Victoria Noe's Blog, page 13

Friend Grief and Facebook Memories

If you’ve been on Facebook for any length of time, you’ve probably noticed the daily “Facebook Memories” that pop up.

Your comments, photos and shared posts are resurrected by Facebook every day. I find them mostly fun reminders of where I was and what I was doing a year or two or six ago. I enjoy seeing other people’s memories pop up, too. But sometimes, the reminders are not so pleasant.

Facebook doesn’t discriminate. The reminders can be of natural disasters or violence. They can be of joyous occasions. Sometimes, though, the reminders are bittersweet at best. Because sometimes they remind us of the friends we grieve.

For one friend, a birthday memory he posted a year ago popped up, the memory of a friend who died long ago. Not that he needed a reminder of her birthday. Few of us are likely to ever forget the day our best friends were born. But the reminder brought his grief back up to the surface.

Who need that, right?

Wrong.

Sometimes, in the crazy busyness of our lives, we forget the friends who are gone. It’s not that we want to forget them or that they weren’t important to us. But we’re human and we forget.

I have no idea how Facebook chooses the posts that pop up in Memories. Obviously, they don’t include every post you made on that date through the years. Sometimes their algorithm seems…odd.

But what I’ve seen time and again from my Facebook community is a heartfelt gratitude for those reminders. “This popped up today,” their posts begin, and they reaffirm the love they had for those friends:

“I miss her every day.”

“I think of him every time I…”

“I liked who I was when I was with him.”

“I wouldn’t be here today if not for her.”

I know some people are annoyed to see Facebook Memories pop up in their newsfeed. But take a moment to consider which Memories people choose to share. It’s not photos of the food they ate on a vacation, or a snarky comment they made about a politician. Their Memories are often of people, of family events and children’s milestones.

And always, always of the friends long gone who shaped their lives.

 

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Indie Authors, Libraries and Discoverability

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What’s the hardest part of being an author?

Some people will say it’s the writing itself. Others insist it’s the editing process. But most will agree that the hardest part is figuring out how to be discovered by eager readers.

The challenge – no matter how they publish – is for their book to rise above the ever-increasing numbers of titles published each year. For those of us who are indie authors, it is daunting.

Bowker, the company that issues ISBN numbers to authors in the US, just released their report on 2015. Last year 625,327 indie titles were issued ISBN numbers in the US. That’s over 1,700 each and every day, weekends and holidays included.

Now consider the fact that not all books have an ISBN number (though mine do and I recommend that every author make it a priority). That means that 625,327 is not the real total for indie titles. And just to make things worse, that number doesn’t include books that are traditionally published.

So, how to get noticed? How to rise to the top or even just a spot where people can see you? How do you find a way to be discovered by the readers who would most enjoy your books?

This weekend, there is an exciting opportunity for indie authors. It’s Library Journal’s first Indie Author Day. Almost 300 public libraries across the US and Canada are participating in this inaugural event, to highlight the talents of local indie authors.

Libraries and authors are natural allies, though the relationship between libraries and indie authors is problematic. It’s extremely difficult for indie authors to get their books into public libraries that purchase their collections based on reviews and publisher marketing campaigns. Their staffs are too stretched already to spend time meeting with every indie author in their community, much less those who live somewhere else.

And frankly, too many people have given indie authors a bad name. They’ve been aggressive, unprofessional and selfish in their dealings rather than concentrating on building relationships. So, again, how to get noticed?

Here are some ideas:

SELF-e. Submit your ebook to Library Journal’s SELF-e program. It will be considered for your state collection as well as the National Select collection (Full disclosure: the first four books in my series are in the Illinois and National collections, and I’m a SELF-e Ambassador). You don’t get paid for this, but it’s a great way to get your name into the library systems that have signed on to SELF-e and carries the Library Journal ‘seal of approval’. Then you can approach those libraries about purchasing print copies.

