Thursday, December 6, 2018

Holidays

This week I have been blessed with some of the best reviews of my career for my new book, Kitchen Yarns: Notes in Love, Life and Food. It has been picked as People Magazine Book of the Week, Amazon Best December Book in both memoir and cookbooks, Washington Post top ten, Real Simple December Book, and even more! Just shows how food—eating it, cooking it, writing about it—is love and comfort. I hope you like the book, and that the recipes make you and your loved ones happy.

But with all this joy comes a sadness over missing my mom. I’ve been plowing ahead all year, getting done all the things that need to get done, working hard to keep grief in check. But the holidays always kind of keep us from sticking to that plan, don’t they? So it’s lots of pj time, knitting, reading, and keeping people I love close for me these days. Gobbling up Jane Gardham novels. Knitting hats like crazy. And binge watching The Great British Baking Show. Whatever brings comfort, right? I hope you are all doing the same, taking care of yourself during this happy sad time of year.

To celebrate my birthday my husband, kids, and cousins are spending the weekend in NYC: To Kill A Movkingbird, King Kong, Andy Warhol at the Whitney, Sam’s play Sources of Light Other Than the Sun, dinner at The Beatrice Inn and brunch at Untitled, birthday cake and lots of love. 💕 Even when sadness strikes, I remind myself I’m one lucky girl.

Tonight I’m making Gogo’s sauce and meatballs for dinner. Food. It keeps us close. Cook something that makes you smile. 

Thursday, November 15, 2018

Gracie Belle Books

I am so proud of Gracie Belle Books, my new imprint at Akashic Books dedicated to publishing beautifully written, unflinchingly honest books about grief. Our debut book is NOW YOU SEE THE SKY by Catharine Murray, a memoir about the life and death of her young son. But really, like all good memoirs, it’s about so much more: love, family, faith, hope, and the power of the human spirit. Tonight I will be with Catharine at Books on the Square in Providence at 7PM. I hope if you are nearby that you’ll join us there. You can buy NOW YOU SEE THE SKY at your favorite independent bookstore or Barnes and Noble, or order it here:
https://www.amazon.com/Now-You-See-Catharine-Murray/dp/1617756660/ref=nodl_

For many years writing students have Come to me for help with their memoirs about grief over the loss of their child, spouse, parents, sibling, or friends.  I have nurtured and read so many gorgeous stories that explore this part of the human condition: the loss of someone precious to you. In so many ways these stories are everyone’s story, as inevitably we all experience deep grief. However I found that even those Raiders who got an agent or put the manuscript in and editor’s hands, were told there was no market for books like this; or that people wouldn’t read them because the story was too sad; or there were already enough grief books out there.  I know, as you probably know, that there could never be enough books about this enormous human emotion. Every year – – no! Every day! Dash – There are more people beginning their own grief journey. And the more books that we can put in their hands the more we come together to help each other navigate grief.

 Catharine had been a student of mine long ago at a writers conference in Maine. Even then I was struck by the beauty of her writing and the depth and breath of her sorrow. It took Catharine years to finally turn the pages that I first read into the gorgeous memoir that became now you see the sky. I was so honored when she asked me to read the manuscript as an outside reader for her MFA thesis.  When I finish the book I put it down, moved and impressed but also frustrated because I knew that this beautiful book would most likely not find a home. I was so tired of having gifted writer is unable to place they’re beautiful books.

And so I took a risk. I emailed Johnny Temple at a Akashic books and basically told him what I’ve written here. Would he consider an imprint that published these important, necessary books? I know Johnny and I know that he has a generous heart and an open mind. I hit SEND and held my breath. To my utter delight, Johnny immediately said yes. And Gracie Belle Books was born.

 As many of you know, I lost my own five-year-old daughter Grace in 2002. I resisted writing my own memoir about my grief but as time passed I began to write essays that explored an illuminated my own journey. Eventually those essays were knit together to become my book comfort: a journey through grief. My own brave publisher, WW Norton, and my wonderful editor Jill Bialosky took a risk on that book and on me. Now I have the opportunity to do the same, giving voice to writers who can articulate this most human emotion and leave the reader spellbound, wiser, empathetic, and hopeful.

