Christy Potter's Blog, page 14

A dream come true…

I’d always heard it, but now I know for a fact that long-held childhood dreams really can come true. These little beauties arrived this week and I’m fussing over them like they’re newborns. Which, in a way, I guess they are.

Thank you all so much for your support. The first book blogger review is in, and it’s overwhelmingly favorable. You can read it here (*minor spoiler alert*) And if you buy a copy on Amazon or Barnes &  Noble, please consider leaving a review on either site. I’d be exceedingly grateful! Again, thank you for all your support, encouragement and kind words on my first foray into fiction.

When the writer becomes the reader (or why I try to eat the books I love)

I was talking with a fellow writer this week who was telling me that when she’s writing, she prefers to shut herself off from reading altogether because she doesn’t want to be influenced by others’ work. That kind of stopped me in my tracks, to be honest. Not because I don’t understand what she means, but because I do understand. I used to be the same way. I worried that if I read too much of others’ writing, I’d lose my own voice, my personal style, and just become a little mirror of them.

It’s only been in the past few years that I’ve realized how limiting that is. And not only is it limiting, it’s a giant mistake. At least for me it is. I can’t believe I was ever so egotistical that I’d turn away from others’ writing because I didn’t want it to influence me. Now THAT, my friends, is a giant ego. Fortunately, I landed on my big fat head enough that I finally realized there are some things I can still learn about writing. And who better to learn my craft from than some of the best writers in the world? Stephen King once said “You cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you.” That’s exactly what I mean.

As I tried to explain to my friend, now when I’m reading the writers I most admire, I treat it as though I were sitting in a class they’re teaching. Or better yet, that the two of us are in a tiny, out-of-the-way bar in New York, discussing our craft over a bottle of wine. When I approach the work of writers I admire with that mindset, it changes the way I take it in. There are plenty of writers out there right now I’m competing with, and that’s because right now, we’re equals. We write the same kinds of books, we’re attempting to sell to the same readers. But if you heard my podcast this week, you know I’m moving my gaze up a bit. It’s like the expression “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” I’m reading the writers I want to compete with. The writers I’d be honored to compete with. The writers who set the bar far higher for me than I’ve ever set for myself.

There are three contemporary writers with whom I am completely obsessed at the moment: Philip Roth (as longtime readers of this site know all too well), John Updike, and Jonathan Franzen. These three are my Muses, the Holy Trinity – if you will – of my personal library. When I read anything by any of those three, I come away richer, a little better at my own writing, and drenched by a new wave of appreciation for the beauty of being a writer at all.

I don’t just read books by these writers anymore, I absorb them. I live them. I sleep with them under my pillow. I sleep with them as my pillow. I take them to the table. I take them into the bath. I carry them with me. I wallow in them. I hug them to me and bite the pages and roll around on the carpet with them until the covers are bent. With all due respect to my friend, some of the most gifted writers of my lifetime have made their work accessible to me, and I’m going to access the hell out of it.

I went out and purchased three blank, bound books and labeled each one with the name of one of these writers. Now when I’m reading one of their books and I come across a passage that makes me stop, put the book down, drop my face into my hands and mutter “He has the same 26 letters at his disposal as I do – why didn’t I WRITE THAT?!” I now grab a pen and copy it into their notebook. When I need inspiration, when I’m having one of those days where I’m dithering around in my writing room questioning my ability to write anything more profound than a greeting card, I pull out one of those notebooks and reread the words that lifted me beyond my own abilities and showed me what’s possible. Reading the work of writers I admire doesn’t take away my personal style. It doesn’t threaten my voice. It ignites me, excites me. It not only helps me find my own voice, it hands me a microphone.

Grace in small things, grace in all things

Lately I find myself absorbed with, and simultaneously struggling with, the idea of grace. I’ve adopted as my personal mantra “Grace in small things, grace in all things,” and while it’s easy to type those words, easy to repeat them to myself, making them a part of my every day life is more difficult.

Growing up in the church, we were taught that grace is a divine gift, something we receive. Now that I’m older, I have come to believe that grace is something that, once received, you must radiate out. If we are the recipient of divine grace, and grace from others, and then go out into the world and send out nothing but negativity and malice, the grace inside us dies.

When people talk about someone’s grace, it’s more than just the way they walk or talk or dress, it’s about what doesn’t show at first glance. It’s about kindness, forgiveness, gentleness. It’s about consciously choosing a healing word over a hurting word. It’s about understanding what you bring to our collective state of being, and offering it up with a smile and an open heart, instead of jamming it in everyone’s face with a raucous demand that they pay attention to you.

