …COVER!

Not due out until April 2013… but here’s the cover. All you guys who have been with me from my bloggy start, and all you new followers (Hey there, New Followers!) What do you think? I think it looks like a dream come true.

Xo,
Suzy

Life’s a beach

Warm for this time of year, I decided to set all other plans aside and take my little witches to the beach.
Seems like we never left. Like last summer overlapped into this one, seamlessly.

Only they are bigger now. Middle witch, 9 years old, almost my height. Littlest witch, just turned six, not a baby anymore. No need for constant worry or squinting into the sun to find them.

They played together in the waves and made castles in the sand. By themselves, because they remember now. They need no reminding of what summer means. Independent, they rose with perfect posture to meet the still cool breeze. Staring out into the great unknown with no fear.

Me? I read a book.

Amazing.

And a little voice inside my instinct whispered “Don’t forget this. Don’t forget the way they look or how it feels when their salty bodies run back to you for reassurance and warmth.”

Because, you see… the oldest witch wasn’t there. She’d made other plans (as she should have) but soon… all too soon I’ll be alone on the beach with only the memory of them.

Little girls. Little witches. Stay.