FEMINIST is NOT a Dirty Word

After an author event a few weeks ago where I spoke about the importance of women to give voice to their stories, a woman came up to me and said it was refreshing to hear someone speak who was an unapologetic Feminist. “I hope you’re not offended by that,” she said.

“Offended?” I said, “I’m flattered.”

No matter how bad the connotation of the word Feminist gets in our culture, you will never, ever hear me say I am not one. In fact, you will never hear me say that I have moved beyond Feminism, (honestly what is beyond the true equality of the sexes?) And please, don’t start with me about how being a feminist makes me a man-hater. I’ll just yawn in your face out of boredom. You want to tell me women have achieved as much as men in this country, this contienent, this world? Then I will seriously have to ask you to pick up a paper and read it every now and then.

The mere fact that feminism is a term men and women shy away from should be enough of an example of how bad things have gotten. It’s like saying the civil rights movement made everything okay for African Americans – oh wait, some people believe that too don’t they?

Feminism is a hot button topic for me. Consider yourself warned. It has been since I was a young girl. No matter what the world has tried to teach me, I fervently believe that I am second to no one and that I have an unalienable right to make the same amount of money for doing the same job as a man or a gorilla.

I do not believe that men and women are the same in the way they see the world, approach relationships, business or their feelings. I don’t want to make men more feminine or women more masculine. I want the same pay for the same job. Let me rephrase that, I DEMAND the same pay for the same job.

I want to live in a world where women and children are not repressed, are not trafficked, sold, abused, degraded, oppressed or killed simply because they are women.

I want to live in a world where girls are not bombarded endlessly with images and expectations of perfection which are not only impossible to achieve but not worth achieving. Feeling beautiful is the essence of beauty and any woman over thirty knows that doesn’t happen with the right mascara.

Being pleasing does not give you happiness, turning yourself into an object of adoration denies your own humanity – why are we asking our girls to do that?

The truth is women are assaulted, molested, raped and abused at alarming rates. When bodies are found in unmarked graves, chances are they will be the bodies of women, and most likely they will be women who worked in the sex trade and lived a few blocks away from any address anyone cared about.

Many of the plots of TV shows, bestselling novels and movies revolve around the mutilation and murder of women. As if all the pampering, makeup and primping we get from these so-called “women’s magazines” is just preparation for becoming an ideal corpse.

I am a feminist and will be one until the day I die – and if I have done my job right I will leave behind a new generation of feminists who know the fight is not over, it is just beginning.

Look, the math here is simple, take care of women, you take care of the world. That makes me a feminist – what does that make you?

You Treat Others As You Treat Yourself

Years ago my sister said this to me during a time I was struggling with a boss who was not very kind to me. This person was not compassionate, nasty, and was never satisfied by anything anyone did. “Imagine how he must feel about himself,” she said. “We treat others as we treat ourselves.”

At that point in my life and in my relationship with this person I was not able to understand the power of that statement. It took many years (and a lot of therapy) for me to finally accept this fundamental truth.

I have not always been kind to myself. In fact, I have always been my harshest critic. My personal bar of achievement has at times been so high you would need a telescope to see it. I viewed mistakes as something people did because there were not paying close enough attention. And failure was not an option. Viewing my past through this harsh lense, I often blamed myself for not knowing better, for not being more adept at preventing hurtful things from happening to me. I took the notion of personal responsibility to an extreme. I believed everything was in my power to control, so any hurt or injury was my own damn fault.

And yet, I also believed I was capable of achieving anything if I worked hard enough and was clear in my intention. I thought the secret to my success was a result of my high bar, critical judgment and unreasonable sense of personal responsibility.

As a manager, I employed this approach to my staff. I assumed everyone had a bar as high as mine and was not willing to settle for anything short of perfection. I could not understand how someone could give me a document that was misspelled or without page numbering and tell me it was their best work. At times, instead of stepping back and trying to see it from their point of view, I handled these transgressions with the same harsh criticism I applied to myself.

This did not seem unreasonable to me, why wouldn’t I be as hard on someone as I was on myself (in fact, I believed I could never be as hard on a colleague or friend as I was with myself – this was how I justified it.)

By the time I hit my forties I started to feel the effects of my self-judgment. It was exhausting to always have to hit a home run, to work harder than everyone else and still not be satisfied, to never, ever, allow yourself to fail or make a mistake and be okay with it.

As I began to work through the causes of these feelings, my perspective on my own life and self slowly started to shift. I began to see how important it is to fail, how much freedom there is in allowing yourself to be human, and how forgiving yourself is the greatest thing you can ever do.

And, as I began to make small changes in my own approach, I noticed how many of my relationships started to shift as well. As a manager, I got better at being able to tell the difference between my personal expectation and what was good work by “normal” standards.

Perhaps my greatest achievement was my ability to give voice my own struggle. I learned that sometimes the best thing you can do is just admit you are a hard ass and tell the truth about how tough you can be on yourself and others. And, when you go too far, apologize and move forward.

There is no downside to loving yourself more deeply, no excuse not to learn how. The love we give ourselves just ripples out into the world in the way we act, the deeds we do and the intentions we set. Let us treat others the way we treat ourselves and let that be with love and compassion.

Teri's 50 Sense: Everybody Has A Story

Welcome to the first entry to Teri's 50 Sense - 50 things I've learned on the road to 50.

I collect stories like some people collect stamps or coins. Chances are if I’m a passenger in your taxi, or seated next to you on a plane or waiting at the doctor’s office, I’ll get your story. Not just the one you tell everyone that covers the basics of who you are, what you do, and what your relationship status is…no I’ll get that one thing out of you few people know about. I’ll get you to tell me what your spiritual beliefs are or your secret wish. At some point during our conversation you will find yourself saying, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this…” and then you will go on because once you know you can tell me, once you see the glint in my eye urging you on you won’t be able to stop yourself. You will tell me you used to shoot heroin while you ran a successful consulting business. When I ask you how it feels to get high, you will tell me.

