Happy 2010

Happy 2010.

Well, almost.

Instead of making resolutions, I think everyone should watch this remarkable trailer for Dani Shapiro's new memoir, DEVOTION (coming in Feb, along with a Question and Answer here on my blog.) Dani's book, about her search for spiritual meaning, is really everyone's search, and most appropriate right around now. What do we believe and why? How do we live and connect to others and to the universe around us? What really is our truth?

I carried this book around with me for days, unwilling to put it down, and often weeping as I read. Go watch the trailer, and get the book. Then let's talk.

Very merry

The holidays are always sort of strange to me. I'm Jewish, so we never celebrated Xmas, though Hanukkah was a very big deal growing up, complete with eight (count 'em! 8!) gifts. The first Christmas I really adored was my first year in Manhattan. My friend Beth, who lived across the hall, came to my tiny apartment and we made a sea bass with black bean sauce (I wasn't a full-out vegetarian then), which we promptly burned, then we went out all day to movies, crashed a party, and came back home and watched movies all night long. I loved it. My worst was also in New York City, when someone I had loved had died, and I was alone, and the city had emptied out of all my friends. Again, I turned to the movies, going until two in the morning, me and the other disenfranchised in the city! I would have kept going but I chose the wrong movie, a really tragic one, and I ended up crying in the theater, walking home at two, crying, and crying the rest of the night in my apartment.

These days, holidays are with my funny husband and funny son and if you think I don't count my blessings about how lucky I am every second, you'd be wrong. We've been seeing movies, hanging out, going to a movie in about two hours, and hanging out some more. And tomorrow, we go to Boston to see my mother and Jeff's cousin and his family.

I haven't written as much as I have wanted to, but I'm thinking, thinking, thinking, and I'm gearing up for 2010. I have a novel coming out in August, I just finished a script, I'm writing another novel. There's this feeling that anything could happen.

Sort of like when you think you see reindeer in the sky.

Magic, anyone? Maybe the trick is to make your own magic, and then spread it around.

Happy end of 2009 everyone.

Fighting fear

Writing a new novel is an often hallucinatory process. It always starts out, for me, anyway, with a bang. I have an obsession, an image in my head of something pulling me forward. The first chapter nearly always writes itself, and it's a good thing, too, because the rest of the chapters are always terrifically tough to get out on paper, and in the months and years that follow, that first chapter is the thing I cling to, the reason why I can't just toss everything in the wastebasket and think about going to dental school instead.

By mid first draft, which is where I am now, fear sets in. Is this good enough? Am I good enough? Is there really a story here and has it not been done before? Is it uniquely mine? I spend a lot of time trying to not listen to my fears, but of late, I've been listening, nodding my head the way you might at an uncle who's telling you the same old tiresome story, and then going ahead and keeping at it.

All writers really have, like any of us in life, is the moment. I try to focus on that moment--on creating--rather than fears about whether the book will get published, whether anyone will read it, whether I've failed. In the end, I can't control any of it, but I can dig deeper into the work and tell the story I want and need to tell.

Read This Book: What I Thought I Knew

I admit I'm drawn to books about medical mysteries. Maybe it's because for one terrifying year, I had one of my own (but that's another story altogether). Alice Eve Cohen's What I thought I Knew isn't so much a mystery as it is a journey about everything going wildly wrong. Her memoir is as funny as it is shocking, and I'm thrilled she agreed to answer my questions. (Thank you, Alice.)

The book begins with a shocker. You've been told you have a tumor, given all kinds of tests, only to discover that you are 6 months pregnant. I can't get my mind around the fact that this happened in New York City, home of the best doctors in the world. How could this be?

I think there were several doctors who were equally blinded. When my gynecologist did an internal exam, I told her all my symptoms, and she dismissed them--as did the gastroenterologist. I was examined multiple times over six months and I had a number of sonograms. I think it's like the ancient tale of the six blind men and the elephant. Each man examined one single part of the elephant without being aware of the big picture, and none could identify it as an elephant. Like the blind men, my doctors were examining me through the lens of their particular specialty, and were thus blind to the big picture: my gynecologist saw me as an infertile DES daughter and she never considered pregnancy. The gastroenterologist saw me only as a person with stomach problems, and so on. I sued my gynecologist because she made such huge errors, with such profound consequences. But at the same time, I don't think she or any of these doctors was a total moron.

How do you feel now about doctors?