Indie Author Day. Check here to find out if your library is participating. Regardless, there’s a livestream panel discussion you won’t want to miss. Keep track of this after Saturday, when the follow-up articles begin to post. If your library didn’t participate this year, these articles may convince them to at least consider joining in 2017.

You. Yeah, you. Do you and/or your family make use of your local library? There’s a lot of power in that. When I walked into my library to discuss the details for our Saturday panel discussion, the librarian looked up and said, “It’s you! You’re a patron!” I already have a relationship with the library. I’m not just there to promote myself, though they now know that I’m not a shy author (libraries are always looking for interesting programming offered by engaging speakers). I use the collection for my research. I seek out new books. I pay my share of overdue book fines. And there’s an ice cream shop across the street, but I consider that a bonus.

So, as you can see, there are a few painless (and free) ways to tackle the challenge of discoverability by leveraging the power of libraries. It’s not easy, even for those with the theoretical backing of traditional publishing houses. But if you approach it with relationship-building in mind, you will find yourself being sought out by readers and librarians alike.

 

 

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A Grand Slam for a Friend

Jose Fernandez   –   ESPN.com

Anyone who’s a baseball fan – and probably a lot who aren’t – heard about the tragic death of Miami Marlins star pitcher, Jose Fernandez. The 24 year old died along with two other men in a boating accident Saturday night.

I couldn’t help but think of the 2002 death of St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Daryl Kile, who died of a heart attack during a road trip in Chicago. His was the first death of a major league player during the regular season since Yankee great Thurman Munson died in a plane crash in 1979.

I wrote about Kile and his teammates’ reactions to his death – both immediately and long-term – in my book Friend Grief in the Workplace: More Than an Empty Cubicle. So I watched how the Marlins players and management handled their grief in contrast to how the Cardinals handled theirs.

My comparisons are not judgments. Everyone grieves in their own way, and as we saw in Friend Grief and Men: Defying Stereotypes, men have a particularly difficult time expressing themselves. Athletes, working in the public eye, can be judged particularly harshly. I just want to share the different ways they find in times of crisis.

In 2002, the Cardinals tended to keep their grief in-house. It was a body blow, coming the same week as the death of their long-time Hall of Fame announcer Jack Buck, and it was natural to pull inward.

Kile’s regular catcher was Mike Matheny, now the manager of the team. Though the game against the Cubs was cancelled upon the announcement of Kile’s death, the team voted to play the following day. Matheny was not in agreement:

They were not even at the halfway point of the season. Though that game was cancelled, they had to keep the rest of the 162 game schedule – beginning with Sunday. Kile’s jersey, number 57, hung in the dugout at the end of the bench, and the ESPN cameras focused on it often. How would they get through the game under these circumstances?

Whether to play that game was a topic of passionate debate in the clubhouse. Catcher Mike Matheny was among those who advocated for cancelling the games and returning immediately to St. Louis. He was Kile’s catcher. In fact, Kile refused to pitch unless Matheny was catching, and Kile was scheduled to pitch on that Sunday. Matheny told manager Tony LaRussa, “If Darryl’s not pitching, I’m not catching.”

Tributes – other than the jersey in the visitor’s dugout – were mostly saved for their return to St. Louis.

The Marlins, too, returned to regular play after a one-game cancellation. The shock and grief, though, extended far beyond their team. It’s certainly a tribute to the well-loved and respected Fernandez, who at such a young age had distinguished himself as a talented competitor who loved his job.

The tributes by the Marlins – and the Mets who they were playing – were respectful and emotional. Not only did Fernandez’ jersey hang in the dugout: the entire team wore his jersey.

Oddly enough, it was another team, the Cardinals, that provided an odd, perfect tribute in their game Tuesday night.

Shortstop Aledmys Diaz grew up on the same block as Fernandez, in Cuba. He hit a home run off his friend for the first time as major league competitors in July. Afterwards, Fernandez vowed to strike out Diaz twice the next time they met. But that was not to be.