You will tell me about the time you cheated on your wife and how sorry you are…when I ask you when it was, you will tell me it was when you were in the war. I will ask you what war and you will say the big one, WWII. Your wife passed away twenty years ago and still you feel bad, “worse than killing a man,” you tell me. I don’t ask you what that feels like. I can tell you don’t want to go there.

Maybe you will tell me about how much you cried after you had your baby and how you didn’t feel anything for a long time and how you worried there was something wrong with you until one day the fog lifted and you thought your heart would break from loving her.

Or you will tell me about your debt and how you lost everything from wanting too much and as we drive down the LIE with the meter ticking, you tell me how good it felt to let that desire go…to only own what you have paid for…and to know your wife loved you no matter what.

People tell me these things because I believe everyone has a story…and most stories are more dramatic, interesting, funny and inspirational than any book you’ve read or movie you have seen.

I don’t start the conversation most of the time, but I am open to where it can lead and I’m not afraid to ask a probing question if I trust the willingness is there to answer it. My intent is not to pick at a wound or throw gasoline on a fire…it is to understand more fully.

My friends tell me I am like this because I am a writer…but I think I am a writer because I am like this. I am not in love with language the way many writers are, nor do I yearn for historical accuracy or mass appeal, I am a story junkie. I want you to tell me yours and I want to tell you mine.

I am honored to hear anyone’s truth…even when it is painful. I am willing to listen because the telling of a story, no matter how dark or tragic, is a triumph. There is no greater achievement than living to tell the tale.

That is the whole point isn't it? The joy of living is not just in the doing, it is in the sharing.

Everyone has a story and if you are lucky you might just get to hear it.

Teri 5.0

Over the last few months, I have been struggling with turning 50. While there is a lot of credence to the argument that it’s just another year, it’s hard not to look at hitting the half-century mark with just a little bit of ambivalence and wonder.

The dictionary defines the word ambivalence as having equally conflicting feelings about a person or a thing. I define it as being emotionally log jammed. I have so many opposing emotions that I end up feeling stuck, not wanting to move forward and not wanting to go back.

See, the thing is, I don’t really want to BE younger and for the most part, except for those sagging bat wing things I have under my arms (thanks for the genetic code on that Grandma Coyne!) I actually FEEL pretty young. I’ve never been one of those people who thought my best years were behind me, never felt I had peaked or realized my fullest potential. When it comes to aging, I am definitely a glass is half full kind of gal.

As for the future, I generally have an optimistic view as well. So it’s not that I’m afraid of what is to come, at the moment I just feel a little worn out and a little too aware of the inevitability of change.

I remember when I was just out of college, working at one of my first jobs. I had lunch with a temp receptionist who was in her mid-thirties planning her second wedding to a man who was her hairdresser. After only a couple months of being on her own, she agreed to marry a man she openly admitted she wasn’t sure she loved. When I asked her why so moved so quickly she said, “you don’t realize this now because you are so young but time speeds up the older you get. You don’t have forever to get the things you want.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. “The measurement of time is constant. A minute is a minute.”

“Yes, but our experience of time speeds up. You’ll see. When you were a kid summer vacation felt endless and now, all you have to do is blink on Memorial Day and it’s Labor Day.”

She was right.

When I think about my life up to forty, all the milestones, and high and lows feels evenly spread out over what feels like a hundred years but my ten years in my forties feel like they happened in a year. Maybe it is a factor of getting older, but the changes I experienced in my forties were profound, more so than any other decade of my life.

So here I am, on the brink of 50, feeling like the only thing I can count on is that this next decade will probably go by faster than my forties and will be filled with challenges and changes that will continue to amaze me.

Don’t get me wrong…I want it all, the good, bad, and ugly. The older I get the more committed I am to living my life on purpose, with an intent to grow and expand. To be the best Teri I can be…call it Teri version 5.0 if you will.

I am glad we don’t know how our lives will unfold, that we don’t know who will stay, who will go, who will come back and who will show up. I am grateful that the older I get the less I care about pleasing other people. I am happy to know what I know and feel what I feel.

But for now I would like to take a moment, however brief, and not think about the past or look toward the future. I would like to just be still and take shelter inside this ambivalence for a little bit longer.

Love is in the Air...

Whenever Valentine's Day rolls around it's hard not to hearken back to the days when whether or not I had a Valentine was a very big deal. Back in high school, the day was synonymous with the distribution of carnations in homeroom. Carnation Day was the brainchild, of cheerleaders and anyone else in high school whose birthright was a gorgeous loving Valentine every year. It was a perfect event, humiliation in disguise of a fundraiser.

Right after the morning announcements a bundle of carnations would arrive for the teacher to distribute. While there were always more than enough to go around, that's not how it played out, like most distribution in a free market, the most carnations went to the fewest girls.

While the sentiment of Valentine's Day is pure, the execution of it is more about showing the world how much you are loved than actually expressing or feeling it. Walking the halls in high school with no carnations felt like a statement of worthiness.

The acknowledgement of being loved is a wonderful thing and almost as valuable as demonstrating your love to others but love is not something that can be felt from a box of candy, a carnation or a diamond necklace. And love doesn't always come in the form of the captain of the high school football team, sometimes the carnation comes from the quiet guy who eats alone in the cafeteria.

This sounds fundamental and yet, it took me many years to understand it.

As I approach fifty I feel the force of love in small things and in the ways my friends and family care for me and hold my best interests in their heart. Instead of believing that love is something you earn or deserve, I understand that it is like air, there for the taking if you just open up and breathe it in.

If you believe you are loved, you are.

While it would have been nice to have gotten dozens of carnations on carnation day, in the cosmic universe of love we are drowning in them.