That's a hard question. When I'm choosing doctors for my daughter, I use my parental intuition. I'm constantly weighing various options and wondering, when a doctor tells me something, is this the whole picture? I'm not a passive patient. I ask a lot of questions. I never wanted to repeat the 1950s experience my mother had when she was given DES to prevent miscarriage: the drug, routinely promoted as "the pregnancy vitamin," proved to be both ineffective and carcinogenic. You have to make sure the doctor is listening to you, taking your concerns seriously, and not looking at you as a bunch of statistics. I thought I'd learned that lesson well. I thought that an educated approach would protect me from this kind of medical malpractice. But everybody in our health care system is vulnerable.

Were you writing this as this was going on? And did the book change as events changed?

I was so not writing this book while the events were taking place! I was trying to survive. I was taking copious notes for a lawsuit and to keep track of medical issues. Part of my great sadness at the time was that I thought, " okay, I have no will to write anymore, no motivation. I'm too depressed, I have no more creativity. I just need to devout all of my attention to making sure my daughter's life has the best possible outcome." I had just completed an MFA program and had almost finished a novel, and then everything came to a grinding halt. I barely wrote anything for seven years.

One day, though, seven years to the day after I was sent for an emergency CAT scan, I walked to the part of Central Park where I walked that day seven years earlier. It was a brilliant sunny September day, just as it had been seven years before. It triggered memories. I went home and started to write. It was as if I had been asleep and just woke up.

What made you decide to structure the memoir the way you did?

For the first 6 months, I wrote with a kind of stream of consciousness. I didn't know at first that it would be a book. I thought it might be a collection of essays. I experimented with ways to capture the "what I know" lists--which were my way of reassuring myself, in my most desperately confused moments, of the things I could count on, good or bad, the things I believed I knew, that I could hang my hat on, while the earth was giving way beneath my feet. I have to give credit to Microsoft word for the numbers formatting. Numbering the "what I know" lists heightened and stylized them; they became a repeated musical motif, with variations. These sections helped structure the storytelling by punctuating turning points.

After going through such an extraordinary experience, do you worry that the other shoe is going to drop or are you hopeful?

I do feel hopeful, though I do look over my shoulder to see if the Evil Eye is hiding in the shadows. There are reasons why there are these folkloric superstitions about the Evil Eye and other manifestations of fear and foreboding in every culture, because that's what life is like. Incredible joy one moment and then someone dies; shit hits the fan, and then things are great again. I don't know if I will ever extricate myself from what seems to be an ingrained fear that something terrible might happen, but I am enjoying this exciting year.

What are you working on now?

I've begun writing a new book. It's too early to talk about, except to say that it is a memoir. I'm also working on a couple of children's books--a picture book and a middle grade novel. And I'm delighted to report that What I Thought I Knew is going to be a movie, penned by screenwriter Katie Ford whose film and TV credits include Miss Congeniality, Desperate Housewives, and Lifetime's Prayers for Bobby.

What's your daily life like?

This fall has been mostly about my daughter's middle school application process. I pick up my daughter three days a week and hang out with her, and the other two days, she has a sitter. I have two places where I write. I wrote this book at a tiny wooden desk by the living room window. Now I divide my writing time between my home office and the Writers Room, a workspace in Greenwich Village. I'm not the most methodical writer so I don't have a set schedule, though mornings are my peak writing time.

What didn't I ask that I should have?

Does the book have humor? Yes, yes, and yes! Did you win any prizes? Yes! I just won the Elle's Lettres Grand Prix for the Best Nonfiction Book of the Year.

Great new blog

Gina Sorell, a great friend and a truly terrific writer with a novel-in-progress that is one of the best I have read in years, has a new blog I'm going to be running some author interviews on her blog (as well as here), and guess who has the honor to be up there first? (Ah hem...)

Kirkus Reviews closing

It's tragic and I'm stunned.

Kirkus Reviews, which has been one of the most important prepub reviews to get, is closing. Notorious for being snarky (they gave me one review for my third novel that was so terrible, I still remember every syllable of it, and no, don't ask me to repeat it, but yes it did include the phrase, "Leavitt has no one else but herself to blame.."), their praise could jumpstart a book and a star from them was cause for celebration. (Most of my Kirkus reviews were good, and I was thrilled to get two starred reviews from them. I still worship at their feet for the publicity those stars generated for me.)

Kirkus reviewed more books than any newspaper ever could, and the fact that they are closing is terrible. Newspaper review space is dwindling. Who is going to pick up the slack? How can we find out about books that might be under the radar? I'm so used to reading their reviews to keep abreast of the book world, that right now, I feel bereft.

This is a great loss for the book world.

Celebrating a forgotten woman writer

Know the name Margaret Woodward Boyd? I didn't, either. It's actually the pen name of Margaret Woodward Smith Shane, who was discovered by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald took her novel, The Love Legend to his famed editor, Maxwell Perkins, who promptly published it. In 1922, The Love Legend rocketed to the bestseller list and was praised by The New York Times as "a lively colorful tale."

