Hilary Fields's Blog, page 6

Death, Divorce, and Moving… On?

Today would have been my mother’s seventy-fourth birthday, had she not died of pancreatic cancer three and a half years ago. Eight weeks ago, my father died of lung cancer at the age of seventy-six. And just under a month ago, my husband asked me for a divorce.

Last weekend, he moved the rest of his stuff out, leaving dents in the carpets where his bookshelves used to be, and deep grooves in my heart where the little, kindly routines of our lives were supposed to intersect.

I wake up wanting to tell him about that weird dream I had, or an idea for how to get the cat to stop drinking out of my bedside water glass… and I stop short, remembering.

Gone.

What do I do now with all the little in-jokes, the puns, the cutesy phrases I made up just to make him smile? How could I ever again look at the dedication page of BLISS, where I thanked him so effusively for being my partner, without feeling like a schmuck?

The reasons for the split are all valid, even if the timing was awful. But that doesn’t make my feelings now any less bewildered, my panic each morning when I wake up and realize I’m on my own diminish.  No mom, no dad, no emergency contact.

Just me.

Well, me and three cats who don’t care if their person is grieving.

You better get up NOW, two-legs, and put kibble in that-there bowl. Never mind that it’s 6am and you just got to sleep at 2.

So I’m sitting in what was supposed to be my dream life, kind of shell-shocked, trying to figure out how I’m ever going to feel joy again. Trying to understand where everything went so wrong, and knowing it wasn’t the fault of some mustachioed villain, unless you want to call life itself a villain. Trying to write a next chapter, literally as well as metaphorically, and failing utterly to imagine a happy ending.

I can’t control cancer. I can’t control other people’s behavior. And honestly, right now, I can only control mine about a third of the time. I sit down to write, and I just weep. I try to be graceful or gracious about the split, and I end up acting like a twit and saying passive-aggressive crap that purely appalls me even as I fail to rise above it. I put one foot in front of the other but half the time I’m drowning in quicksand no matter how furiously I slog on.

I see the daffodils in town begin to blossom and their yellow crowns make my heart clutch. My mom was a flower fanatic, and each year around her birthday when the forsythia and the tulips and the daffs and crocuses would reemerge, she’d gloat like she was personally responsible. I wonder what she would say to me now? I think she’d be mad that I’ve managed to alienate my handsome goyishe husband. Tsk her tongue at me for hiring an accountant to do the estate taxes instead of handling them on my own.

Would she be proud of me at all in this moment? I honestly can’t ever recall her saying such words to me. (It was always, “Oh, you got an article published in the Huffington Post? That’s great… but too bad they don’t pay!)

At least I know I’ve done as much as she could have, given the same circumstances, and that’ll have to suffice.

As for my dad… right now if illness hadn’t intervened, he’d be gearing up for April in Paris with his new girlfriend, planning to enjoy some good cheese and wine and art and hobble down the left bank best he could on gimpy legs.  Instead, the new, monogrammed Tumi suitcases he never got to use sit in my closet, waiting for my next venture.

Whatever that may be.

Tagged: cancer, death, divorce, grief, loss, writing

Why I haven’t written

Why haven’t I written? The short answer is, my father died a few weeks ago. So I haven’t written any blog entries, twitticisms, or posted on my Facebook page.

I also haven’t worked on Book Two.

I haven’t written, I haven’t written, I haven’t written. I have had no desire to write. I have had no desire to do anything but eat cheese and watch bad television.

So, 5 pounds heavier and no lighter of heart, I sit here three and a half weeks after my father’s last breath, wondering who the hell I am and what the hell I want in the future. In a few months’ time I must decide whether to stick it out in Santa Fe another year, or move back to New York City, or find some other thing to do with my life and some other place to do it in.  In three months’ time I ought to be delivering a finished book to my publisher.

Shit, where’s that cheese?

I still feel overwhelmed, and underwhelmed, anything but whelm-whelmed. My relationship with my father was challenging, but now that he’s not here I feel so unmoored, yet so much more expected to be an adult, like a title magically conferred without any sort of education or preparation.

I fret that the history of our family, its identity, is in danger of vanishing, and my brother and I are its only witnesses, only carriers. Is it worth carrying? Ought it all to be forgotten? Does it make me a different person to no longer have this father, that mother?

What I know is that my heart is low, my interest in llamas and alpacas and charming little fictitious New Mexico towns is nil, and yet I have to get back to the business of life, preferably before I cause an international cheese shortage. I wish it were easy. I wish I could slide into the next phase of my life. But right now that’s not the case.

So bear with me. Happier updates to come.