Extraordinary Women Writers I Worked With in 2010

I dont' know about you but this is the time of year I spend a good deal of time thinking back on the past twelve months and give thanks for lots of great opportunities and experiences. One of the most exciting things was hosting a great reading series with She Writes called Ordinary Women: Extraordinary Heroines. For those of you that joined us or follow the blog you know the purpose of the series is to spotlight great women writers who are telling interesting stories about ordinary women. In the coming year I hope to bring the series back to NYC and to a few other locations around the country and along with She Writes, I hope to continue to be an ambassador to the wide wonderful worthy world of women and their amazing adventures.

So as you plan your holiday purchases or plan on what books you will be curling up to over the holiday break consider these great women writers and their terrific books -- all of which I have had the pleasure of meeting this year.

Hyatt Bass

Tess Callahan

Virginia DeBerry and Donna Grant

Louisa Ermelino

Amina Gautier

Masha Hamilton

Diane Meier

Audrey Niffenegger

Deborah Siegel

Gail Straub

Terese Svoboda

Emily Gray Tedrowe

Kamy Wicoff

Zoe Zolbrod

Mirror, Mirror

Last night I had a dream I helped a man and woman pass through a portal to another side of reality. (It beats the dream I had a few weeks ago that Ray Charles had put a dead horse under my bed.) To get to the other side they had to walk through a full length mirror. In the dream I told them they would be happy and I would clean up the broken glass.

I sat down to write this morning and couldn't get the faces of the man and woman off my mind (or the dream memory of picking up the shards of broken glass.) It didn't take long before I realized the couple in my dream were the characters in my second novel which I am rewriting.

Using a full length mirror as the portal is interesting (way to go subconscious!) as I would assume it means that in looking at my own reflection (or going inward) I can give birth to new realities. That reminds me a bit of the wicked queen in Snow White (or Sleeping Beauty?) that uses her mirror to tell her the truth -- who is the fairest of them all? "Not you," the mirror responds.

Passing through the mirror portal made my characters come alive but it also broke the glass - of which I had the job of "picking up the pieces." I think that accurately reflects the process of releasing your stories into the world. While it is liberating, it is also scary and leaves you with an intense vulnerability. Who wants the reflection to answer back in a negative way?

The dream ended with me tucking the man and woman into bed. It was my childhood bed complete with my old comforter and the backdrop of bright green apple tree wallpaper. What better way of showing me my responsibility to these characters than to have me safeguarding them like a mother does her children? What is more comforting than being tucked in?

In the end there is little that distinguishes the land of imagination from our dreamworld and even reality, in all those dimensions (including the spirit world if you are so inclined to believe) we are aching to tell our stories, to make something inside us real, to experience the transformation that comes from being known. Writing is a magic wand, a truthful mirror, a way in and a way out. As the Yogis say...all is one.

Now if I can just figure out how Ray Charles got that horse under my bed...

Our Relationship to Reading

While so much in my life has changed over the years the one constant has been my love of books. A passion for reading is a thread that connects me to so many friends, extending all the way back to elementary school where my friend Julie Rucker and I shared our love of books.

Recently Julie shared an essay she wrote on reading that reminded me of how important it is to share our favorite stories with each other. Like most of us, Julie has gone through lots of changes over the years, while husbands and jobs have come and gone, her boo

k collection and emotional connection to the stories remains true. I hope you will connect to her passion as much as I do and please feel free to share your thoughts as well...

Julie's Reflections on Reading

Read-such a simple word that has so many implications, connotations, emotions and goals. There should really be eighty unique words for it, like the Inuit have terms for types of snow. There are casual reads and forced reads, private reads, and those done for the appearance of privacy like on a crowded airplane, administered purposefully to avoid talking with the guy in the seat next to you. Where did the peaceful exploration of a new novel go with its fresh, inky smell and crisp virgin pages? “No time to read,” “Have to read,” these are the phrases going through my mind now. I long for the time when the hubbub of the day was merely interference to settling down with that novel that my sister just sent in the mail. But chaos runs its course and I know another novel will find its way to me. Maybe simply out of exhaustion I’ll put down the tools of the job of daily living and pluck one of the many mysteries from high upon my plant shelf, plump a pillow and be absorbed by a new place, another time, and an exhilarating adventure that I just would not otherwise have time for.

Growing up, books were everywhere in my family’s house. Mom and Dad were always building or dragging in new book cases for the ever expanding library. Each holiday, birthday, and any day for that matter, books were customary gifts for us. Even the tooth fairy brought me a book once. It was Nothing Ever Happens on My Block. I still have it. I still have nearly every book ever given to me which explains the plant shelf overflow. There’s an entire novel assortment given to me that I’ve nearly made a dent in and books categorized by subject. My library is noticed immediately, but not always favorably by those entering my home. Several people have suggested I get rid of them, but with the exception of gifting one now and then, the collection remains. It has outlived two husbands (they’re still alive, just no longer my husbands) who just could not fathom why I would keep a set of encyclopedias published in the 1950’s. Either you get it or you don’t. I’m sure there’s still valid information in those resources that not only did my older siblings and I use to do school reports, but my own kids have used them as well. And why would I keep those novels given to me by a dear elderly friend? Alright, some books are kept for sentimental reasons, but I swear I will get around to reading them someday.

There is a beautiful consumption that swells over me when I’m immersed in a new book. Almost obsessively I cannot wait to return to it again, and it’s such a rewarding moment when reading that last page. That is true of the good ones, anyway. For those that border on lame the compulsion is an optimism that it will get better, so I finish those too, generally. But that lovely, faraway place between the pages might as well be in someone else’s house when life gets just too darn busy.

