Category: The Juliet Stories
Saturday, Mar 10, 2012 | Book Review, Good News, The Juliet Stories, Writing |
this morning’s paper
Kevin and I slept in this morning. Indoor soccer season *at 8am for six-year-olds! is finally over. We must have been tired.
When we finally dragged ourselves out of bed, I picked up my phone to check messages. Here is the first one I saw: “Congratulations on your Globe review, Carrie. You’re probably going to want to read this one.”
Without saying a word, I beelined for the porch, retrieved today’s Globe & Mail, flipped through to the Arts section, and to Books. And found my own self-portrait, which my brother tells me has a Zoolander flavour to it (nooooo!). I also found a really solid review of The Juliet Stories. Exhale.
And then Fooey came to see. “I found your name, Mommy!” She tried to sound out the headline: “sp, sp, sp …” And then Albus asked if he could have the section. It has the funnies in it.
At dinner the other night one of the other writers with whom I was reading said a good review is like a sugar rush. This feels like a caffeine high. I’m not sure it’s quite healthy. Don’t get me wrong, I am not arguing in favour of bad reviews, not at all. It’s that attention of any kind has an unpredictable effect on the human spirit. It’s a dangerous flirtation. This may be my Mennonite roots showing. Guarding against vanity; humility of spirit.
But this is a good and happy and out-of-the-ordinary moment in my life.
So on behalf of all Obscure CanLit Mamas out there, I embrace this unsettling rush, with deep appreciation for a continuing dream. My feet are off the ground — one flash-frozen stride in a long journey.
Friday, Mar 9, 2012 | Blogging, Books, Friends, Photos, Readings, The Juliet Stories |
On Wednesday I took the train to Toronto. Not this train, mind you. This one just happened to be particularly photogenic.
Riding the train is genuinely more glamourous than riding the bus (not that the bus sets the bar very high). I didn’t even get sick (which usually happens to me on the bus). I read through the story I planned to read that evening. Tweaked my intro. Took some photos. Wondered where that road might lead. Napped.
My first destination was lunch with blogging friends, two of whom I’d never met in person (though it seemed like we already knew each other), and one who was a friend from grad school — we hadn’t seen each other in a decade. It amazed me how very much she was the same. And I remembered all the reasons I admired her — and that she was so much fun to be around. (Click on the photo above to get the full picture on Flickr; my importing system crops part of the right side out. And it’s such an awesome capture.)
Parenting tip: always bring a children’s illustrator along when you’re entertaining a child at a lunch that is mostly for adults. (Admittedly not usually an option. Not unless your group of friends happens to include a children’s illustrator.) Oh, and these women also all belong to the same book club, which sounds like it might rival my own poetry club for intense conversation (they’re called the Vicious Circle, which makes the writer in me quiver with fear and the reader in me quiver with excitement). I could have stayed at this lunch for many hours more. The fries weren’t half-bad either. I’m already plotting to go back to Toronto next month, whether or not any offical events get organized. Can I invite myself back? Please?
After lunch I walked south toward my publisher’s office, and met a friend at a park nearby. Also from grad school, whom I hadn’t seen in over a decade. Her youngest played in the sand while we caught up. No photos. I was slightly cursing the weight of the camera at this point in the adventure.
But I was glad I’d brought it when I met my sister in a coffee shop nearby. The light was beautiful. And isn’t she too? It had been years since we’d spent a leisurely afternoon together like that. See, I’ve got to come back!
At this point, I let the wind blow me to the Anansi offices where I freshened up, and signed books. I saw Sheila Heti coming in, and should have introduced myself (celebrity sighting number one). Kevin texted to say he was nearly there. I left in a hurry and we drove down to Harbourfront together. I changed in the back of the truck in the parking garage. Told you, nothing but glamour. And I applied makeup in a mall bathroom. And then we went to dinner.
There are no photos for awhile. Which I truly regret, because the setting for dinner was nothing if not a photographic opportunity. We sat around a circular table with a mirrored wall on one side and a window on the other, overlooking the water. The sun set while we dined. The sky changed colour. It had been a weirdly warm and windy day, singing of spring. I wish I’d had the audacity to request a photo, though it would have interrupted dinner. I couldn’t quite do it. I’m not a photographer, after all, not really.
After supper, we read. I must say that the view from behind the podium at Harbourfront is soothing and quite beautiful. The room is set up with tables, each with a little candle flickering on it, and that is all the reader can see — these dots of floating light in the darkness. The audience, on the other hand, is looking at a very well-lit reader. And the podium is see-through. So I was glad I’d worn my red shoes, though I did rather wish I could have waved a wand when the show was over and turned them into my comfy old boots.
