Introducing...my newsletter

So I sent out my first newsletter this evening and promise to make it as interesting as possible. Of course in order to do that I will have to stop thinking so much about myself.


I know, there's a fine line between keeping people up to date on what's going on with my book and becoming...self-obsessed. So stop me if it all becomes just a little too much like a vanity project. Whenever I put together updates I'm reminded of that old joke about what it is like to talk to an actor. After they have gone on and on about themselves they say, "Enough about me talking about me, what do you think about me?"


If you are currently hooked on anything interesting or have any cool stuff on your hot list, feel free to email me or post a comment. I'm always on the lookout for inventive ways to waste time.

A Googling Fit?

Have you ever had one? It starts with a small bit of downtime, an Internet connection, a device and browser. You don't have enough time to check mail or do real work so you think...hmm...I wonder what ever happened to? And there you go...

You're Googling.

I have to admit this is one of the reasons why I love the Internet so much. It's the electronic equivalent of driving by someone's house to see if they're home. I'm not sure what having that knowledge did for me in high school anymore than I understand why it's so rewarding to discover my old high school lab partner has lost all his hair. I guess it's a way of confirming that the past may be past but it is far from over.

I wonder what it will be like for the generation behind me that is growing up online? Perhaps my generation will be the last one that will really and truly break up with someone and never hear from them again. What will that do to the nature of heartbreak? Will it lessen it or make it worse? I'm not sure it would have helped me to know that one of my great loves not only got married right after we broke up but put up a website of his wedding photos. (Looking at the site was the emotional equivalent of staring at a car wreck, you don't want to but you can't help yourself.)

As if that wasn't bad enough, a year later I see the happy couple's response to an evite from a mutual friend that said they would be there if they could find a babysitter. (Thank God they didn't post the baby pictures.) The proximity of our breakup, their marriage and the arrival of a little one made me rethink our whole relationship (as if I hadn't already beaten it to death.)

Back in the day, I wouldn't have known they were invited until I showed up and saw them there (or didn't show out of fear they would be there.) Now, I not only know that they're invited, I get the play by play about whether or not they're coming and what they will be bringing.

I realized that a big factor in me getting over someone was the feeling that they dropped off my radar completely (no I've never been one of those people who could stay friends -- maybe ten years later but not right after.) I settled for imagining what their life was like without me, I didn't need to know they were "working for the weekend" on Facebook. It used to be you collected their things in a box and that was closure -- now you have to consider when you will remove them as a friend in Facebook or unlink them on Linkedin, not to mention removing their contact info from every mobile device you own.

You could make the argument that there is nothing really passive at all about being online. It may be easier to get connected, it's infinitely harder to disconnect.

So whether mourning the loss of a relationship or trying to shake a friend, the reality of achieving closure may not lie in dropping off their radar, it may force you to actually "transition" instead of "dumping." Hmmmm...I'm not sure how to do that especially when the other person can transition so publicly.

When my oldest nephew went through a painful breakup with his high school girlfriend a few years back I told him she was probably as upset as he was. He said, "she's not. Her Facebook profile already says she's in a relationship."

"Maybe she hasn't updated it from you yet," I replied.

"She posted a picture of her kissing the blue haired kid," he answered.

"Wow," was about all I could muster.

It's not all stomach pains and sadness...sometimes a googling fit leads you to something really wonderful.

The other night I had a dream about a family friend who was a photographer. He came into my life in my early teens and was very influential in introducing me to many wonderful things. His example and advice helped me make some really good life choices. I googled him and found his website and took a few moments to go through his portfolio.

There were no pictures of him or his family, no updates on what he has been up to, no blog entries, nothing except shots of his work. It was even more powerful than I had remembered. His connection to me was through my father as they shared a passion for the labor movement. It was clear he had never lost the passion. I eyed the contact link and thought about touching base but decided that for now, it was enough to spend time with his work.

That my friends, was time well spent.

On the Scent...

It started with tropical storm Hannah.

I had a blockage in my air intake on my car (that's what my mechanic THINKS it is) which caused the gush of water from the storm to back up into the passenger side of my car.

I mopped up the water (yes mopped it out -- that's how much water was in there) and dried it with a blow dryer. About a day later I got an engine malfunction warning and the indicator light on my transmission was flickering. Not a good sign.

$1200 later I had to have the computer chip in the car replaced as it got flooded because -- who knew the computer chip to the car was on the passenger floor? (Who thought that was a good design choice? Doesn't water get in cars often enough?)

So...it would seem the car was fixed, I'm out some serious scratch but hey, all is well that ends well, right?

Wrong.