PS – One bright spot: I can report that Dad’s two cats are settling happily into their new home in Seattle with a loving forever-guardian who will look after them well.

Tagged: adulthood, death, family, grief, sadness, writing

Head in the Game, I’ve Got Alpacas to Tame!

So much has been happening with my family this past month or so that it’s been tough to focus on Book 2.  Health issues with my nearest and dearest have been a worry and a distraction, though I’m happy to say it seems we may have a respite for a little while now.  But I can’t let the story slip from my grasp.  I mean, c’mon! These lovelies are waiting to have their tale told!

Three little alpacas are we…

It’s odd how I’ve chosen to weave a story that is, itself, so much about tying things together. From fiber to finished product, my story needs to knit so many themes, be cozy and comfortable, and have lasting strength. But last night I dreamed I was in a yarn shop that no longer sold yarn! All that was left were souvenirs and junk no one could use. I hope that’s more anxiety than omen. In my mind, Merry’s tale is so vivid, her character so alive. Now it’s my responsibility to make sure my readers see the same things I do. Studly Sam needs my attention. Dolly the Llama Lady needs my attention. Jane and Marcus and Mazel Tov and Steve Spirit Wind and Needlepoint Bob all need my attention. Buddha and Severus and all the other beasties in the book need my attention.

And I so want to be there. There’s nothing better than when you’re deep in the world of your novel, crafting. Nothing better than being surprised and set on your heels by unexpected ideas and events that just make the whole book more delightful. That’s why I write. That’s why I want to write. But I need to have the head space to let creativity in. And that means letting stress out.

So let’s howl a big ol’ OHMMMMMM! and get to work.  Cheers, friends.

Tagged: anxiety, creativity, novel, stress, writing

Who Knew? I’m a Ham!

Last night I had the privilege of reading and signing copies of my novel BLISS at the venerable Collected Works Bookstore here in Santa Fe. (It is the premiere indie bookstore in town, woo hoo!) The owner Dorothy made me most welcome, and the very talented Candace Walsh, who wrote the memoir Licking the Spoon, was kind enough to introduce me.

Allowing the BLISS to wash over me, all windswept-like.

I wore my favorite Anthropologie dress, and a pair of heels that hurt the hell out of my feet, but even so armored, I was quite nervous! My mouth was dry as dust, and my hands were trembling.  Until I stepped on the little stage, coughed into the mic, and started to read…

Me at the podium (ie, giant spatula-like thing)

It took me a few sentences, but pretty soon I was really enjoying myself!  I even started doing some of my characters’ voices and gestures, drawing out lines for suspense…

Getting into the swing of things

And I felt rather saucy! I mention this only because I’m the last person who enjoys having a spotlight on her. My husband is an actor, and I’ve always admired his ability to lay it all out there on stage, while feeling “oh, I could never do that myself!” I’m a classic, garden variety introvert, and I like to be appreciated for my wit on the page, rather than the stage. But I do have to confess, it was a blast hearing people’s reactions to my words; getting the meaning across just the way I wanted it to be received, and getting instant feedback in the form of laughter and smiles.

Rapt audience?

And after I knocked ‘em dead with chapter 4 (ok, mildly amused them), Candace did a little interview with me and I totally didn’t make a massive ass of myself.

Q&A with Candace after the reading

I wouldn’t say this public speaking stuff is my forte, but I will say that it was a surprisingly fun time, and I’m looking forward to more!

Me hamming it up with BLISS

Tagged: bliss, booksigning, bookstore, novel, reading, santa fe, writing

Book Signing in Santa Fe!

Hey folks, just a quickie reminder, Tuesday January 14th at 6pm I’m doing a reading and signing at Santa Fe’s premiere independent bookstore, Collected Works! Come out and listen to me as I practice my best plumy, resonant, and hopefully not too absurd authorial voice while I read juicy bits from BLISS!

Deets below:

Collected Works Bookstore

Tuesday, January 14th at 6pm

202 Galisteo Street

Santa Fe, NM 87501

Reading, signing, and Q&A!

Learn more about the event on Facebook…

Tagged: bliss, book signing, booksigning, collected works, events, novel, reading

Overwhelmed and Grateful

Since I posted my kitty cri de coeur two days ago, I’ve been flooded with amazing advice, offers, and info about how to help place my father’s cats when the time comes. It’s almost overwhelming, and I am so touched and grateful for the support. I have a ton of new resources and some very generous offers to sort through now, and one potentially perfect possible scenario, all of which will help enormously.  Now I need to do some legwork, and also focus my attention on my family situation, but I shall update the blog with news when all becomes clear.

With thanks from Mr. Darcy, Mr. Knightley, and myself.