Why isn’t reading a priority? It certainly should be. It calms the body and sharpens the mind, an anecdote to the stressors and pressures of all those other things like working and raising children. The read does take a back seat to the looming responsibilities. I think if there is indeed a literary crisis today that it is an issue of time management, not so much empathy for the practice. Understandable too is the interference of stimuli such as electronics. If I am not currently absorbed in one tale or another I’m more likely to turn on the television or play a game of Texas HoldEm on the computer to end the day. That is really a little surprising to realize given that just a few months ago those lonely novels were my sleep aid of choice.

It was a passion for a while of which I give the credit to a childhood friend who had just published her first novel. I couldn’t attend the debut and book-signing, so I sent my sister from New York in my place. Soon after that I received my autographed copy of The Last Bridge by Teri Coyne in the mail, and I gobbled it up like a box of Cheez-its. The read launch me into a whirlwind of books, one after another. That era continued for quite a while. Looking back, it may have ended right around the time that I lost my job. Also my rickety, old, wooden ladder broke, so I couldn’t reach the plant shelf anymore.

Come to think of it, there must be plenty of dust up there. Note to self- buy a new ladder and start reading again; the dust can wait.

The perk that unemployment has awarded me is the freedom to return to school, thus the forced read comes into play. I was awaiting my Mentor’s arrival at the café and reading bits and pieces from a book on a Pueblo ruin that I had just picked up at a used book store in town when he arrived. Having chosen a text for his course that won’t arrive for another week, he asked me to finish reading the one in my hands. “The whole thing?” I said to myself. While it is my desire to absorb the information, I planned for the technical compilation to be a behind the scenes reference support, not an assignment. Alas, the forced reading has begun. It’s funny the way components of life fall in to place.

Already this LAS class has been good for me. It has reminded me of a constant throughout my life-books. I can picture the day Mrs. Heinz took our first grade class to the Washington Elementary School library where I watched Caps for Sale waiting for me on the shelf while the librarian spoke. (Teri Coyne was there too.) I remember a Fiction and Fantasy class years later when my proposal for the subject of a book report was denied because The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe was too short, so I wrote the report on the entire seven books in The Chronicles of Narnia series. I can recall my Mother telling the story of how she and her cousin, Dolly, would make butter and lettuce sandwiches, gather a stack of books, and read for hours. Reading is a wonderful thing, really. It transcends time, binding humanity together in the literary universe.

I’ve always admired those who take, or make as it were, the time to sit down with a good book. It’s a pleasant past time for sure, but there is also a certain beauty in coming across someone reading; they appear serene. I imagine others notice the peace in such a view. When my daughter was learning to read, and struggling with her fluency and expression, I heard her talking one afternoon on the back porch. As I came closer to the door, I noticed that she was not only seated beside the littler boy from next door, but that she was reading to him. Her words flowed like music. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I crept away and snatched up my camera to capture the glorious event on video.

She, like her mother, wrote her name completely backward for the longest time. My mother used to marvel at the way my writing was in a complete mirror image of how it should be. While teaching Gracie, I often thought if Mother wondered if my dyslexic ways would carry on or subside. Eventually and gradually letters face in the right direction, and someday the little girl will be sharing the wonders of a book with another child, maybe her own. For now, she’ll keep mixing her d’s with b’s and p’s with q’s just as I did, but before she knows it she’ll be engaged in a forced read for a college class, eating a butter and lettuce sandwich.

What's Old to You?

I don't think too much about getting older. For the most part I think of it as a good thing and although I have my moments, I wouldn't trade the benefits of self-acceptance for the advantages of youth. Still, some parts of aging are harder to take than others.

A few years ago I went for an eye exam and was told by the doctor I had the eyesight of a thirty year old woman. This pleased me to no end as I confessed to him that I did not want to wear glasses as that would be the milestone that would make me feel old.

The doctor was at bit older (and wiser.) He assured me I did not need glasses yet, "BUT," he said, "I suggest you find something else to feel old about because sooner or later you are going to need glasses, at the very least, for reading."

"But not today," I said as I enjoyed three more blissful years of reading fine print, menus by candlelight, and emails on my phone.

A few weeks ago, I was engrossed in a biography of Dorothea Lange and noticed it was hard for me to get into reading at night. That nagging voice told me it might help if I put on some magnifiers. I told myself my eyes were tired and since I had no problems reading in the morning but come nightfall it was a struggle.

I put on a pair of magnifiers I got just in case this day would come and presto I could see clearly. And just like that I was old.

I could lie to you and say it doesn't bother me, but it does. I accepted sagging skin, drooping body parts, gray hair, strange spots, night sweats, and falling asleep on the couch before eleven o'clock. I understand what is happening to my body and for the most part I am happy with how well I am holding up -- that is until I put on the glasses. It's only a matter of time before I wear my glasses on a chain around my neck and stuff tissues in the sleeve of my sweater just like Grandma Coyne used to do - -hell -- I got her flabby upper arms I might as well have her eyesight too.

I'll get over it. Just like I got over all the other transitions. And like most aspects of aging, when you consider the alternative -- adapting is always better than perishing.

Dealing with aging is a lot about wrestling with your pride and vanity. I don't want gray hair -- it doesn't look good on me so I color mine -- but I cannot give up reading just to appear to not need glasses.

The only thing worse than wearing glasses was having a book in my hands and not being able to read it. Reading is one of the great loves of my life and there is no end to what we are willing to do for love. I guess I'll just have to pick something else to feel old about...

Any suggestions?

One door closing...

On Thursday I said good-bye to my New York apartment and moved everything out to my house on Long Island. Although I was ready to make the move, I did not expect it to be as difficult as it turned out to be.

I lived in that apartment for over fifteen years and before that I lived in the studio next door. Moving to that building was a big step in my adult life. I was in my late twenties and until then I had lived with roommates from the time I came home from the hospital with my mother. I was afraid of living alone, I wondered what I would do with myself without someone to eat with, make plans or be annoyed at.

