That jacket looks good on you...

I'm going to come clean -- I have had the artwork for my book jacket since early January. I haven't been holding out on you, honestly. My life has been a bit of a blur these past two months -- so much so that even I haven't had a chance to truly take it in. So allow me to gush.


Here are the top 10 things I like about my cover:

10. Cool blue. The blue on this jacket is so cool and scary and calming all at the same time.

9. ISBN Number. Sounds geeky but my book finally has its' own ISBN!

8. Excerpt on the back. You can't see it very well (that's intentional -- I don't want you to feel like you're getting the milk without buying the cow!)

7. The Ballantine Books logo on the spine. Makes it feel real!

6. The glossy smooth "hardcover jacket" feel of the paper

5. My title (who knew I would love it so much?)

4. My name on the spine.

3. My name on the cover.

2. The flap copy (see number 8 on why I'm not showing you that!)

and the #1 thing I love the most about my book cover!

1. IT'S THE COVER OF MY FIRST NOVEL!!!!!!!!!


Okay. I'm done gushing. I've folded the cover back up and put it away to gaze upon later. Back to work -- wait -- just one more look.

Conan the Librarian

I was raised to admire and respect a host of qualities in a person, while many of them are obvious, kindness, integrity, a sense of humor, etc., there was one that was held in the highest esteem by my father, he could forgive you for a lot of things, as long as you were well read.

To say he had a passion for books would be an understatement. My father collected them, talked about them, consumed them and shared them with anyone he came in contact with. Our house was filled from the basement to the furthest corners of the master bathroom with stacks of tomes, many of them opened and placed face down, waiting for my father to come back and pick up where he left off. Whenever my father entered his study (which was more like his small book warehouse) he would call out, "hello friends." (Full disclosure, he also said that when opening the refrigerator.)

My father could not tolerate idleness, if he found us sitting around, he would say, "what are you reading? Where is your book?" It didn't help that my mother was also an avid reader. During her summer breaks from teaching school, my mother would dive into her reading list and we would often talk about our stories having dinner on the patio. The summer of my sophomore year of high school I got hooked on an obscure series written about the French monarchy. My mother helped me track down the missing volumes through the Pittsburgh library system and even drove me to and from remote branches so I could finish the series.

Librarians and bookstore owners had a special place in my father's heart as he romanticized about a life with books (he always forgot about the customers!) and dreamt of having a bookstore with enough money to not have to worry about ever selling a single volume.

My father was a big, intimidating man. He could scare the pants off you with one quick stare. It was fitting then that my brother Shawn's friends gave him the nick name Conan the Librarian as it summed up both sides of his larger than life personality.

All of this came back to me when I saw the Summer 09 Catalog Random House sent out to librarians. I had a picture in my head of Miss Graham and all the librarians from my youth opening the catalog and wondering if the Teri Coyne they knew from so long ago was the same one who wrote The Last Bridge.

Or maybe there is a young volunteer, like me, who shelves books after school, who looked through the catalog and imagined what it would be like to see her book on one of those shelves (and also like me, wondered why the Dewey Decimal system is so damn complicated.)

Whoever you are, however you find it, consider yourself welcome and appreciated and if it were possible, my book would say "hello friend," right back at you.

Story Time

On Friday, I made good on a Christmas present I gave to my friend Gwyn and took her to the Story Corps booth at Foley Square in lower Manhattan to interview her as part of the StoryCorps project. As many of you know, this is one of my pet projects this year and one of my favorite organizations.

Gwyn and I have been friends since sophomore year of high school when we bonded in girls gym over a mutual aversion to running during soccer. Our friendship blossomed, and over the years we have ridden life's waves (some small ripples, others tsunami-like) and shared our stories.

The Story Corps booth is a small building that sits in front of the courthouse. There is a compact recording studio that just fits the equipment, facilitator and the interviewer and interviewee. After a brief sound check and directions, Nzingha, our facilitator gave us the go sign and the interview began.

At first it seemed like filling up 40 minutes of time would be hard but as Nzingha assured us, the opposite usually turns out to be true. It was, by the time she gave us the ten minute warning I felt like we had just gotten started.

Although Gwyn and I didn't talk about anything new, we also never had the chance to really talk about the details of some of the pivotal events in her life. I was struck by how my memory of some of the events in her life had glossed over a good deal of the reality. For instance when she talked about losing her sister and the trip to the hospital, I never realized that her kids were with her husband when he met her there. When she said that in the interview I thought, "of course they were, why don't you remember that?"

This is the most amazing thing about listening to someone tell a story, even if it is a shared event, there is always a fresh meaning to take from it, and a new way to understand.

Gwyn and I also talked about our friendship and what meeting each other at that time in our lives meant to us. Now that we are in our forties, that is something that is easier to see, and appreciate. It is hard to know now, or even imagine what road our lives would have taken had we not found each other on that soccer field over thirty years ago.

We wrapped up the interview and left a pile of used tissues in the basked (lots of crying -- apparently this happens at most of the interviews.) Nzingha took a photo of us as part of the project and burned a CD for Gwyn. We signed release forms to agree to have the recording entered into the Library of Congress and said our good-byes.

We left together. To the rest of the world we were just two women walking through the square, but to us, we were two friends who had taken the time to remember and cherish the gift of having each other.

Cat's Kitchen

I spent the day on Saturday doing a photo shoot for the website we're creating for The Last Bridge. The prep and planning leading up to it reminded me of many creative adventures I've had over the years when I had to ask friends and family to lend their time, homes, money and other props and goods. I guess I have a little of that Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland spirit in me where I tend to get enthusiastic about putting on a show. In this case it is bringing aspects of the book to life.

The concept is to provide a little more insight into my main character by showing you the contents of her purse. The purse is on a table, the table is in the kitchen of her childhood home. Sounds easy, right?

Wrong. The kitchen had to have a window over the sink, a door, old cabinets and a farmhouse feel. It needed to be located within the tri-state area and the owner needed to be open to letting us come in and shoot. Oh and we needed to find the kitchen in less than three weeks.

Enter, Larry. My friend Donna's retired downstairs neighbor and lovable pack rat. After sending out an email blast to friends we got some nibbles but none had ALL the elements. Then one morning while brushing my teeth I saw Larry's kitchen in my mind and realized he had it all. We just needed to convince him. That was Donna's job.

Once we had the kitchen Rose (my web designer) and I divided up the prop load. I got to work recreating the bag of legal documents Cat carries around -- including creating some fake medical tests, an old deed and birth certificates. (Thank you Internet!) Rose made a map tracing the route from New York to my imaginary town (see photo) and she even got her boyfriend Dave to represent the father's handwriting.

My friend Gwyn wrote the notes from Diana. Catherine recreated my mother's notes and I kept my terrible penmanship out of it. My friend Wileen gave me some help on places to find a kitchen and reminded me not to forget to feed my crew. Gina scouted a few locations out East and Denise offered me Craig's kitchen (and Craig let her!)

Best of all a young artist named Christopher Carrasco brought Cat's sketches to life -- they are sooo cool.

After we moved everything in Larry's kitchen, we created our "tableau." As I watched Rose shoot, I realized the items on the table spilling out of Cat's purse said as much about me as they did about her. I had another one of those weird moments when I realized I made Cat up and she was not going to talk through that door and ask me what the F*ck I was doing with her stuff.

If she had, I would have certainly taken her to Mama's which is where we ended the day with bowls of pasta and REALLY good garlic knots. Larry said he would let us use his kitchen any time we wanted.