Diaz was back in St. Louis after a brief trip to Miami to console Fernandez’ family and friends. As he said in this article, he promised that Tuesday’s game – and every game after – would be different:

“He reminded us how fun this game is. He loved this game. He liked to compete. Going forward, I have to love the game even more. Every chance I have to put on the uniform, I have to give everything I have today. That’s the legacy he gives us.”

Aledmys Diaz – ESPN.com

And so, after grounding out in his first at-bat, he hit his first major league grand slam to help win the game.

Professional athletes are used to setting goals and achieving them, performing every day to the best of their ability. In other words: doing things. So it’s not unusual that they would express their grief by channeling it into action.

Because sometimes words aren’t enough.

Sometimes you have to empty the bases.

 

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Mark Your Calendar for Indie Author Day

I love libraries, don’t you? But until recently, my books were not available there, in print or ebook. That changed when the first four Friend Grief ebooks were accepted by Library Journal’s SELF-e program for their Illinois and National Select collections. Print, however, was a different story.

Authors want to see their books in public libraries: actual, physical books. But too often, indie authors are shut out. The reasons are, well, reasonable. The sheer number of indie authors is growing every day. The number of librarians is much smaller. They simply don’t have the time to meet and greet every author who walks in to sell their books.

Purchasing requirements vary from library system to library system. When you’re on your own – that is, not traditionally published – it’s nearly impossible to make any headway.

So, how in the world can library patrons find out about the terrific books being written by indie authors? I’m glad you asked!

October 8 marks the first collaboration between Library Journal and almost 300 public libraries in the US and Canada to focus on local independent authors: Indie Author Day.

I got pretty excited about this. I was first asked by Library Journal to answer a few questions about my feelings on Indie Author Day. You can read my answers – along with those from authors Darcy Fray and Kerry J. Charles – here.

There’s one small correction to my answer about what I’m doing for Indie Author Day. I’m actually participating in three different libraries’ activities:

Sunday, October 2 – Villa Park (IL) Public Library – Local Author Showcase

Saturday, October 8 – Evergreen Park (IL) Public Library –Local Author Display

Saturday, October 8 – Chicago (IL) Public Library, Edgebrook branch – Presentation with Nancy Nau Sullivan

How did I wind up with three?

I started with my home library system, Chicago: first to talk about the event in general and then to offer my services as a speaker. I’m thrilled to be at Edgebrook because that’s the branch I use the most (especially since my neighborhood branch burned down).

Then I received an email from the librarian at Evergreen Park. I’d participated in a local author fair there a few months ago, and she asked us to donate a book for their local author display, encouraging patrons to discover the wealth of talent in their own communities.

Finally, I checked the Indie Author Day listing of participating libraries. I saw that Villa Park – like a few others – was holding their event on a different day. I contacted them and got the last spot for their fair.

Three different libraries. Three different activities. That’s the beauty of Indie Author Day: there are as many possibilities for programming as there are libraries.

In addition, there is a digital Q&A that indie authors won’t want to miss. The participants include the amazing former Director of Author and Publisher Relations for Amazon, Jon Fine; Robin Cutler from Ingram Spark; Kiera Parrott from Library Journal and more. It will be held at 2:00pm ET on October 8 and you can learn more about it – including submitting questions by September 23 to be answered – here.

If you’re a reader, find out about your local library’s plans for that day. You’ll meet local authors and learn more about their books and how/why they wrote them.

If you’re an indie author and you’re participating, enjoy it! You’ll be sharing your experiences and writing with a whole new audience.

If your local library is not participating, suggest that they get involved next year. Because there are already signs that next year will be bigger and better – maybe even expanding to the UK!

Whether you’re an indie author, a reader, or a combination of the two, your local library will open up your world: to new writers, new readers and a brave new world in publishing. And October 8 is a good day for that partnership to begin.

 

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5 Easy Steps to Being a Better Writer

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I’ve been to a lot of writing events: conferences, Meetups, presentations, meetings and writing groups. That’s not counting podcasts, online classes, webinars, tweet chats, and Google+ hangouts. There are times, honestly, when I just…can’t…

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I learned something from every one of them, even if it was something that didn’t reveal itself until later. That’s happened a lot: that I hear something but it doesn’t register until long after the event is over.