The movers were barely in the lobby before I realized that living alone was one of the most fantastic experiences I would ever have. I loved my L-shaped studio and reveled in the luxuries of being independent including drinking the milk out of the carton and knowing whatever I left in the fridge would stay there. Television and movie choices were not negotiated and I never had to wait for the phone to free up or the bathroom to be empty.

When the one bedroom next door opened up I was ready for more space and moved myself in by dragging my furniture across one threshold to another. I brought my boxes and my memories and settled in to a space that allowed me to have more guests, space and freedom. I had four large closets in that apartment and over time I filled them with stuff, lots and lots of stuff.

When I turned forty I yearned for more outdoor space, to be more connected to a community and to finally own something of my own so I bought my house and instead of moving everything out of my apartment I gradually brought the essentials and left the "stuff" there.

It was only a matter of time before I started to realize that I wanted to be at my house more than I wanted to be in my apartment and in the city and last year after losing my job and getting my book published I knew it was time to let go.

The process of packing forced me to go through the documents, trinkets and mementos of my life. I found my college ID and remembered that first day at NYU when I wondered how I was ever going to find my way in the city and a few papers I had written with incredibly supportive comments from my professors that helped me see my own potential. I found birthday cards, one from my father whose box-like distinctive printing made me tear up. It wasn't a big birthday just an average one, back when I thought we would never get along and he would be around forever.

I found my Aunt Rosemary's chocolate cake recipe which we thought was lost, in her hand writing that was so hard to read and so undeniably her. She is gone now and suddenly that recipe card felt more precious.

I found love letters, gifts, and incredibly sweet notes passed to me from men and boys I have loved and dated. Drawings from all the amazing children I have loved and I marveled at how silly some of their baby outfits were and how joyful my life became when each one of my nieces and nephews were born.

I found pictures so many pictures and so many good times spread out over so many years.

I found myself overwhelmed with sadness for all the people who have passed or have drifted out of my life (some for reasons I can't remember and others for hurts that still sting) and amazed at how fast all the years have gone.

I asked my Aunt Rosemary a few years ago on her eightieth birthday if she felt different. She said she didn't, that in her mind she was always the same young person in her twenties and often when she looked in the mirror she was surprised at what she saw.

I understand what she means, going through the small touchstones of your past it isn't so much remembering as it is reliving, as if the past is not gone but still with us, I am still that NYU college student and still a stand-up comedian, still me.

Yet, holding on can fill up too much space in your life can't it? And what if that leaves less space for more adventures and more love and light?

In the end, I took what mattered most, gave away a lot and tossed even more and a took a moment before closing the door behind me to say good-bye.

I would have stayed longer but the future is waiting.

SRO for our Summer Reads Event at Book Revue!

Judging from the turnout at our Book Revue Beach Party last night, the only thing better than going to the beach is sharing your favorite reads with fellow readers.

The event last night was one of those rare occasions when readers and writers have a chance to get together to share their love of stories while munching on cookies, sipping cold drinks and winning prizes.

Julianne Wernersbach (first photo,) our host from Book Revue, kicked the evening off with some words about beach reads and shared her enthusiasm for the theme of the night and for the authors sharing their debut novels.

Tess Callahan (second photo) began her talk by recommending On Chesil beach by Ian McEwan and talked a little bit about the origin of stories and how the discovery of objects, like a

shoe from a ship unearthed at the world trade center site is one of those moments of magic that be the beginnings of a story. Tess read a scene from her novel April & Oliver between April and her grandmother .

Hyatt Bass (third photo) followed Tess with a beach read recommendation of Brooklyn by Colm Toibin. Hyatt read two scenes from her novel The Embers, featuring a great twelve year old voice.

I brought up the rear with comments about what a summer read meant

to me, including memories of being caught crying after I finished To Kill A Mockingbird for the first time so many years ago. When my brother asked if I was crying because it was sad I said I was crying because it was over. I read one of my favorite scenes from The Last Bridge, where Cat goes to the neighbor's house for dinner.

We raffled off some great prizes which included, two $25 gift cards from the great wine store Bottles and Cases and a beach bag of goodies including wine, treats, beach towel, and three signed novels of RITA award winning author (and good friend) Gwyn Cready.

A lively discussion followed spurred by great questions from the crowd and then Tess, Hyatt and I signed books next to a grab bag box of books for anyone who purchased one of our novels.

There is nothing better than being in a book store like Book Revue where everywhere you turn you see books. Last night was even better, as in addition to being enveloped by books, we were talking about them, sharing our favorites, and signing our own! No one left empty handed!

Tess, Hyatt and I agreed that as far as author events go, the more authors the merrier. In addition to having the chance to share our stories, we loved having the chance to compare our experiences and give readers different perspectives.

I wish I had more pictures to share but as you can tell I was caught up in the moment!

For those of you that could not be with us check out some of these links and for those of you in book clubs why not consider having a similar theme event? It was great fun.

Links of interest:

Book Revue (aside from a great bookstore they have great author events!)

April & Oliver by Tess Callahan

The Embers by Hyatt Bass

The Last Bridge by Teri Coyne

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan

Brooklyn by Colm Toibin

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (on the front table at Book Revue!)

Flirting with Forever (and other books) by Gwyn Cready

The Stragedy of it All

Among the many things I used to do to pass the time in long, frustrating planning meetings back when I worked in IT was to come up with new words to describe the awfulness of whatever was happening at the moment. While most of the words are lost to me now the one that has stayed with me was "stragedy." I accidentally said that in the midst of discovering a major project was collapsing under the weight of bad planning and poor decision making. I said, "so this is our stragedy?" What I meant to say was, "strategy" but mashed it with tragedy and made myself a fancy new word to describe exactly what happens when a lack of strategy meets reality.

At the risk of stating the obvious, we got ourselves a whole big stragedy going on right now in this country.

Shortly after 9/11 when I had heard one too many conspiracy theories about what happened, I realized I had been working in the Corporate world too long as I no longer believed that anyone was smart enough to plan a conspiracy let alone execute one.