Finding lost literary talents like Boyd is the work of the fabulous David Wilk and Rvive Press, whose mission it is to revive a large list of great books that have been out of print for far too long. When he asked if I'd read Woodward's book and write an intro, how could I resist?

So is The Love Legend as good as Fitzgerald said it was? Yup. The story of four sisters in 1920s Chicago, it presents a fascinating portrait of politics, culture, love, marriage and career. If you'd like a copy of this--or any terrific books that are being revived, please visit the website.

Read This Book: Perfectiion

Perfection by Julie Metz is both shocking, disturbing and thoroughly wonderful. Metz's "perfect" life shattered when her handsome young husband died suddenly and she subsequently discovered his web of infidelity. How she unravelled all the secrets of his life and began to build a new life helped her redefine just what perfection really means.

What sparked the writing of this book?

When my husband died suddenly in January 2003, I was living in a small town north of New York City. My family and most of my longtime friends lived elsewhere and they were all worried about me. After a few days of trying to respond to individual e-mails, I decided to write one long e-mail each day and send that to anyone who wrote to me asking for news. After a few months I had created a diary of my early widowhood. When I found out about my husband’s infidelities in July 2003, several friends suggested that I should write about my experiences. But I wasn’t a writer and had no idea how to take the e-mails I’d written and put them together into a book that anyone would want to read. At this point, a professional writer I knew took me out for lunch and insisted that I give it a try. She pretty much sent me home with instructions on how to get started and kept after me to make sure I was working. After a while I sank into the writing experience and committed myself to the project.

As you were writing the memoir, and when you completed it, what discoveries did you make about yourself and the nature of your relationship with your husband?

The writing process helped me work through so many complex emotions: grief, then anger, shame, despair, and finally, acceptance. Along the way I learned that I was tougher than I had thought, that I could, in fact, take charge of my life, and rebuild it, with help from family and friends. From that point I was able to look back at my marriage and see the good and bad times with more clarity. In the end there are still unanswered questions. Henry’s behavior was so spectacularly self-destructive

You found out that your marriage was an illusion, so I’m wondering, what was the process that allowed you to trust again?

While I was married, I imagined that I couldn’t live without my husband. Then he died and I found that I could, after all, live without him. Slowly I put the basics of life back together. I was a working single mother and my heart was pretty much a disaster area, but I still earned a living and got dinner on the table. When I started to feel more settled, I made a list of what I hoped to find in a new partner: someone who was kind, and honest, who would love my child, and share my world view. When I began dating, I didn’t always stick to the list, so there was plenty of trial and error. When I met my present partner, I wasn’t sure that he was the right man for me, but slowly over time I saw his love for me and my daughter and his genuine interest in making a real family. This is what I’d wanted to have with my husband. It all took time and what I like is that we are still learning about each other.

Do you think a perfect marriage is possible? Why or why not?

Perfection! It doesn’t exist! So what’s left once we give up on that (unrealistic) ideal? We have the variety of real everyday experience, filled with beauty and flaws, excitement and boredom, happiness and sorrow. I look at my present relationship as a series of “everydays,” most of which are terrific, some less terrific, a few disappointing. I think the best relationships are ones where both individuals can change and grow and feel supported. What I enjoy about my situation now is that we genuinely love each other, we have fun together, and we weather difficult times with our spirits intact.

What made you want to know these other women that your husband had been with? Do you think that it ultimately helped, or was it more like rubbing salt into your already deep wounds?

My husband had died, leaving me with so many unanswered questions. I couldn’t ask him why he’d made his choices, but I didn’t feel like I could move forward with my life until I had some answers. I contacted the other women to try to understand what had happened to my marriage. I am not saying this is what every woman should do, but for me this was ultimately a positive experience. In the short term it was painful, but I did get some answers, and encountering these women helped me resolve my anger and find compassion for him, for them, and for myself. In one case, an unlikely friendship began that continues to this day.

I’m wondering, what are you going to tell your daughter about her father?

I have had many conversations with my daughter about her father. I would never have published the book without talking to her. What I have told her is that her father loved us but made some terrible mistakes. I want her to understand that adult life can be complicated, that we are flawed creatures, and sometimes our flaws can overwhelm us. I also hope to show her by example that it is possible to remake your life and that you can create your own second chances. And when I make mistakes (every day), I apologize and try to do better.

Why do you think you didn’t realize the signs of what was going on with your husband and all the women in his life, especially in the light of your honestly portraying the difficulties in your marriage? Do you think we choose to see what we want to see and protect ourselves from the rest?