The imprint is named for my Gracie. The logo is a drawing of little wire rimmed glasses like she wore. I’m so happy to honor her in this way, by bringing more stories into the world that will help us all on this path called life. 

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Amtrak musings

I’m on my weekly trip on Amtrak from Penn Station in NYC to Providence. It’s always more fun when my fabulous husband is with me, but alas this week he is off to San Diego for a conference. I’ve had the great joy these past few years of enjoying the company and the love of a wonderful guy. When we travel together we play cards, read to each other and read separately, even enjoy eating and drinking similar things. On Amtrak that’s Dunkin Donuts dark roast and bagels that we complain about for being under toasted. Alone like today, I always work until New Haven and then put on the Slate Culture Gabfest podcast and listen while I knit. It’s a quiet few hours with just me and my thoughts.

My brain and heart have been working overtime these few weeks. I finally have all the photo albums from my 25 years of marriage and family life, and have begun the heartbreaking and laborious process of scanning them and sending them to the cloud, wherever that is. Yes, many of these make me smile. I’ve had fun texting pictures to cousins and friends when they appear, holding Sam or Grace or celebrating some holiday. But seeing my beautiful Grace—her steady gaze, her sly smile, her joy—slays me. As do the pictures of my parents, vibrant and alive,doting on my kids and on me. The pictures of the year and a half when it was just Sam and me reminded me of the wonderful family I have and all the people I can still call friends. They reminded me too of how the bond was formed between him and me in those days. So many pictures of us asleep together, traveling together, laughing together. I’ve been struck by how the pictures taken in Grace’s first year fill me with an unexpected sadness. Here is my young family, having fun and celebrating together. I peer at those faces, at my own happy face, at the draft Victorian  we called home. I was so happy in that life then, and it shows. Yet much of it was an illusion; this has been a difficult part of moving on. I’m only in 1997 still—so many pictures, so many years—and I know there are more unexpected feelings to come as I turn these dry discolored pages and send my loved ones and my past to that cloud.

But today I turn my attention to my present. This slouchy hat I’m knitting with sock yarn. This book I’m reading to blurb. The student papers to read and comment on. The manuscripts to consider for Gracie Belle Books (and oh! What a successful launch for NOW YOU SEE THE SKY by Catharine Murray, our debut book!). My own novel and the research that it requires (I’m still that girl who loves a library). The books I’m reading and almost finished—the new Tana French and Jane Gardham’s FLIGHT OF THE MAIDENS—and wondering which to read next. Thanksgiving planning: menus, shopping lists, writing names on the seashells I collected on Sanibel Island. Tonight’s dinner for Annabelle and me: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green veggie. I’ll roast the carcass overnight with leeks and carrots and wake to a rich stock for tomorrow’s tortellini soup (Michael taught me this trick for stock, and the recipe is in KITCHEN YARNS: NOTES ON LOVE, LIFE, AND FOOD, my new book coming December 5).

Almost at New Haven. Time to pick up my needles. I hope you are knitting something lovely and reading something you can’t put down. I hope you can look forward to thanksgiving with love and joy. I hope that if you are or were lonely, devalued, emotionally mistreated, ignored or betrayed, you can find the strength to believe in yourself, to look back with some happiness at what was good. I hope you find the love of a good person, who adores you and treasures you; and that you find the great pleasure of doing the same. Oh! This life can be hard! But remind yourself how absolutely wonderful it can be too. For that, I’m grateful. 

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Stuff

And I mean stuff. The things we surround ourselves with. The small statues of a man and a woman from Uzbekistan and Sicily and Peru (yes, I’m obsessed with these renditions of couples), the yarn (guilty), the oddly heart shaped stone or bit of blue sea glass; the photos; the letters and birthday cards. And so much more.

This week I am clearing out my mother’s house. I can’t tell you how many personal essays by students I’ve read about this very thing over the years. It’s a place most of us ultimately go. A heart wrenching sad horrible place.

I hate doing it. But I think once you’ve had to look through your daughter’s stuff after she died, and decide what to keep and what to give away, you are almost numb to this task, because nothing can be worse than looking through her kindergarten papers and odd drawings and hidden candy.