So for what it’s worth, here are five things I’ve picked up on improving your writing:

Write. Yeah, I know: duh. But being busy is not the same thing as being active. Talking or thinking about writing is not the same as actually writing. That’s why I increased my blog schedule to once a week: it forces me to write something worth reading every week.
 Read. Again: duh. Most of the reading I’m doing these days is research for my next book. But that doesn’t stop me from reading the Sunday NY Times or books I’m reviewing for Broadway World. 
Get out of your comfort zone. Last year at Writers Digest Conference I went to a session for fiction writers on character development. I write nonfiction, so why? Because the tips turned out to be perfect for telling the stories of the people I interview for my own books
Treat your business like a business. Don’t expect people to take you seriously as a writer unless you take yourself seriously. And that means admitting that you’re an entrepreneur – no matter how you’re published. You’re a business owner. It’s your name on that book cover, so don’t just own the words inside. Own the whole business. You’re a professional. Act like it.
Connect with the world outside of your writing. We write alone. We isolate ourselves to get our work done. But that’s not good for humans. You need contact, inspiration, energy from the world outside your office. And Facebook isn’t always the answer. Go to conferences. Join writing groups. Make presentations. Share what you’re doing and what you’ve learned. Become a mentor, even if you don’t have all the answers. Because guess what? No one does. But you already know a lot that other people don’t know. And while you’re at it, go to a play or a baseball game. Walk through the park or a botanical garden or the local zoo. Meet a friend for lunch.

That kind of sounds self-indulgent, doesn’t it? I thought so too until I paid the price for not doing those things. I was running on empty and it showed. The hardest part for me was embracing the idea that I can be a mentor for other writers. I’ve been pushed into that role for some time now, but it’s only in the past month that I feel comfortable with it.

So think about your own writing life and how you can up your game. Sometimes we get discouraged or just stuck and need some new ideas. Take these in the spirit they are given. And pass them along.

That’s the first step to being a mentor.

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A Long Time Ago and Yesterday

That’s how someone described 9/11 to me today: a long time ago and yesterday.

There are moments that are like that. They seem so long ago it’s hard to summon specific memories. But at the same time, they feel like they just happened.

Instead of writing about it again, I decided to share this post from writer Damon DiMarco. I’d just read his book about 9/11 when I (almost literally) ran into him at Book Expo America in 2011. He graciously agreed to write this for my blog for the 10th anniversary. It still resonates today.

 

From One to Eleven: The Essence of Grief

Bring them back, God, please bring them back. This is the essence of grief.


Not the secret we shared with a lover, divulged, or the song we composed, which the critics destroyed, or long holes torn in the silk of our souls. It’s the truth that you can’t bring them back.

I will never forget there are men who fight fires. Or faces that smiled in the hallways, the stairs. Or clerks who vowed to remain at their desks until even their bosses get out.

And I want you to bring them back now, God. I want you to please bring them back.

Here are some items we found. Look here. This shoe. This pen. This piece of debris. We cherish these heirlooms, we’ll trade them at once if only you bring them back.

One for our daughters and one for our sons. Our fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. What is the reason you can’t bring them back?

I keep thinking it could have been any of us. It could have been any of us, and it was, and thank you for sparing me. Thank you for life. But life means less when you treat it like this, so why don’t you bring them back?

They say that no parent should bury a child, but children should get to remember their parents. You made that order, then broke it. I’m angry. Criticize my faith, but I’m pissed. They were innocent people going to work. Meetings and spreadsheets and eyes out the window, daydreaming trips. Anniversaries. Parties. Retirement. Then something happened.

Ten years ago, and who would believe it? It happened to you and it happened to me and something bright fell out of the sky and some ran up while many ran down and we lost them, and maybe we lost ourselves, I don’t know.

I just want them back.

