Why Me? Why Now?

When I was an actor, friends and colleagues always told me, “You should put up a one-woman show.”

They said I was funny and told a great story. “Meh,” I’d answer. It’s not enough.” I resisted because to me, my life seemed normal. I hadn’t grown up fighting for food in a war-torn country. I’d never been to rehab. I’d never swum the English Channel.

“So,” they’d say. “You could do a whole show about that Jewish Argentine tennis pro. Or the Harvard dude who fancied himself French, and was a big wuss about his allergies. Or the time you got on a plane by yourself, and goofed around Guatemala for a month. Or how you illegally worked in your Grandma’s beauty shop when you were 13, and hid when the state inspectors came.”

I never did put up a one-woman show. And it’s kind of a shame. Because now I realize that any one of those ideas, spun out in my own voice, and told with authenticity would be worth listening to.

I’ve come to realize that there’s nothing new under the sun, really.

But! But… I personally LOVE hearing about other people’s trips to the fish market or the conversations they have with the wrong-number callers. As long as it’s a story told with a slant, an opinion, some emotion, and some stakes, it thrills me and makes me feel alive.

That’s the reason that my favorite favorite favorite thing in the world to do is read. And my next favorite thing to do in the world is write.

Boy meets girl never gets tired for me if the author is brave enough to infuse the tale with her unique hurts and triumphs. Me? I’ve been through some things. Now I’m that brave.

That’s the Why Me? part of why I’m posting this blog today.

So, what’s the Why Now? The world is becoming a less welcoming place. I won’t bring you down by listing all the ways. You know. It would be so easy for me to darken along with it.

I work hard to refresh my optimism. I watch funny movies. I hang around people with a sense of humor. I play.

And I mainline the kind of books people like to ghettoize by calling them Chick Lit or Rom Coms. Label them, don’t label them, don’t take them seriously, whatevs. Some say the genre is dead, but I’m seeing tender green shoots of renewal.

Publishing is changing by the hour. The emergence of smaller houses, e-book only publishers, and self-pubbing is fueling the proverbial phoenix. As they say, “Sisters are doin’ it for themselves.” And I greedily download and read (and pay for!) the Chick Lit I crave.

I also read (and re-read) traditionally published books by authors like Marian Keyes, Trisha Ashley, Jennifer Weiner, Helen Fielding, Claire Cook, and Sophie Kinsella. I do it constantly and voraciously. Always have.

And now, I write them.

What we’re talking about here are novels — works of fiction in which women triumph over adversity and enjoy a happy (or at least happier) ending.

For me, that’s what it’s all about.