The concept of grace is one I embrace wholly, yet sometimes I feel it wriggling out of my grasp. Perhaps I am holding it too tightly. I wrestle with thoughts and feelings that I know are only human, but that I also find contrary to the simple idea, not to mention the practice of, grace. Pettiness, jealousy, anger, competitiveness… they are all feelings that everyone, no matter how well-balanced, have experienced at some point. And far from finding them unattractive emotions, too much of our society tends to celebrate them. But for me, and I believe for many others, those emotions are not only damaging and spiritually stunting, they keep me from fully experiencing grace.

I’ve long been a proponent of what I call “just being.” Living fully in the moment, not letting my mind be carried away with self-recrimination about yesterday or obsessive worry about tomorrow. That’s the fastest way to lose the moment you’re in, and you’ll never get it back. I’ve begun to realize there is a whisper-thin line that connects grace with just being. When I find myself feeling angry or jealous, for example, I step back and let go of the emotion, then bring my thoughts back to the now, sometimes to a simple thing – a drop of water on my skin, the smell of coffee, a note in a song. Even pain – a paper cut or a stitch in my side – brings with it a beautiful reminder than I am alive, that this moment is an absolute gift. And when I relax into that thought, into a conscious state of simply being… that’s when I experience grace. Whole grace, true grace that softens my edges and washes over me with blessings and love.

My debut novel is officially available!

As if the pumpkin latte and cinnamon roll I had this morning weren’t exciting enough, it’s also publication day for “Oh Brother,” my debut novel! Over the past few weeks, you’ve read guest posts from different characters, read about the plot, and seen the cover. If you follow my Facebook page, you’ve seen other random bits about what you can expect in the book. I hope I’ve sufficiently piqued your interest enough to get yourself a copy.

It’s available on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback, on Barnes & Noble for Nook, it will be available soon on iTunes for iPad, and you can also order it directly from CreateSpace.com. If you read it and like it, please consider writing a review on Amazon or Barnes & Noble. And please tell your friends, donate a copy to your local library, suggest it to your book club… anything you can do to help me spread the world would be deeply appreciated!

And don’t forget – ten percent of the profits from the first year’s book sales will be donated to the North American Butterfly Association, and everyone who buys a copy will receive a free packet of milkweed seeds to help boost the dwindling butterfly population.

On a more personal note, I’m absolutely blown away by the anticipation over this book. My last book was extremely well-received, and this one is on track to be equally successful. I’m humbled. Thank you for showing me that I’m doing what I was truly meant to do, finally.

 

On sadness, goodbyes and my debut novel

In the words of one of the world’s greatest philosophers, what a long strange trip it’s been. I’ve been out of commission for the past ten days as I first headed out to visit my ailing dad, a trip that not entirely unexpectedly but rather quickly turned into a goodbye. The rest of the week was spent planning his funeral, and helping my mother with all the emotional and practical fallout that is an unfortunate side effect of such a devastating loss.

My small but mighty crew helped me keep the wheels turning here at Christy the Writer, and I’m grateful. The only unavoidable issue was a delay in the release of my debut novel, “Oh Brother,” which was slated to be published on September 1. Fortunately, it is only a short delay, and the new publication date is Friday, September 6. I will be hosting an online launch party on my Facebook page on October 1, so please “like” my page and plan to join us.

I’m also happy to report that I got great feedback after my announcement that 10 percent of the profits of the first year’s book sales will be donated to the North American Butterfly Association. I’m excited, the NABA is excited, the butterflies are excited.

Now, let me tell you a little more about the book. Over the past few weeks, you’ve met some of the book’s characters through their guest blog posts here. Below is a little more about them. But first…

The Plot

For Ariel Carson, a 40-something sculptor from San Francisco, life has never been normal. Her mother deserted the family when Ariel was six, leaving her to be raised alone by her oddly controlling father.

Ariel finally feels she is in control of her own destiny when she drops out of UCLA and moves into a “self-contained human biosphere” in Big Sur. But two years later, her life is turned on its ear again when the biosphere shuts down and, thrust back out into the world, Ariel meets and marries the wrong man. After finally divorcing him and getting married again – to his older brother – her life finally seems to be calm, happy, and normal. And then her ex-husband loses his job and moves in with them.

Faced with the most difficult situation of her life, Ariel finds her marriage, art, and entire sense of self teetering on the brink of complete collapse. When her best friend throws in a surprise of her own, Ariel realizes that “normal” doesn’t actually exist, and that she has to make peace with her past if she wants to be able to face the present – and the future.