When I was married, I had a lot at stake in not looking at the reality of my life. My identity was very wrapped up in being Henry’s wife. We had our child and a house and comfortable life in a beautiful town. I think many women are in this situation. Since my book came out I have received many letters from women who also didn’t see what was going on in their marriages because they were too afraid to look. Not looking too hard is a way of protecting oneself, though it won’t work forever.

I always ask…what are you working on now, what’s your writing life like, and what question didn’t I ask that I should have?

I am working on a novel now. Some of the themes are similar—a woman in midlife confronting her past and her future—but it’s such a different experience writing fiction. There is a new freedom in being able to invent scenarios and imagery, though I often feel now that the characters are directing the action rather than the other way around. I have a pretty clear idea of the basic story but I don’t really know yet how it’s all going to turn out.

My writing life is…probably not ideal. Which is to say, I have is no set writing schedule. I clear away the breakfast dishes and write at the dining table, while I also work with my assistant on book design projects, pay bills, make soup for dinner, and run loads of laundry. In the evening I might work some more on writing, while my daughter does homework, also at the dining table. But this is pretty much how the first book got written, so perhaps this method will work a second time…

People are sometimes curious about the title of the book: Perfection, since the story is about a time in my life that was anything but perfection. I chose the title because I felt that women are really struggling with this idea of perfection: perfect bodies, houses, kids, careers. The feeling that you have fallen short of the standard creates a feeling of shame that leads women to make some poor choices as they try to hide or plaster over the parts of themselves they feel are less than perfect. I wanted to find a way to redefine the word “perfection” so that it could encompass real life with all its beauty and flaws.

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Ah yes, my odd voice

In the beginning, I could sing. No, really, I mean it. Not just carrying a tune, but being good enough to be in my schools "special chorus," standing on a stage in a special navy blazer and little white skirt. I had the same high, sweet soprano my mother and sister did, and then I hit sixteen and rebellion took over. I didn't want to be like either of them, not in sound or looks or desires. I wanted to be something different. Something more dramatic.

I changed my name from Carolyn to Caroline.

I changed the way I looked and threw out the bright yellows for black and deep, muddy colors.

I grew my hair and stopped straightening the curls and wore complicated earrings and short velvet skirts.

And one day, in the midst of all this metamorphosing, at seventeen, my voice changed all on its own.

I couldn't carry a tune anymore, though I still liked to sing. My voice became hoarse and husky--so much so that my doctor insisted I go to a specialist because sudden hoarseness could mean real, physical trouble. The doctor I saw snaked a tube down my throat and made me sing as he did it. Then he drew the tube out and shrugged. "Your vocal chords don't touch," he told me. "You can fix that by taking singing lessons." Then he grinned at me. "But why would you want to?"

Ah yes. That's the way I feel. I've gotten used to people asking, "Do you have a cold?" (No, I always sounds like this, except when I have a cold and then I sound worse.) Or "Are you doing that deliberately?" (Nope. Well, maybe.)

One of the things a novelist has to do is self-promote. I know, I know. It's awkward sometimes, and being self-deprecating, I sometimes shy away from that "Look at me! Look at me!" quality that you have to have. I don't want to be seen as pushy or bragging or obnoxious.

I want people to read my work. I ache for them to, actually, so with that--and my strange voice in mind-- I offer you an opportunity to hear my voice. I am talking about my last novel, Girls inTrouble, and my new novel coming up, Pictures of You, on David Wilk's fantastic writerscast.

Writerama

I usually don't like books on writing but sometimes when I am in the thick of a novel and it feels out of my control, I reach for them, either to reassure myself or to see if there might be something--even a line--in there, that might help me.

A lot of the time, I think the advice is wrong-headed, or maybe it's just that it's too obvious conversing about the things I already know. I want to be surprised. But recently, I picked up From Where You Dream by Pulitzer prize winner Robert Olen Butler and the book is like a revelation. Maybe it's the language he uses, but even the things I do know about writing seem new here. Instead of talking about how important it is that every character want something, he uses the better word: yearning. Instead of the writer talking about the idea he or she has for a story, Butler insists it's far better to think about the emotional nuances, because emotion is where you build your story. You dig into the subconscious and he gives great advice on how to get into the "zone."

I haven't finished the book, but I've already recommended it to my UCLA students, and truly, I haven't been so exhilarated since I read John Truby, the screenwriting guru, whose simple change of the word "backstory" to "ghost" made me look at backstory in a different, richer way.

I think what I really like is the feeling that this voice from this particular book is down in the writing trenches with me. Reassuring me. Pushing me on. And that's pretty wonderful.