Do you watch us rebuild? We want to rebuild. When something good breaks, you don’t throw it away. You fix it. Make it better and stronger. But why should mosaics go missing a stone? Why should the trees without roots bear fruit, while good trunks topple and caretakers, drunk, play cards with a bee and a fox in the shade, and leave us with nothing but stories?

Take my eyes, my hands, my feet – I don’t need feet, I’ve already stumbled. And yet, move forward we must.

And since we must, I will ask you again to please, God. Bring them back.



Damon DiMarco is the author of Tower Stories: An Oral History of 9/11 and My Two Chinas: The Memoir of a Chinese Counterrevolutionary with Baiqiao Tang (featuring a foreword by His Holiness the Dalai Lama). His website is www.damondimarco.com.

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Memories of 9/11

TauntonGazette.com

Fifteen years. It’s a long time, isn’t it?

It’s the time it takes to go from the labor/delivery room to sophomore year of high school.

Or from the start of the millennium to this year (Yes, I count from 2001, not 2000).

It’s hard for some of us to believe: 2016 marks the fifteenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. But this year, as with every passing year, I realized just what that means: fewer and fewer people remember.

It means that if you’re a freshman in high school or younger, you weren’t alive then. It means if you’re a sophomore, junior or senior, you weren’t potty-trained. It means if you’re in college, you may have little or no memory of that day.

My daughter graduated from college in May. She was seven, in second grade, when the attacks occurred. Her memories are what you’d expect from a child surrounded by adults who were in shock. She remembers everyone being sent to the gym for a special mass at school. She remembers we turned off the TV every time she walked in the room. She remembers a high school classmate of mine died in the South Tower.

Those of us who are older remember where we were when we heard the news. I was in my car, sitting in front of my acupuncturist’s office after having just dropped my daughter off at school. I was listening to the radio, to the normally goofy morning anchors recite news bulletins with strained voices. All I knew was that the World Trade Center had been attacked. By the time I came back out to my car an hour later, the towers had fallen, the Pentagon attacked and a plane had possibly crashed in Pennsylvania.

My parents had vivid memories of Pearl Harbor, which happened eleven years before I was born. World War II felt like ancient history to me in the 60’s, but it wasn’t. I remember the day Kennedy was shot, a lifetime ago. And now I wonder if 9/11 feels like that to others: a lifetime ago.

The fifteenth anniversary of 9/11 is the Sunday after Labor Day. There will be tributes and parades, speeches and hours upon hours of documentaries. We might be tired of it all, but there is a generation for whom this is new. They may or may not learn about it in school. They may or may not have visited the sites in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania. It doesn’t matter. History isn’t limited to specific locations. It’s experienced by us all.

Tell them where you were when you heard what happened. Tell them what you think of when you remember that time. Tell them about the non-stop TV coverage and why you watched (or didn’t). Tell them stories about the bravery of first responders and volunteers whose health was destroyed searching for survivors and remains. Tell them about those who died that day. Tell them how the entire country pulled together, though briefly, after the attacks.

It’s up to us, the ones who remember, to share those memories. Don’t let politics get in the way. Just tell your story and answer their questions about the horrific events on that clear, blue Tuesday. And never forget the friends we lost.

 

 

Friend Grief and 9/11: The Forgotten Mourners is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, The Grief Toolbox and Indiebound. For pricing on classroom orders, contact me at victoria@victorianoe.com

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The Kindness of Strangers

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Writing is as solitary a profession as anyone can imagine: just you and your pen/paper/computer/typewriter. But no one, no matter how good they are, truly does it alone.

I knew when I started writing that I would have to ask for help. Normally, I like figuring things out on my own, but this was different. The publishing world was changing so fast that it was mind-numbing. It still is. So I risked looking stupid – though I was – and asked questions. A lot of questions. Sometimes I was embarrassed to ask but I did anyway (thank God for email so I didn’t have to look them in the eye).

I am constantly amazed by the willingness of people to help me – people I don’t know. Sometimes they’re speakers at an event. Sometimes they’re other writers.

Help.

A stranger.