The Characters

Ariel Carson, who narrates the story. Ariel is a bit of an everywoman, with unresolved parental issues, a patient husband, career insecurities, addictive tendencies, and the ex-husband from hell.

Sanford Moreland, usually called Sandy, Ariel’s second husband. A bit of a hippie artist, who works at and eventually owns an upscale art gallery in San Francisco. He is good to and good for Ariel, the yin to her yang. They have no children except for Roscoe, an ancient dog they adopted from a shelter.

Ralph Moreland, Ariel’s first husband, and Sandy’s brother. Ralph was a hugely successful software developer in the Silicon Valley until he loses his job, his girlfriend throws him out, and he moves in with Sandy and Ariel. This, understandably, doesn’t go down well with Ariel.

Lisa Wentworth, Ariel’s best friend from her days living in the human biosphere where she chose for herself the name “Lemon Wax,” or Lem for short. Lem is sweet, fragile, a little spacey, and a true hippie spirit who lives alone in an apartment near Ariel and Sandy, and makes her living writing poetry books. For all her spaceyness, Lem keeps Ariel grounded, at least until her own life – and her fascination with butterflies – takes an unexpected turn.

Earl Carson, Ariel’s father. Deserted by his wife when his only daughter was six, Earl is a stoic, stern father who raised Ariel in the way he thought best, without ever really figuring out how to connect with her emotionally. He nearly has a stroke when Ariel drops out of UCLA, which she’d been attending on a full scholarship, to move into the human biosphere. Even when Ariel is an adult and on her own, Earl struggles to define his role as her father, while trying to piece his own life together.

Of course, these principal characters are supported and surrounded by many others, including a pint-sized artist named Rose, a professional ballerina named Ellen, an enigmatic gardener named River, and Cora, a modernized version of the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe.

“Oh Brother” will be available on Amazon in paperback and for Kindle, on Barnes & Noble for Nook, and on iTunes for iPad.

My debut novel, butterflies, and milkweeds

My debut novel, “Oh Brother,” is due out very soon. The original publication date was slated to be September 1, but due to some unforeseen circumstances, I am not positive that will actually happen. I will keep you posted here, and on my Facebook and Twitter pages, if you follow me there. It will be published as close to the original date as possible, and I’ll be hosting an online launch party on my Facebook page.

If you’ve seen the cover, you may have surmised that the plot somehow involves butterflies, and it does. Butterflies, and one little butterfly in particular, play an important part in the storyline. Although the book doesn’t go into this particular detail, you have probably heard that the butterfly population in North America (and Europe) is down dramatically for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is our obsession with having picture-perfect, pesticide-soaked lawns, without a weed in sight. Pesticides kill caterpillars, so there go your domestic butterflies, and those that migrate through the U.S. have trouble finding food sources.

The butterfly theme of the book is not an ecological one, but it is one I feel strongly about. So with that in mind, I will be donating 10 percent of the profits of the book sales for the first year to the North American Butterfly Association. They do great work and have chapters in many states. You can check out their website at www.naba.org.

In addition, everyone who buys a copy of the book will receive a packet of milkweed seeds. Milkweed is the food source for the Monarch butterfly, as well as number of other butterfly species. You’ll be asked where you live to ensure you get the right kind of milkweed for your area. And if you’re not sure what milkweed looks like and are hesitating because of the word “weed,” don’t worry – they’re lovely. Below are photos of some common varieties that serve as a food source for butterflies.

I’ll be back later in the week with a preview – a big one – of the plot, and a little more about the crazy characters who make up the book and who have been keeping me up at night for the past six months.

 

The Care and Feeding of Your Writer

It’s been a few months since I left the job in which I answered to someone else in order to become a full-time writer. It has been an interesting – yeah, we’ll go with interesting – experience, with good and bad mixed together and sprinkled over a big bed of Lessons Learned.

I was talking with fellow writer Dan Manning for this week’s podcast and he mentioned how being alone so much can affect him, and I sympathize completely. I talk to myself, I ask grammatical advice from the cat, I laugh at my own jokes, I pace around a lot. The funny thing is that writers blame this behavior on spending so much time alone. In truth, we’d still do it if others were nearby. If you do happen to live with a working writer, you may quickly start to wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

So with that in mind, I offer you the following guide I call “The Care and Feeding of Your Writer.”

1. Coffee must be available, hot, and preferably brewed by someone else. If you think your writer, who will at some point very much want coffee, is going to get up and make a pot, you’re mistaken and silly. At most, she will point her pen in the direction of the kitchen and try the Harry Potter spell “Accio coffee!” If your writer is not a coffee drinker, substitute her beverage of choice into the above directions.