I pay the $1200 ransom and open the car door to get hit with an overwhelming smell of industrial car freshener. You know, how the store area of a car wash smells or the inside of some cabs? You might like that smell but I'm allergic to scent, especially strong industrial ones. I know my mechanic was trying to be nice by putting the carpet freshener in the car as he was concerned about a musty smell but it's kind of like using napalm to roast a marshmallow.

I got in the car and tried to crack the window as much as I could in the pouring rain and start driving out east. If I could have driven with the windows wide open and my head outside I would have. My head starts to throb, eyes water, throat gets all sore...not fun.

Then I feel water dripping on my toes as I drive. I think I'm crazy, just imagining the drip but I'm not. I reach down to feel the passenger side carpet...oh I don't have to tell you.

When I get to my house I have to shower to get the scent off me (it's that strong -- like when I would kiss my grandma Coyne and smell moth balls for the rest of the day) and put my clothes in the hamper (yup they smell like it too!)

Saturday I sponge up the water and start blow drying the carpet (don't want to get that computer chip wet again!) I'm in an odd position as I'm drying, kind of half in, half out of the car. The car doors are open and unbeknown to me so is my front screen door. To someone walking by it might look like I ran (or crawled) out of my house and collapsed as I was trying to get in my car, Why do I think that? Because as I was blow drying the passenger side carpet I felt a tap on my shoulder and almost jumped through the sky roof. A lovely, fresh faced teenage girl asked me if I was okay. She had a look like she was ready to call 911. At first I didn't understand why she thought that until I sat up and saw the scene from her perspective.

"I'm fine. I'm blow drying my car carpet," I said. As if that would put her mind at ease. Yeah, I'm not dying of a heart attack, I'm just a crazy loon who lives on the main road who likes blow drying her car.

Trust me, that was the look she gave me.

"Put some baking powder on it," my friend Gina suggested.

"Put a container of vinegar in a bowl and run the air conditioning," the Internet said. (It feels like it speaks to me that's why I wrote in dialog.)

So I did both. Guess what happened?

The DRY PASSENGER CARPET got wet again, this time with baking soda on it. Oh and the vinegar fix started to work but made my car smell like pickles and industrial carpet freshener.
So where did this leave me? During one last gasp of Summer Sunday when the temperatures almost hit 90 -- I mopped the carpet back up and blew it dry again and drove back to the city with no AC and all the windows down.

I dropped it off at my mechanic on Monday and told him the news. He seemed surprised and kept saying how strange it all was. I had the beginnings of another headache (I get one whenever I get in the car now) and told him about my other problem with the scent.

He said he would fix it.

I wasn't sure which thing he would fix, the water?, the carpet which still isn't completely dry? the smell,? my headache? or the dark anxious feeling I get whenever something is wrong with my car?

I picked the car up yesterday, this time with a new windshield. Yup, the windshield that I had replaced a few weeks ago was leaking - that was the cause of the second round of dripping. I had to get another one -- yeah I know I could have gone back to the original guy and had him do it but frankly I wasn't confident it would be done right. So now I'm waiting for the rain, or a car wash (which I'm not allowed to do for a week) to see if the water problem is solved. The car still smells like carpet freshener but it's getting better.

I had a good think this morning as to why this whole mess with the car stressed me as much as it did. As I had said to a number of people, "it's not like this is my health or anything." So although it was annoying (and costly) it wasn't earth shattering.

That's when it hit me. Whenever I have a problem with my house or my car that I can't easily remedy I begin to feel like I am lost at sea with no chance of rescue. It's the loss of control. When everything is as it should be I don't question whether or not I can take care of myself, it just happens.

Over time I (like most of us) have adapted to the challenges of my childhood by making certain assumptions. My sense of security comes from being able to do things on my own. When something breaks that I can't fix I have to...oh god forbid...ask for help. I'm getting better at it but it still pushes me way out of my comfort zone.

Asking for help opens me up to the possibility that the answer might be, "no." I would rather do it myself than risk that disappointment. At least that's one of those assumptions I made years ago that I'm trying to change.

Here's the funny part though. When these things happen and I am forced to ask for help, the unequivocal, unanimous answer back is always "yes." Everyone from my mechanic, to my sister, my friends, Gina and Donna offered help and guidance. No one left me stranded, laughed at my anxiety or told me they couldn't help.

So I started with water in my car and have ended a little bit closer to shedding a useless assumption.

Disappointment be damned. Ask and ye shall receive.

The last title?

Over the years I have had to accept my many shortcomings. I'm not good at yard work, can't roll my rrrs (you know like Spanish speakers do) and cannot come up with book titles that anyone likes. (The list of my shortcomings is actually longer but I'm summarizing here...)


One of the first things I was told by one of my writing mentors, Masha Hamilton, was not to get to attached to your title. Like most good advice, I brushed it off as something that wouldn't happen to me but as I finished my novel I decided it might be wise heed that advice. It made sense, considering I had changed the title of my book twice myself. I sent my book out into the world with the title Chasing Venus.