I guess you could say I had an "aha" moment when it finally occurred to me that the people running the government, post office, hospital, Oil Companies, etc. were not a different grade of human than the ones I had been working with all these years.

Oh sure maybe you get more of the best and the brightest at the White House level but that is just a matter of degree. There are just as many people at the White House who don't respond to email, just like in your office.

Once you realize this, everything you hear on the news and know about the world changes. It's kind of like finding out Santa Claus doesn't exist, it's hard to imagine how you believed in him in the first place.

So although I believe there are people who conspire to do evil (usually in the name of God) I am not surprised that BP did not have an adequate contingency plan and that they still don't. I am not surprised that Congress doesn't seem to know what to do about it. And the New York State Government not passing a budget? Well who can blame them for thinking it's all about their agendas and not about their constituents. How is that any different from the folks you work with who don't care that they are leaving you high and dry when they punch out at 5:30pm and leave you to finish the project?

The stragedy of it all is that we want to believe there is someone, a leader, a guru, a teacher, a boss, a company, an institution that will show us the way and in doing so, make our lives and the world safe. We assume everyone who makes more money or has more power is smarter than we are and we definitely don't think our government is run at all like our places business, but guess what, it is.

I guess it's easier for us to feel outrage at BP for not having a better handle on the situation, for showing an astonishingly low amount of concern for safety over money, for not fixing the problem sooner (if they can ever fix it at all.) The alternative is to feel complicit. Our hunger for oil got us where we are and the people we sanctioned to drill for it are not going to get us out of it.

Everyone is talking about who is going to pay, who will be responsible and no one, has really stood up and said, I am, We are.

In my time working in Technology I had many successes and failures but what I was most proud of was taking over the management of a project that had gone horribly wrong and was causing a tremendous amount of pain for everyone in the company. We had a huge technical issue we were prepetuating without understanding how or why. On a team of eight support people, I had five quit in one day. I had chest pains and a lot of moments in the ladies room where I wondered why I wasn't drafting my own resignation, but I didn't.

The problem was beyond the scope of my technical abilities, or so I thought, until I met with the engineers who were stymied. Suddenly the high paid experts were not so expert anymore.

The solution took the combined efforts of all the IT people on our team, it took collaboration, respect, an openness to new ideas and most of all it took a lot of guts to suggest a solution and be wrong. I was wrong a lot, but I was determined to get to the bottom of the problem, I did not want the situation to defeat me.

We all have those moments in our lives when our best laid plans or intentions go terribly wrong...sometimes we run or point the finger or shut down but sometimes we rise to the occasion and show ourselves and the world our best. We say, enough. The buck stops here. It stops with me. You don't need a degree, a fancy job or permission to do that. You just need balls.

Giveaway Fever!

Who knew that giving away 25 Free copies of The Last Bridge would result in so many great stories from readers. Thanks to all of you who participated -- the stories of how you gave the books away were great!

And the winner is...

Laurie Morris was the lucky winner of the $100 Target Gift Card. She gave her free copy to her daughter as part of a beach bag of goodies for her trip to Florida to prep for her wedding. Congrats to Laurie and her daughter!

The lucky recipients

Based on your feedback, when presented with the chance to give a book away most of you will give it to a relative (8 of you did that) -- and if it's a relative chances are it will be a daughter (3.) The next most popular choices were friends (6), Co-workers (2), Book Club friends (2), Neighbors (2), Student (1) and my personal favorite a Stranger (1)

Reasons You Gave

The reasons you gave the book to your recipient were the best part of the giveaway. A number of you chose to give the book to someone who was struggling with an illness, or taking care of someone who was ill. In those instances you all cited the importance of reading to take your mind away from your troubles. (So True!)

A few of you also chose to give your books to daughters, sisters-in-law, nieces and even a few sons. How great it is to share books with another generation - one of the great joys of my own life is swapping books with my Mom, Sister and Brother.

Aside from working together a few of you enjoy sharing and discussing books with your co-workers. You gave your books to those colleagues.

One of the great categories of friendship is a "book friend" someone you swap and share books with -- a few of them were lucky recipients.

Book Groups also got their hands on a few of the giveaways as well.

My favorite giveaway was from a reader who was traveling regularly to a hospital to visit a sick relative - she left the copy in the family waiting area with a note to please take it, read it and share it!

Amazing adventures...

The most amazing part of the giveaway was hearing of all the places The Last Bridge has and will travel. It went on a cross country journey from Arizona to DC (with lots of stops along the way!) and made it on a European jaunt (Sweden, Denmark, The Netherlands) and was sent to over 20 States and 40+ Cities. Check out the Google map I made of all the stops you told me about.

The real winner is...

I can't tell you how much I appreciate the wonderful notes I got sharing your feelings about the book and your enthusiasm for getting the word out about The Last Bridge. I appreciate the time you have taken to let me become of part of your world and for your honesty and kindness.

I am the true winner of this giveaway!

The Perfect Marriage

Yesterday Al and Tipper Gore announced they would be separating after forty years of marriage. The reaction from the media has been one of sadness and disappointment. They had, by all accounts, a perfect marriage, if they couldn't make it who could?

The response to the news of the Gores splitting reflects a deeply held belief in our culture that we are meant to go through the world coupled to one person and any other combination is failure. Even now when statistics are showing young people holding off on marriage into their thirties and women deciding to have children later in life, we cling to the notion that the only life worth having is paired with someone else.

It is common knowledge that back when the institution of marriage was formalized, people didn't live well past forty. A marriage in your teens would pair you with someone for a little over twenty years. As our life spans expanded our concept of marriage did not.

There are happy marriages and unions that last for decades. The couples I have known that have that are grateful and serious about the sum of their parts being greater than the individual. I am in awe of those partnerships and enriched by their commitment.