Darcy & Knightley as Kittens

Tagged: cat adoption, gratitude, kitties

My Father’s Cats

Six years ago, Mom and I went to the ASPA and brought home two tiny gray kittens. Mom was facing a terrible diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, and the house felt lifeless and stifling, as if no joy would ever visit again. Mom knew she might not be able to enjoy them long, but I think she hoped my dad would find them a comfort after she passed.

Mom with Darcy and Knightley

Darcy and Knightley flopped out

She named them Mr. Darcy and Mr. Knightley because she was probably the biggest Jane Austen fan ever.

They really tie the room together

The two of them grew up to be real gentlemen; Knightley with a distinctive blaze on his nose, Darcy with the teeniest white dot on his otherwise coal-black coat, as if he sported a pearl cravat pin.

In the way of things, Mom succumbed to the disease two years later.  The cats were by her bedside during hospice care at home, listening quietly as I read Pride and Prejudice to her during her last days.  She called them her “walking flowers” for their dainty elegance, the way they brightened her life.  And, indeed, after she was gone they were a comfort to my dad.

Knightley at Dad’s feet

They are still, as he now battles stage-four lung cancer.  Knightley sits between his feet on his comfy chair.  Darcy plays fetch with his toy squeaky mouse. They brighten the house with their inquisitive little noses sticking into everything, the way they’ll butt you with their heads for attention.

But now their fate is uncertain, just as my father’s is. The odds are not in Dad’s favor, and he’s worried for the cats after he’s gone. How do I find a home for them, at their age? I live 2,000 miles away; I have three other cats and no way to take them in. None of Dad’s friends can take them. We’re looking into rescue organizations, but grown kitties aren’t in the same demand as kittens. I know they’d make some family wonderful companions, and they’ve already been such kind and gentle supports to two elderly people in need of love. It’s a sad situation, and one I hope can find resolution soon.

So if you’re based in NYC, and you might be willing, or know someone who is; think of us.  In a few weeks or months we may need your help.

Tagged: cancer, cat adoption, cats, hospice, kittens, older cat adoption, parents

Happy New Year! I’m Still Here!

Hey friends. Apologies for dropping the ball (not the new year’s eve ball, the proverbial ball) and failing to update le blog. I’ve been visiting with family in NYC and things have been nutty.  (I have a new nephew!)  But today, I’m happy to share that I’ve got a new interview up on a blog called LitJuice, and I’m chatting about my writing process, crafting characters and the like, so check it out here if you care to look.  I think it came out pretty well.

Meanwhile, I’m neck-deep in book 2, brewing up romance, shenanigans, and mishaps for Merry Manning to hurdle. Latest drama: the centipede from hell!

Stay tuned for more updates, and happy new year to all.

Tagged: blog, craft, interview, new year, writing

When in doubt, add hippies

The last few weeks of writing haven’t been fun. I’d like to claim writing is always some awesomely artistic endeavor, lifting you high on wings of inspiration as your fingers float languidly over the keys. When that happens–whoopie! I remember why I decided this career was a better idea than, say, hamster-wrangling.  When it doesn’t… I turn surly.

I’ve spent the past several writing sessions combing over pages I’ve already written, re-drafting, searching for inconsistencies in theme, plot, characterization. It’s necessary work, but it ain’t the stuff we writers dream of when we don our turtlenecks and berets in the morning. For me, at least, it leads to self-doubt, angst, anguish, and psychic constipation.

Is this book gonna be as good as the last?

Do I know what the everloving fuck I am doing?

Is that job at the hamster-hut still open?

Today, I took a break from the fine-tooth comb crap, and got back to what makes me happy–silly, wacky, totally expectation-free exploration.  And what did I end up with? Naked hot spring hippies, a rainbow-colored school bus, and one very stoned heroine.

And a happy writer, who got to goof off, while doing exactly what she’s supposed to do for a living.

Tagged: exploration, fiction, novel, self-doubt, writing

Cupcake Hangover

Self-Serve Booksigning

Well, yesterday was a blast. It was my first time exploring a female-friendly, totally empowering sex shop, and the staff at Self Serve were amazing. (The fabulous Hunter Riley taught me more about the pelvic floor and the perils/pleasures of Ben Wa balls than I ever expected to know…)  I set up with my sweets, I read from my book, I surprised a couple customers (hopefully pleasantly) and all-in-all had a good time. I don’t yet have another event scheduled until January 14th, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit out there, so it’s a good time to settle in and work on Book 2, which features zero sex toys but lots of fluffy farm animals. Thanks to those who came out to support me, and wish me luck eating the leftovers!

Tagged: pelvic floor