In May of 2007, I was thrilled when I got the call from my agent that she wanted to represent me and wasn't upset when the most substantive piece of feedback I got was that she didn't like my title. When she asked how I felt about changing it I said, "sure." (I also gave myself a pat on the back for displaying a surprising lack of ego.)

In December of last year, we sold the book on the new title and for almost eight months I was thinking I had written a novel called Skin and Bones.

August 2008 brought a second round of edits and discussions with my editors about cover art and the relationship between the images and the title. "We think we might need to change the title," they said during a conference call.

"No problem," I said again giving myself another big pat.

Meetings were held, suggestions were made and suddenly I wasn't feeling so good anymore about titles. In fact I was feeling downright queasy. It was one thing to admit I didn't have a knack for titles, it was another to turn naming my book over to other people. I was left with that feeling of not knowing what I wanted but definitely knowing what I didn't like. (Sound like my previous post?) The one thing I can't stand at my job is working on a team with people who shoot down everyone else's' ideas but have none themselves. This was happening to me over my title. My editors and agent would make suggestions and I would wince like they were trying to feed me brussel sprouts. Still, I could not come up with anything.

Suddenly, the title meant everything and I was shocked at how easily I had let it go. By the time I got queasy it already felt too late.

It wasn't.

Although the process of changing the title only took about a week, it felt like a year. In a short time, the title was no longer something that helped me shape the story, nor was it the hook my agent found to help me find a publishing home, it was now a beacon that would lure a world of readers to the story.


It took me a while to realize that although the story was and always will be mine, the title was not mine alone. Writing may be solitary but bringing readers to your story is a team sport. (I'm still getting used to this.)

My team settled on The Last Bridge and although it wasn't the first, second or even third title it is the right one for now (notice how I didn't say it was the final one? I'm learning.) I am happy with it and now think of my other titles as nicknames we used as the story matured.

I'd like to say I've learned the art of "titling" through this process but I recently work shopped parts of my second novel to generally positive feedback. One of the main pieces of criticism was...you guessed it...the title.

A moment of slience for my past titles:
Walking the Plank
Chasing Venus
Skin and Bones

Click Here to Begin

The first thing I saw this morning as I powered on my laptop was this prompt. Although I see it everyday, it reminded me of an intense conversation I had last week with a friend about his life and how it is not what he wants it to be. There are two ways you can go with discussions like this, one is to listen and nod and say things like, “yeah, it sucks” or the other is to listen and shake your head and say, “change it.”

I’m not sure which is better. Although most of us believe our lives are good, occasionally it feels differently and that’s when you need a cocktail, a couch and some friends. It matters in those occasions to try to give some perspective but not a lot -- yes it’s true that being grateful is the best way to go but when you’re tired of having no personal space on the Long Island Railroad, it doesn’t help to be reminded of all the people in the world who sleep twelve to a bed. Besides comparing your lot to those less fortunate begs the question - Who are we to decide who is less or more fortunate? After all, happiness is relative.

The second approach, the “get off your ass and do something about it” is a little bit harder, especially if your friend is not looking for that kind of kick. People who need to vent don’t generally want solutions (ask any woman who has ever had to say to a man, “I don’t want you to fix my problems, just to listen to them!) If you’re fixer (like me) this is hard. I want to make it better – that’s my nature.

I’m not sure what the boundary is between listening and kicking someone in the butt. In my own life I am grateful for both as my process for change begins with venting, grows into disgust at the sound of my own complaining and evolves into making a change. I have always had a low tolerance for being unhappy for long stretches of time. This combined with my “fix it” quality eventually gets me moving in the right direction.

What is the right direction? Well it starts with being willing to change. Sounds simple but it can be hard. There are reasons you got to where you are and while some of those reasons may be easily understood some may be complex and require you to take a peak into that vast wondrous abyss of your past. You might have to slay a few dragons to get unstuck.

Here’s the good news, you can’t and don’t have to do it on your own. In fact, I strongly advise you not to. My theory is, if you’re a smart person and have had a problem for longer than you care to remember and haven’t been able to resolve it, you need help. Yes you need friends to support you but you need more than that. You need coaching, counseling, advice, whatever it takes to get you where you need to go. Oh and you need the courage to do it.

If you don’t know what you want, start with what you don’t want and go from there but do something! Gather all the resources at your disposal (remember the part about you being a smart person?) and solicit advice, ask questions, dig deep, slay the dragon.

Like the dawn of every new day and the humming of the computer booting up, change is constant and is necessary. We are the stories we tell, so tell a different story. I challenge you -- start now. Consider this your kick in the butt.