I am not of the mind that those are the only successful unions and maybe it is because I have never been married or I am the product of my parents passionate but turbulent marriage, I think any kind of love shared between two people that lifts the spirit, produces children and a commitment to parenting, invests in the future or builds a home is equally worthy. When people realize they cannot go the whole journey paired as they had hoped, it is not a failure, rather it is a choice and a shift of understanding.

There are few people any of us could imagine being paired with for over forty years and while it is always sad to see something end, it is also a moment to reflect on all that was, on what their partnership built and created and what, hopefully, their continued love and support of each other will do for them and their families. The logistics of a relationship can end but the connection and love shared does not have to.

It is heartbreaking to reflect on the ending of many of my own love relationships. What started as something joyous often ended badly with bitter feelings and anger. A person I loved deeply is not even part of my life anymore. And, sadly, there are far too many children caught in the middle of these kinds of toxic endings.

People do bad things to each other, and the most awful things are often in the name of love. Ending a marriage, especially when there are young children involved, must be one of the most difficult things to endure, even harder though is to try to find a way to shift your spousal relationship to a parenting partnership. To demonstrate love and respect for each other in spite of the hurt feelings. It isn't always easy or possible but it is ideal. I know a few couples who have done this and admire them as much as the ones who have stayed together.

These were the thoughts I had when writing my second novel. I was curious about the nature of love between two people and the often limited ways we think that love can be expressed. There are as many ways to express and experience love as there are people. We need to release ourselves from the notion that there is one way and try to define all the ways love can enrich our lives. The love and pride between two parents is a wondrous thing, the support of friends enhances our lives, and even sexual relationships that are respectful and fun can be just that. Why should we expect all of those things to come in the package of one person and never change? It is a tall order for any of us to fulfill.

So to Tipper and Al I say, well done and safe travels on your new journeys. The way they appear to be handling their separation is for me, another way of having a perfect marriage.

Here it comes...the paperback of The Last Bridge

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller

On Tuesday, the paperback edition of The Last Bridge will be released everywhere.

I imagine that having a story released into the world is similar to sending your child to school on the first day or dropping them off at their first dance. There is a part of you that knows they are ready (even if you might not be) and knows that you have done everything you can do to make their journey a safe one. That's how I feel about my paperback. Even now, after living with this story for almost a quarter of my life, and having a great experience with the hardcover launch, I am anxious and excited. I want the world to like Cat Rucker, I want them to understand the story.

This time around, I have some confidence that the book will continue to find its' way into the hands of many readers who respond to the intensity of the story. The best part of being published is connecting with readers and hearing their stories and listening to their response. I have met many wonderful people so far and am starting to feel as protective of my readers as I am of my book!

On the brink of the paperback release and of my release of the draft of book two to my agent, (more on that in the coming weeks) I feel like a mother of two children -- one starting first grade and the other pre-school. On Tuesday I will wake up and think about the book sitting on shelves, displayed on tables and considered and viewed by potential readers. As it makes its' way into the world I will stand in the wings and remind myself of all the love, hard work and passion my, agents, editors, sales people, publicists, family, marketing, readers, bookstores, proofreaders, teachers, copy editors, designers, typesetters, and friends gave to The Last Bridge. While the process of writing may be solitary, the delivery and execution of a book takes a village.

I am grateful to you all...

Go get 'em Cat...

The Last Bridge Paperback Giveaway!

Want to win a $100 gift card?

Help me celebrate the May 25th paperback launch of The Last Bridge by giving away a copy of the book to anyone you want!

The first 25 people who email me will get a FREE copy of The Last Bridge to give away.
When you get your free copy, give it away to a friend, stranger, colleague at work, whoever you choose! Then tell me the story of how you did it and you'll be entered to win a $100 Target Gift Card! (The more interesting your story the better your chances!)

Winner will be announced on June 15th!

Follow these simple steps:

1. Send an email to teri@tericoyne.com requesting your FREE copy and include your mailing address - the first 25 people who respond will get the book for FREE!*
2. I will mail you a paperback copy of The Last Bridge for you to give to the reader of your choice
3. Give the book to a designated recipient (extra points given for creative giveaways!)
4. Post your story on my blog or on my facebook page to be eligible for the $100 Target Gift Card (Extra points for posting photos!)
5. Gift card winner will be announced on June 15th!

Thank you for your continued support - and best of luck!

*You are also welcome to buy a copy for a friend and post your story as well!

Ordinary Women: Extraordinary Heroines May 12th - Meet Our Authors!

I am thrilled to announce the second evening in our Ordinary Women: Extraordinay Heroines series at KGB Bar in New York City. Our first evening on January 28th was a huge success thanks to a group of great authors who embodied the spirit of the night and delivered a thought provoking and entertaining evening and to the audience who asked great questions, listened intently and came out on a cold evening!

Our event on May 12th continues our exploration of the work of four distinct and talented writers who defy convention and write about real women and their struggles. In addition we will be spotlighting a great online community devoted to raising the voices of women writers and readers. If you haven't heard about SHE WRITES, jump onto their site and join, it's free and chock full of great and inspiring stuff!

If you are in town on May 12th, come to KGB Bar and join us for a fun and stimulating evening -- we will be raffling off books and a few other goodies. The event is FREE.

A SNEAK PEEK AT OUR AUTHORS:

Diane Meier
Marketing guru, author of The New American Wedding and president of MEIER, a NYC-based marketing firm, Diane Meier’s career has honed skills from strategy, writing and design to public speaking. Her new book, The Season of Second Chances, hit shelves on March 30, 2010.

Terese Svoboda
Svoboda's writing has been featured in The New Yorker, Times Literary Supplement, The New York Times, The Atlantic Monthly, Slate.com, Bomb, Lit, Columbia, Yale Review and The Paris Review. She is currently teaching graduate students at Columbia University's School of the Arts. Her new book, Pirate Talk or Mermalade, will be released in September, 2010.