To add to this emotional gumbo, I’m also finally able to copy photos from my family photo albums—the 25 years of having and raising my children, traveling with them from Japan to Peru to Cambodia and beyond, first days of school and Halloween’s, and so much more. For reasons too ugly to write about here, these have been kept from me. I made these albums with such love and care that the condition they’re in—dry, faded, stuck forever to the page—shocked me. But despite the fact they’ve been kept from me, seeing these photos again reminded me how happy I was with my little family, how I loved watching Sam and Grace play with a garden hose (so much so that it takes up three pages of an album) and dressing up for Halloween and walking on Rhode Island’s beautiful beaches. And so much more.

I will say that the pain of divorce can make you forget how once you felt so blessed.

I will say that the pain of losing my mother only reminds me how blessed I was for my own parents.

Someday my kids will be doing what I’m doing this week. They will look at my little Uzbek couple and think how weird I was. They will probably give them away. But I hope as they do they also remember what a fearless traveler I was, how I took them by their little hands and brought them around the world, how I played games and cooked and listened to them. This is what matters more than stuff. And as I look at all of Gogo’s things, I remember her, my mom, wise and honest and vulnerable and big hearted and funny and a great card player. Not one thing I’ve had to decide whether to keep or discard is as important as that.

Some of you are reading this and you are going through the same thing. Hold fast to the memories. The stuff isn’t as important. 

Friday, October 19, 2018

Books Books Books

Remember that I promised to tell you all the things I’m excited about? Let me start with the launch book for my new imprint, Gracie Belle Books. We are publishing 1-2 books a year on grief, and on November 6 our very first one, NOW YOU SEE THE SKY, by Catharine Murray makes its debut. If you live near Portland Maine you can go to her reading on November 7 at Print Bookstore. Check out Catharine’s website for all of her events, but Rhode Islanders can come to Books on the Square on November 15 to hear me in conversation with her about her gorgeous memoir.

Another book that has me all excited is THE AFTERLIFE OF KENZABURO TSURUDA by my former student and dear pal Elisabeth Wilkins Lombardo. Sadly, Beth died too young and a gaggle if her friends worked to bring her novel to the world. I am so proud to be among them. On November 1 at 7PM, Suzanne Strempek Shea, Elizabeth Searle and I will be at An Unlikely Story in Plainfield MA to read from and discuss Beth’s novel. Please join us if you can. And if you can’t, please read this beautiful book.

I’m also jumping for joy that we have dates for my Spannocchia Writers Conference in beautiful Tuscany. I will be under the Tuscan sun with Andre Dubus lll, Stewart O’Nan, my fabulous husband Michael Ruhlman, and almost definitely Laura Lippman. Join us August 16-23, 2019! For info email Henry at spannocchiawritersworkshop@gmail.com

Thrilled to that bookreporter.com is offering this giveaway for my new book, KITCHEN YARNS: NOTES ON LIFE, LOVE, AND FOOD. Pub date is December 6 but it’s available for pre-order now. Or maybe you’ll get one here?
https://www.facebook.com/747721838/posts/10156481429976839/

Finally, not a book thing but I can’t stop knitting slouchy hats with sock yarn! Perfect train knitting as I travel the northeast corridor every week! 

What is a low residency MFA program?

I have so many exciting things going on I’m about to burst! I’ll tell you all about them in a separate post. Here I want to talk about The Newport MFA, a low residency program on the gorgeous Salve Regina University campus in Newport RI that I founded and Co direct with the talented poet Jen McClanaghan. Lots of people don’t know about the wonders of a low res program, so here’s everything you need to know about ours!