After reading, we signed books and chatted. And then it all cleared out and got very quiet, and Kevin and I left with an old friend from university (I met her even before grad school). We went for a drink at a fake British pub. Relaxing, still floating on a few bubbles of glamour, laughing, rolling over the day, talking about babies (she has a four-month-old). It was a grand end to the evening. (Again, click on the photo for the full effect.)
And then a funny thing happened. An entire pipe band set up outside the front door of the pub. In full regalia. With drums and everything. And then another funny thing happened. We were berated by a passing gentleman (was he wearing a kilt? I think so) who told us we should be ashamed of ourselves not to be out there listening to the pipes. Apparently he was none other than Glenn Healey, former goaltender and now sports commentator. Celebrity sighting number two. Mr. Healey didn’t realize he’d just had his own celebrity sighting. OMG is that Obscure CanLit Mama? Drinking a pint? In her red shoes? Heh. I’m joking. No seriously, I am joking.
We took in the pipes. And then we went home.
Friday, Mar 2, 2012 | Exercise, Publicity, Publishing, Running, The Juliet Stories, Work, Writing |
I had another physio appointment this morning. It’s hard work retraining these muscles. My physio says she expects it to take another four weeks of work (and that means daily exercising at home too) before I can run without pain. And only when I’m running without pain will she begin to address some of the more technical problems with my stride. I’m grateful to be running again, if only for 20 to 30 slow-paced minutes a couple of times a week; but I’m frustrated by not being able to push harder, to run faster, to challenge myself at the pace and speed and distance that I could just a few months ago.
So I feel in between. Very much in between. In a kind of quiet zone I’d never planned to visit let alone linger in.
It occurred to me this morning that I’m in a similar place with my writing. Last year I worked so hard on the specific project of Juliet. In parallel, I worked so hard to become a long distance runner and triathlete. I achieved both goals. And then I fell into this in between zone. And I’m lingering. And I’m impatient. And I’m anxious to get training and working hard again.
For my writing, the in between zone is the launching of the book. It’s done. It’s ready. Here is its chance to enter the world and sink or swim on its merits. I feel a great responsibility toward it, and toward those years of effort. I want to help it find its way. It’s my job, too, to spread the word, to share the words. And that takes time. And mental energy. And painstaking work that feels a little bit like those strength exercises I’m doing every day now. Tiny repetitive muscle motions that are much harder to do than it would appear.
What I hope for, with both of these lingering lulls, is to emerge on the other side stronger and fitter, with muscles retrained and fresh ideas gained and the pent-up angst of a forced rest period channelled into positive energy and drive. Writing a book and training for a marathon are similar exercises. Both require intense commitment to a goal, and the ability to keep working toward that goal even on off days, even when the point of the goal feels temporarily lost. Will this forced wait renew my commitment? Return me afresh to work that can seem, at times, tedious and interior?
I don’t know for sure. But I can hope.
Thursday, Mar 1, 2012 | Good News, Kids, Reading, Sleep, The Juliet Stories, Work, Writing |
I quietly declared yesterday a mental health day. And so I did not blog. Not that blogging negatively affects my mental health. It’s just that it’s one of the many things I try to do every day. And yesterday, it felt like there were perhaps already too many things on the must-do list and that I should therefore ease back, breathe, take a long nap.
And then the power went out. For hours and hours.
CJ ran around the house trying every light switch and reporting back. “Not even the cold cellar, Mommy!” “Not even in my room!” Meanwhile, I cooked supper in an eerily quiet kitchen over the blue gas flame. Partially cooked, would be more accurate. I’d started preparing it rather late, and planned to warm ingredients in the crockpot, leave everything simmering on the counter, and race back home to eat in between piano lessons and “Performing Arts Night” at the kids’ school (see: already enough things to do). I was sauteeing onions when everything but the stove stopped. This is one of those situations when it is extremely handy to work from home. Dump still-frozen ingredients from crockpot to stove. Thaw. Beats arriving home to a chilly house and an unfinished supper waiting on the counter.
Mental health day really only lasted an hour. But it was a good hour. I napped peacefully while CJ watched a movie. He had minor surgery yesterday morning (and it was very minor, no worries), so I kept him home from nursery school. Sleep is good. So good. And it is something I’ve found lacking post-launch-party. Something about coming down off the mountain. Too much oxygen down here. The clutter of the every day. The feeble human mind whirling as it tries to absorb all the good stuff and keep it–and exhausting itself in the process.
After a truly restorative nap, it was back to work. More movies for CJ. Plus some playtime on my office floor. I find myself fearing that what my children will remember of this time in our lives is their mother saying in a voice tinged with the frantic: “Just a minute, please, I’m trying to finish some work!” Or: “Wait, wait, wait, I just have to get this work done!” Or: “Mommy’s working, can’t you get a glass of water yourself?”