That was not something I expected when I started writing. I expected it to be competitive (it is), grueling (ditto), even cutthroat (at times). But I’ve also found that it’s a generous, supportive community.

Sometimes I’m contacted by friends of friends on Facebook who have heard about the book I’m writing and want to help (Fag Hags, Divas and Moms: The Legacy of Straight Women in the AIDS Community). I had meetings in New York recently with representatives of AIDS-related organizations. I requested the appointments and they graciously made time in their busy lives. Not only were they in full support of the project, but offered to contact women for me to interview. They followed up our meeting within hours. Two meetings will result in no fewer than eight interviews.

At the moment I’m almost paralyzed thinking about the work necessary to write this book. Not just ‘how will I ever get to all of them?’ (an impossible task) but ‘how will I do them justice?’

I don’t have an answer yet for the first question, but last night, as I prepared to do a reading of my latest book – Friend Grief and Men: Defying Stereotypes – I realized I have the answer to the second:

I’ll listen.

Just like I did with my series, I’ll listen to their stories and recount them as best I can. They’re eager to share their experiences in the AIDS community – some from the early days, some later on – and how it changed their lives. They’re eager to talk about what brought them in and kept them in. They’re eager to talk about the personal price they paid, both physical and emotional, for devoting their lives to a cause that many insisted was “not about them”.

That’s the most important thing I can do: listen. Give them a safe, supportive, nurturing space to tell their stories. Then do my damnedest to prove to the world that they made a difference.

And through it all I expect to continue to, in the words of Amanda Wingfield, depend on ‘the kindness of strangers’.

 

 

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From Mentee to Mentor – How Did That Happen?

David Baldacci, #WDC16 keynote speaker

Last weekend was my sixth Writer’s Digest conference in New York (I also attended one in LA). This year, for the first time, there was a way for attendees to connect pre-conference.

The organizers set up a Facebook group accessible only to those who had registered for the intense three days. The moderators were able to share information on logistics (the end point of the Dominican Day parade in front of the hotel on Sunday meant traffic issues for those trying to leave town), dress codes, nearby restaurants, etc. Many if not most of those who posted were first-time attendees quietly – or not so quietly – panicking about the Pitch Slam. If you’ve never pitched a book at a conference, it’s a lot like speed dating: 90 seconds to describe your book, 90 seconds for the agent to respond, then you move on to another agent. It’s exciting but exhausting for agents and authors alike.

I remember all too well how I felt in 2011. I knew no one there. All I knew pre-conference was that tweeting was encouraged, so on the way there, I set up a Twitter account. I was pitching, though it was painfully clear to me that I was clueless. In fact, I cringe when I think about how little I knew then.

But we all have to start someplace. I was determined to make friends and I did. An unlikely group of people who’d been strangers before that weekend fell in together by Saturday afternoon. After the Pitch Slam we met in the lobby at the Starbucks-that-turned-into-a-bar-at-5:00pm for a drink before heading out to 9th Avenue in search of a restaurant that would seat our very energetic group of eight.

I was a sponge that weekend, soaking up every word, every suggestion, every idea. A week later I started a blog and then a Facebook author page. I took an online class on platform from one of the speakers, Dan Blank. In that class I made more friends who have accompanied me on this journey.

I decided at the start of this unlikely adventure that I would always be willing to ask for help and I did. I still do. But by the time I walked into the Hilton on Thursday evening, I realized I was being sought out for advice, too.

Because I’d been to the conference before, I shared experiences and suggestions in the Facebook group. And once there – in lines, sharing a table, riding the elevator – I tried to ease the minds of those around me who were scared to death.

I told them to take a deep breath and asked about their books. I assured them that Pitch Slam would be a breeze compared to the set-up five years ago. I reminded them the whole point of the conference was that the organizers, speakers and agents were there to help them. I encouraged them to seek out sessions that were out of their genre, because they’ll learn something that will make them better at their craft. And I promised that they would make deep friendships with other writers they meet at the conference.