Virginia DeBerry and Donna Grant
With seven novels to their credit, Virginia DeBerry and Donna Grant, best friends for nearly 30 years, have turned a friendship into one of the most successful and enduring writing collaborations in contemporary women’s fiction. Their latest novel, Uptown, hit shelves in March, 2010.

SHE WRITES

She Writes is the leading online destination for women writers today. Since its inception in June 2009, more than 8000 women writers from more than thirty countries and all fifty states, including many bestselling and award-winning authors, have been sharing support, organizing their knowledge, and doing business on She Writes. A unique community where women writers can create networks and get the services and support they need at every stage of their writing lives, She Writes is a business on a mission: to forever transform the landscape in which women write, publish, and read. We believe writing has the power to change the lives of women; we believe that when women write and publish, they have the power to change the world. She Writes is the brainchild of founder Kamy Wicoff, an author and salonniere based in New York City, and her founding partner Deborah Siegel, an author and blogger.

Philadelphia Stories

On Sunday my friend Stephanie joined me for the day at the Philadelphia Book Festival. While we were there to sell books and meet people, the best part of the day was having so many folks stop by and tell us their stories. I've recounted a few of the highlights of the day. I am grateful to everyone who stopped by and shared their stories with us.

Most Beautiful Kiss of my Life
An African American gentleman came by a took a handful of tootsie rolls declaring they were his favorite candy as a kid. Then he asked us if we ever lived in Israel, we said, "No." He asked me where I was from originally, I told him Pittsburgh.

He then told us a story of how he was in Pittsburgh years ago at a club called Disco 2000 where he met this woman. She was beautiful and they ended up back at his hotel room. When he wanted to see her again she told him it was just a one night stand as she had no intention of ever falling in love again. Another man broke her heart.

"Some people are like that," he said. "They can't take the heartbreak so they just want a one time thing. She was a beautiful kisser," he said. "The best kiss of my whole life."

He said as soon as the weather got warm he was going back to Pittsburgh and, "who knows?" he said, "maybe we'll all meet up there."

Come to my Party
I had to weigh down my handouts with bottles of water. A woman came over dressed in her church clothes, including a hat and was trying to get my information sheet. I told her why I was using the water bottles, she said, "I would have to be crazy to not understand that. I have lived in this city all my life and I know what kind of wind can come whipping up behind you and surprise, take everything on this table down. You don't have to explain to me."

She then went on to tell me about how much she loved books and the library and how having a place to go to read books saved her as a child. She took two of everything saying that was her policy, to always give what you find to someone else. Pass the good along.

She told us she planned on living to 125 and then shocked me when she said she was 67, the woman looked almost younger than me. She said as she walked away, "I'm going to do it and when I do I want you to come to my party. Everyone is going to be there."

Thank God, The Last Bridge!

A man who looked like a skinnier version of Santa Claus carrying books on computer programming and wearing a kelly green tattered sport jacket stopped at the beginning of the table and declared, "Thank God, The Last Bridge. We have way too many of them to begin with - the last one at last."

Man on a Mission

A retired electrical engineer came by to ask me if he could take my picture to post on Library Thing. I told him I was already on LT with my picture. He said it was one of his missions to get as many author photos on Library Thing as possible. He was a man with many missions including updating relevant Wikipedia articles, keeping track of the 1000+ books he has and trying to document as much local history as possible.

"My wife thinks I'm crazy," he said.

There were lots more stories and conversations and connections. Oh and we sold some books too!

Celebrate Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month and whether or not your are a fan, I would like to challenge you to spend a few moments each day (or a little time every week) to explore the vast collections of incredible poems available to us.

There are a lot of ways to connect with poetry this month -- here are a few:

1. Go to www.poets.org and sign up for a Poem-A-Day email. What's easier than that? This site has tons of information on what's happening this month.

2. Join the Poetic Asides PAD (Poem-A-Day) challenge. Every day you get a prompt for a poem to write which you can post and/or save until May 1st and submit your favorite five for consideration as "Poet Laureate" of the PAD challenge. November brings a PAD chapbook challenge!

3. Sign up for the excellent Writer's Almanac podcast or daily newsletter. In addition to hearing Garrison Keillor recite a poem a day, you get writing related news. Sure to inspire you!

4. Checkout the Poem Flow app for the iPhone. It delivers a classic poem every day with each line or phrase fading in and out.

5. April 29th is Poem in Your Pocket day. Start thinking about a poem you would like to share with your friends, colleagues and family.

6. Poems really should be heard aloud, at www.poets.org check out one of the many events going on nationwide which include poets reading their work.

Romance, Rapture and a Remote Island

One of the best parts of being an author is having the chance to get to know other authors and share their books. This month I'm happy to share the books of three friends and very different writers. If you are looking for something to read (or starting to build your beach reading list) consider these! Check out their websites too!

Flirting with Forever by Gwyn Cready

Gwyn delivers another great time travel romp in her third novel and her first since winning the coveted RITA award. If you have never tried a romance novel PLEASE give Flirting with Forever a try but be forewarned, you might get hooked. Check out Gwyn's website for her book tour dates (and if you go make sure you tell her I sent you!)

Rapture Ready! by Daniel Radosh

I don't throw around the world "cool" very often, that's on purpose so when I say something or someone is cool you will go, WOW, she doesn't say that very often I have to take this seriously. Daniel Radosh and his book Rapture Ready! is cool. What is better than being amused and enlightened all at the same time? I loved this book. Rapture Ready! is just out in paperback. Get the book, check out Daniel's other writing and enjoy his contributions on The Daily Show where he is now on staff.

The Tale of Halcyon Crane by Wendy Webb

Let's see this debut novel is about dark family secrets, ghosts from the past and features a strong female protagonist -- hmm....wonder why I would recommend it??? Add this one to your must read list!