2. Snacks should be accessible, but not right next to your writer. The reason for this: your writer will eat every bit of any snack within his reach, down to licking his fingertips and picking up stray Cheetos crumbs from the keyboard, without ever fully focusing on what he is doing. When later, your writer is queasy, bloated and confused, it will be your fault. Put the requisite snacks in another room. Your writer will find them while pacing or wandering or looking for coffee.

3. Resist the urge to ask your writer what she is working on. When the time is right, your writer will tell you. Asking too soon, especially when the work is very new, will just get you frowned at. A new book or story is a little like a newborn’s head – you don’t want to push it. Conversely, once your writer decides it’s time to tell you what she is working on, be prepared for her to not shut up about it. Pretty much ever.

4. If you have a fiction writer, you will notice they have a tendency to become very emotionally attached to their characters. At times this may seem extreme to you, but I assure you it’s perfectly normal. Longtime novelist June Tate tells of once having to write the death of a character she really loved, the ensuing tears, and her husband’s response: a hasty retreat to his garden shed.

5. Similarly, your fiction writer will talk about the characters in his book as though they are real people. It can be difficult at first to ascertain whether your writer is talking about a character or a real-life friend. Here’s a hint: if what he’s saying ends with any variation of “So I had to kill the bastard,” chances are he’s talking about a fictional character.

6. Your writer will most likely have some sort of big reaction to finishing a project, particularly a book. These reactions can include crying, cheering, lying on the floor in a fetal position, or a prolonged end zone dance.

7. Never say to your writer – and never let anyone else say to your writer – any of the following:

- I’d love to write a book, if I just had the time.

- When is it going to be published?

- Can I read what you’ve written so far? (Please see #3)

- I wrote a book in grade school / grad school / on vacation once. Can you help me get it published?

- Hey, you know what you should write a book about?

- What’s your real job?

8. Chances are you are your writer’s “first reader.” This means that when your writer is ready to have someone read what she has written, it’s going to be you. Although flattering, this can also be a fairly terrifying tightrope walk for you. While remaining cognizant of your writer’s feelings and yes, ego (more on ego in #9), you must be honest and direct. She would rather hear kind criticism from you than from a snooty book critic or some anonymous jackass on Amazon.

9. All writers have a big ego. This is okay. It’s an occupational hazard – they are creating entire worlds, they are making people and they are in complete control of their destiny. Consider yourself blessed if your writer can manage to keep from jumping up on the desk and doing this at any given time:

Click here to view the embedded video.

10. And finally, pay attention to who your writer’s literary heroes are, and casually compare something in her work to something her hero wrote. “Wow, I can really feel the Updike influence in this passage,” or “That description has a certain Tolkien-esque quality” will earn you rewards far beyond what I can describe in PG-rated blog post.

With the proper care and feeding, your writer will provide you with years of entertainment, love, and good reading.

Meet Lem, Ariel’s best friend, from my upcoming novel “Oh Brother”

Note from Christy: Over the past few weeks, I have been hosting guest posts from some of the characters in my upcoming novel, “Oh Brother.” Every Friday, between now and the book’s September 1 release date, they will each have a turn to introduce themselves, giving you the opportunity to get to know them a bit before you read the book. You’ve already met the main character, Ariel, her husband, Sanford, Sandy’s brother (and Ariel’s ex-husband), Ralph, her father, Earl, and her faithful sidekick, Roscoe. Today’s post is the last of those we’ll be getting from the characters. Next week’s post will include some other exciting details about the book that have not yet been announced, including a sneak peek at the plot. After that, it’s publication day! Okay, on to today’s guest post, since while she’s waiting, she’s twirling and dancing and basically driving me nuts.

Hello, brothers and sisters of my soul, I’m so excited to be here! My name is Lisa Wentworth, but everyone calls me Lem. It’s short for Lemon Wax, which is my Native American name. I’ve been called Lem for so long I sometimes forget to even answer to Lisa. Isn’t that funny? Ariel explains in the book how my name came to be, so I won’t spoil the surprise.

I can’t wait for Ariel to see I wrote something here – she’ll never believe it. I don’t like the internet. I think words flying through the air and landing someplace else is creepy. I had to breathe into a paper bag for 20 minutes the first time I saw a fax machine, and then they hit me with the internet? I finally got an email account because Ariel insisted, but I don’t like it. But then again if it wasn’t for the internet, I might never have found Cora, and The Enchanted Elf. You’ll read about that later.

