Blank

by Zibby Owens

It wasn’t fair that talent didn’t equate success, that some wildly popular authors weren’t the best at their craft, whereas some gifted novelists sold, like, two copies of their book. To their parents.

I swear I used to be nice. Calm, happy, cheerful. My smile even lit up the room. A small room. But work and kids were wearing me down. I knew I would regret this outburst in about three minutes and then feel guilty throughout their entire school day. But I just couldn’t control myself. My frustration. At everything.

it’s not a vacation with kids; it’s a trip.”

Publishing a blank novel would be a commentary on the literary world. I could say that I was addressing the reader’s almost nonexistent attention span. To keep the reader’s attention, they’d have to be able to read the words in, well, no time. To read this book, they wouldn’t have to do anything! They could buy it and immediately say they’d read it. Post it on FabulousReads.com. And if it was popular, that would be a commentary on the randomness of the industry.

“Does anyone really finish a book anymore—and does it matter? I feel like most people fake it. They just nod when people talk about the books they’re reading, like, ‘Oh yes, wasn’t that great?’ And honestly I don’t blame them. It’s not their fault. There are eight million other things competing for their attention. Phones have short-circuited our brains. I can’t even get my kids to watch a movie. Or even a TV show. It’s, like, so old school. If it’s not on TikTok or YouTube, it’s like it doesn’t exist.”

“Imagine someone just came up with the idea of reading. Like, ‘Hey, let’s launch a product with no pictures, just words and letters. To enjoy it, you have to sit in one place and stare at it for hours, and then the whole story will slowly unfold just to you inside your brain. It might take you months to find out what happens in the end. It’s a completely solitary endeavor and you can’t do anything else at the same time. Oh, and you need to purchase it up front, hoping you’ll like it. But if you don’t, there’s no refund. Sorry! And there are literally millions of other products that look basically identical—some are great and some are terrible, and there’s almost no way to know ahead of time. Good luck. Go spend thirty dollars!’”

That’s what books are supposed to do: connect readers to authors. Readers to each other. That’s why book clubs are so popular! It’s like that mural on Montana: ‘Stories are best when shared.’”

It’s hard to be close to an alcoholic. There was always something more important than me.

Life doesn’t usually fall apart dramatically like in the movies with montage clips and boxes being packed and decisions made on the spot. Life falls apart slowly. It drips and sags like a balloon deflating, air escaping no matter what you try to do. It circles the drain and causes pain in everyday moments, loading the dishwasher suddenly as sharp as a stab wound. It falls apart in glances. The empty master bed. Passports snuggled up together in a drawer. Family albums. All of it dissipated. Loss is not just what’s gone in the present but all of the future plans. The trips booked. The imagined graduation events. The holidays not celebrated together. Life falls apart in shudders, in emails from lawyers, drained bank accounts, trips to the ATM, new forms to fill out at the pediatrician, new boxes to check. Life falls apart in music stations no longer listened to, restaurants not gone to, food no longer eaten, dishes not ordered. Habits. Clothes. Preferences. Washed away. The race of life shifts off balance and collapses, the race suddenly over, one runner alone in the field wondering what happened. Life falls apart in concert tickets not redeemed, in-laws that become distant, love evaporating everywhere. Life falls apart in the shattered glass of what you thought would happen, who you thought would love you, who would be there as you made parenting decisions. In death, there is no choice. In divorce and deception, it’s all preventable. And yet, it isn’t. Abandonment. Unavaila...

As long as the emails were out of my inbox, it was almost as if I’d taken care of them already. And yet . . . no.

“Becoming a bar mitzvah is about becoming a man. I now know what kind of man I want to be when I grow up. The kind of man I’m already starting to become. I also know the kind of man I don’t want to be.”

“For one thing, I’m going to help more around the house.”

“And I’m going to learn how to operate every electronic device. But what I’m really going to do is remember to be there for the people I love. Being a man to me means being a sensitive and kind leader; helping everyone in my family; achieving my potential at whatever professional endeavor I choose; treating everyone, women in particular, with enormous respect; and never taking things for granted. “Being a man means helping my community, giving back, and making positive changes. It means being a steward, passing along the faith and traditions to my own children. Being a man to me means tolerance, strength, love, and sacrifice. I’ve learned a lot from my family, the good and the bad. The real gift of my bar mitzvah is learning what kind of man I need to be—and how to become a mensch. “So thank you. Thank you to everyone who showed me what I do—and don’t—want to be like. Thank you

I hadn’t done any of it with expectations. Mothering is just what I did from the heart, from the soul. It’s who I was and who I am.

Marriage is a mix. Some days are warm, easy, loving. Other days you want to strangle the person because they’ve taken five minutes too long in the shower. But at the base of it all is trust, respect, affection, kindness. “The real trick is being with someone who brings out the best in you, who sees you—well, not in the way my old boss, Michael, saw me; that’s a story for another time—and makes you the best version of yourself. Someone who makes you feel safe so you can take risks, explore new places, conquer new challenges. That’s what’s important. And that’s not anything you can find in a social media post.”

You just have to know what you’re looking for and who you are. And you have to believe you’re going to find the right one. It might take a lifetime, but your person is waiting. There are so many people all over the world! They might not be in your dorm or even in California, but if you keep an open mind, look everyone in the eye, smile, be kind, be open, and see who else is enjoying the things you love, you just might find the ones who count. And give yourself the respect to not let anyone take advantage of you. I learned that the hard way.”

“I’d say don’t settle, Zoe. If you feel like you’re being silenced or taken advantage of or abused or anything, press the escape hatch. And then call me so I can beat the person up. I think that for every asshole out there, there are ten nice people. Life is short. But if you’re with the wrong person, boy, can it feel long.”

“Look for kindness,” Josh went on. “Search for those moments of connection where you feel like you’ve known someone forever even though you’ve just met them. And be patient.”

Maybe life was a little more out of my control than I liked to believe. Maybe things like writing or falling in love didn’t always happen exactly when I wanted them to. But once I stopped trying so hard to force them, the universe delivered. And the moments I least expected became the best stories of all.