You know, that’s not the worst thing ever, come to think of it. A little water-fetching independence never hurt anybody.
This morning the girls were wondering when I might start baking again. It’s true. I bake bread on the weekends, but my cookie and treat-baking has fallen right off the map. Fooey was browsing longingly through a kids’ cookbook from which we used to like to bake banana muffins — together. And I looked at the girls, sitting side by side at the breakfast counter, and I said, “Hey, you’re big enough to try baking together!” “Really? Can we?” “Of course!” (If they’re big enough, I should be big enough, too: to let them learn by trial and error; ie. make a mess, and possibly bake something inedible.)
I’m not going to declare today a mental health day. Nap: check. Power: check. Blog: check. Kids safely to school: check. Supper planned: check. Early morning exercise: check. Discovery of a new blog (by me!) up at the amazing Canadian literary hub The 49th Shelf. The house is quiet. It’s not even 10am. And I’ve got messages like this waiting for me in my inbox:
“I finished reading The Juliet Stories this afternoon. That ending!!!—I’ve read it over and over.”
and this: “My 90 year old mom finished your book. She said something to the effect that you “have an absolutely incredible way with words”.”
and this: “Just wanted to tell you how much I’m enjoying Juliet. In fact, it’s hard to put down! It’s a gorgeous book.”
(If any of you are moved to write such kind words to me, please also consider taking time to let Amazon and Chapters know how you feel too. You don’t have to buy the book from them, but as Tuesday’s post explains, personal reviews and good ratings move the book higher in the rankings.)
Okay, now it is 10am. What am I going to do with my one precious life today? And you, what are you going to do?
Tuesday, Feb 28, 2012 | Publicity, Publishing, The Juliet Stories |
Dear Reader,
Say you’ve read The Juliet Stories. Say you’ve liked it. Or even, like this reviewer, say you’ve loved it. You think others should read it too. And you can’t wait to read the next book by this writer. Dear Reader, if this is you, please consider. There is much you can do to help. Small things. Practical things. Things that could make a huge difference in the life of this book.
Here are some ideas:
* Review and rate The Juliet Stories at the big online bookstores. You know the ones. (Visit here and here.) Positive reviews and ratings help move the book higher up in the rankings and bring it greater visability. (Negative reviews don’t help; if these exist, rate the review itself as unhelpful.) As of this writing, The Juliet Stories is sitting #81 in the category “Short Stories” on a major bookseller’s site. That’s pretty awesome. Just imagine where it could go with your support.
* Ask for The Juliet Stories at your local bookstore. If they don’t have it, tell the owner/manager/book-loving-employee why they must. Here’s the thing. The big box retailers, Costco and Walmart, sell bucketloads of books, but my publisher can’t afford to send my book there. Not yet. Not unless word-of-mouth spreads sales like wildfire. Big box retailers aren’t really bookstores, and they treat books like any other piece of merchandise, expecting it to sell itself — and within three weeks upon arriving or they return it. Big box stores tend to return lots of books to publishers, often damaged — and in Canada, they do so without any cost to themselves; the publisher carries the burden of all unsold books (yes, it’s crazy, but that’s another story). Right now, it isn’t practical to place The Juliet Stories in the very lucrative big box store market. So make sure your local independent has it. Or your mall’s Coles. Or the Chapters on the outskirts of town.
* If The Juliet Stories is already at your local bookstore, hurray! Tell the owner/manager/book-loving-employee how happy you are to see the book, and how much you like/love it. Make sure the book’s cover is visible, facing forward on the shelf.
* Buy the book. Sounds obvious, and you already have, right? It may surprise you how often this practical step is overlooked.
* Tell your friends about the book. Heck, tell strangers. Word-of-mouth does wonders.
* If you have a book club, suggest The Juliet Stories for an upcoming pick. If you live near me, ask me to visit your book club — I’d love to, and I will. (And I promise not to cry, drink all of your wine, or answer in monosyllables.)
* If you have a blog, write about The Juliet Stories. Or interview me for your blog. If you’re on Facebook or Twitter or Pinterest, post about The Juliet Stories. Tell people why they’d enjoy the book. “Like” The Juliet Stories’ Facebook page.
Dear Reader, Virtually all of this holds true for any book you love. And virtually all writers are just like me: hoping their offering gets found and read. Spread the love.
One more thing, Dear Reader. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve found and read Juliet. Truly. Thank you.
Monday, Feb 27, 2012 | Photos, The Juliet Stories |
Thanks to Nancy, my official photographer, for capturing the many-layered evening with her lens. Read all about the party, here.
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