I met Ariel many moons ago, when we were living in a sustainable human biosphere in Big Sur. We were, I think, sisters in another lifetime, drawn together there so our spirits could be cleansed and rejuvenated by the ocean’s negative ions. That sounds funny, doesn’t it? Negative ions. I’ve never understood why they are not called positive ions. I love the ocean. It’s so dreamy and mythical, like a giant silver dragon with a crashing tail.

Now I live in San Francisco, not too far from Ariel and her husband. I’m a poet, that’s what I do, but honestly some days it’s a full-time job to take care of Ariel. She’s a little out there. We’ve been through the wringer together, but we always come out on top. I thought her divorce from that guy… I can never remember his name… starts with an R… anyway, I thought her divorce might be what finally broke her spirit, but she is stronger than she seems, and even stronger than she knows. The day her healing began I was at her apartment with six pints of Ben & Jerry’s. I don’t think the ice cream itself is what healed her, but everyone knows that Cherry Garcia is certainly a good start.

I am originally from a small town in Idaho, but once I left, I never went back. I have no family anymore, at least not my biological family. They are all gone, and until I found the biosphere, I was alone. But Ariel and Sandy are my family, and lately there have been so many changes in my life that I am finally realizing I will never be alone again.

See, this is where I want so much to tell you about my butterfly, but I can’t. I promised Ariel I wouldn’t. So I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise me you will read the book so you can join with us on this wonderful, beautiful spiritual journey we are on, and then you will know about our lives, my Ariel, all the beauty in the world around us, and my butterfly. You don’t have to email me or call me, just promise it in your head and in your heart, right now, and our souls will be joined in eternal friendship.

Love and light,

Lem

Ta daaaaaaaa! The cover!

You’ve been reading all the Friday posts from the characters in my upcoming debut novel, “Oh Brother,” so today I thought I’d surprise you with a sneak peak at the cover! I’m really pleased with it. The book will be out soon – join me for my online launch party September 1 on my Facebook author page!

 

 

Nineteen years and counting

Right about now, 19 years ago, I looked out the airplane window and saw the Empire State Building, its lightening rod extended like an insistently poking finger, trying to make the sky understand. I’d left behind everything I knew and everyone I loved in Kansas, but the new life I’d chosen for myself was waiting for me here, and seeing it all spread out below me like a sprawling concrete welcome mat was all the evidence I needed that I’d made the right decision.

I still can’t believe it has been 19 years already, and next August, I expect 20 years will blow my mind completely. I was 25 and full of that youthful certainty that I could not fail, would never look back, and never grow old. It’s not that at 25 years old, I had convinced myself that I was immortal and invincible – that I was anything but had simply never occurred to me.

It’s amazing how much stuff life can cram into a span of 19 years. Since I blew an excited kiss to the Empire State Building that August day in 1994, I’ve been through wedding rings and rings of fire (in one case, that was the same ring), I’ve grown and learned and crashed and burned and loved and lost and laughed and cried. I would have gone through the same kinds of things if I’d stayed in my hometown, I’m sure, but somehow, life’s triumphs and tragedies are a richer experience when you know you’re where you are meant to be.

I live in a New Jersey suburb right now, but New York City is still my home base. I did some of my undergrad work at NYU, I get my hair done at a salon just down the street from Madison Square Garden, I have my favorite writing spot in Central Park. I’ve stood in the pouring rain on a Manhattan street corner to collect signatures on a Greenpeace petition, I’ve ridden the subway after one martini too many at Angelo & Maxies, I cried watching Ed Koch’s funeral. I am unapologetic about my love for doing “tourist stuff,” much to the chagrin of my local friends. I’ve wandered the echoing marble galleries of the Met, I’ve been to Yankee games, Mets games, Broadway shows, cocktail parties at Lincoln Center, the John Lennon “Imagine” memorial, and a taping of Letterman. I’ve seen the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree and stood in the crowds at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade many times. I’ve walked through the streets after dark, when the city feels more exciting and secretive than it does in the open light of day. New York is always where I go to think, to lose myself, to wake up to the reality that there is a world much bigger than my four walls, and how much a part of it I am is completely up to me.

So many people I know back in Kansas (and elsewhere) still don’t understand, much less share, my love affair with New York, and that’s okay. It’s not for everyone, I know that. If it was, it would be even more crowded than it is now, and no thanks. But for me, it’s right. For me, it’s home. Happy anniversary to me and the Big Apple. Nineteen years and counting.

On the observation deck of the Empire State Building, summer 1993 – the trip that sealed my destiny.