My reward after Pitch Slam, courtesy of Mr. Softee

I think it was Saturday night after I pitched my new book to five agents (all want a full proposal) when I realized I knew very few people there. My usual roommate was unable to make the trip. Others I look forward to seeing also had schedule conflicts. The friends I did meet up with had been friends since the beginning almost six years ago. We bonded over work, but realized early on we just really liked each other.

I’m lucky that way, incredibly lucky. It’s not to say I haven’t met any jerks or encountered people who were out to scam me. I have. But these friendships have kept me going time and again.

“Not everyone knows what you know” is something I tell people a lot. We forget how stupid we were. We think we always knew what we know now. And we assume everyone else knows, too. So I felt obligated to share what I knew with those were just as terrified as I was five years ago. It makes a difference to have your fears acknowledged and eased, especially when you’re pursuing a dream that most people would not.

On my daughter’s first day of kindergarten, a first-grade girl walked up and introduced herself. She showed her around the playground and helped ease her anxiety. The following year my daughter did the same thing for a kindergarten girl.

You were probably that nervous kindergartener at your first writing conference. That’s to be expected. Just don’t forget that we can all be that little first-grade girl for writers who are where we were not so long ago.

 

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“Are You Straight?” – Researching My Next Book

NYPL Library for the Performing Arts

All of the Friend Grief books required research. I knew I couldn’t rely only on personal interviews because there were some celebrities I wanted to include, as well as people I could not travel to meet. Truth be told, I like doing research. I feel a sense of accomplishment when I find what I’m looking for. I get really jazzed when I uncover a gem.

 

But this next book…well, the research is on a whole different level.

Fag Hags, Divas and Moms: The Legacy of Straight Women in the AIDS Community looks at the contributions of these women through the 35 years of the epidemic. I made a few decisions early on that are driving the book:

This book would not be about me. I’m one of those straight women in the AIDS community, but my experience is mine alone. Every woman has a different story.
My research would include women around the world, not just the US.
The book will cover the entire timeline of the epidemic.
Women will be included who are HIV-positive.

It’s a daunting project, isn’t it? I figured out a few months ago that I will never be able to include every woman, or even 1% of the women who deserve to have their stories told. I expect there will be more than 100 in the book who will represent all those who are still not known by name. I definitely can’t do this alone.

Brooke Russell Astor Reading Room for Rare Books and Manuscripts

I’ve made a lot of new friends already. I walked into the Brooke Russell Astor Reading Room at the New York Public Library last week and one of the research librarians smiled, “You’re back.” People I’ve never met – friends of friends on Facebook – have sent me messages with the names and contact information of women they want me to interview. It’s humbling to realize that strangers trust me to get this right.

The odd part, as I told someone today, is that I have to ask “are they straight?” Honestly, I don’t care about anyone’s sexual orientation. But for the purposes of the book, I have to care. It has led to a couple of funny/awkward moments when recommendations were suddenly withdrawn: “Oh, I forgot, they’re not straight.”

Still, I’m enjoying this part of the process immensely. I like finding out all the ways straight women made a difference, especially in the first 15 years of the epidemic. I thought I knew a lot, having been a fundraiser then. But I’m learning so much about talented, passionate women fighting for the lives of their friends and family members.

I’m halfway through a two-week trip to New York, spending most of my time accessing archives at the library and meeting with organizations to set up interviews for later this fall. It’s moving forward, though slower than I would like. This book scares the hell out of me, but not enough to abandon it.

I feel a deep responsibility to get it right, to do justice to the women who stepped in during the plague years and remain passionate today; women around the world who ignored the insistence that AIDS wasn’t “about them” and concentrated on saving lives.

There will be other books, I’m sure, and hopefully a documentary or two that will give these women the recognition they deserve. But for now, whenever someone asks why I’m writing this book, I’m just going to say:

“Because it’s time.”

 

 

Now would be a good time for you to sign up for my email newsletter (on the right-hand side of this page). My subscribers get all the news first and there will be a lot of news about this book coming in the next few weeks.

 

 

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