THE NEWPORT MFA FACT SHEET:

Our vibrant low-residency program confers an MFA in creative writing in one of the world's most beautiful settings. Newport, Rhode Island is a vacationland steeped in cultural and literary history - home to novelists and to novels by Henry James, Thornton Wilder and Edith Wharton.
The Newport MFA immerses students in the creative life through an intensive study of the craft of writing guided by dedicated faculty. Residencies consist of daily workshops, craft lectures, manuscript consultations, and keynote readings, initiating students into the writing life as well as the business of publishing and editing. Students spend the months between residencies writing and reflecting in an individualized mentorship with eminent writers.
Our program is dedicated to the rigor of graduate study, to providing outstanding guides and mentors in the field, and to balancing the solitude of writing with a dynamic community experience. Students may choose to specialize in fiction, historical fiction, poetry or nonfiction.
WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A LOW RESIDENCY PROGRAM AND A STANDARD MFA?
A standard MFA program requires students to live on or near the university for 2-3 years and to attend workshops, classes and lectures every week for two semesters a year.
A low residency MFA program requires students to attend two week-long campus residencies a year. During that week—one in January and one in June--students attend workshops, classes, craft talks, and readings. In between residencies, students work one-on-one with a faculty member by sending monthly packets of creative work and reading annotations via email or standard mail. 
In the third semester, students continue writing creatively while also writing a critical thesis under the mentorship of a faculty member. The fourth semester is devoted to creative work—finishing that novel or memoir, the poetry or short story or essay collection. During the final and fifth semester residency, graduating students give a craft talk and a reading from their work.
The benefits of a low residency MFA program are many. A student gets to have a writing community without needing to move from home or work while still enjoying a rigorous, creative environment during the residencies. During the non-residency semesters, students get the opportunity to work one-on-one with faculty while during the residencies they attend faculty run workshops with their peers. In addition, students meet and interact with guest writers, editors, and agents during the residencies. With the responsibilities of family, work, and life demands, a low residency MFA program allows students to get their MFA without changing their lives.
WHAT IS DIFFERENT ABOUT THE NEWPORT MFA FROM OTHER LOW RESIDENCY MFAS?
The Newport MFA is held on the campus of beautiful Salve Regina University in Newport, Rhode Island. Salve Regina’s eighty acre campus is made up of seven Gilded Age estates, including Ochre Court, a fifty room mansion where we hold our opening night reception. The campus is bordered on one side by the famous Cliff Walk, a 3.5 mile path overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
The Newport MFA gives students the opportunity to enjoy and appreciate beautiful, historic Newport, Rhode Island. Founded in 1639—under the governorship of famous traitor Benedict Arnold—by the turn of the twentieth century, Newport became the summer residence for some of the wealthiest families in the United States, including the Vanderbilts and the Astors. Edith Wharton famously described the social scene in Newport in her 1920 novel, The Age of Innocence“Ah, good conversation,” Wharton wrote of Newport, “there’s nothing like it, is there? The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.” We couldn’t agree more! Jackie Kennedy grew up on Hammersmith Farm, where in 1953 the wedding reception for her marriage to John F. Kennedy was held. 
During the June residency, students and faculty take an afternoon sailing trip together to enjoy the summer sunshine and to see Newport from the water, as thousands do every year. In January, we tour the beautiful mansions that line Bellevue Avenue, to understand and experience Newport’s history. 
In addition to our breathtaking, historical setting, The Newport MFA is unique because of our faculty and guest writers. 
The director, Ann Hood, is the author of the best selling novels The Knitting Circle, The Obituary Writer, and The Book That Matters Most; the memoir, Comfort: A journey Through Grief, which was named one of the top ten non-fiction books of 2008; and has received two Pushcart prizes, two Best American Food Writing Awards, a Best American Travel Writing Award, and A Best American Spiritual Writing Award.
Hood and Program Director, the poet Jen McClanaghan who is the winner of the 2009 Georgetown Review Prize, author of the poetry collection River Legs, and Salve Regina University writer-in-residence, are at the residencies with our students and faculty, which includes Charles Coe, Alden Jones, Edgar Kunz, Allen Kurzweil, Bernadette Murphy, Taylor Polites, and Tim Weed.
Guest faculty includes Alice Hoffman, Andre DubusIII, Dani Shapiro, Sheila Weller, and Major Jackson, among others.
WHAT’S THIS ABOUT HAVANA?
Our optional Havana Residency in January is a one-of-a-kind experience. Along with regular workshops and craft talks, students actively engage with Cuban writers and artists, explore off the beaten track historical and cultural sites, and visit Ernest Hemingway’s house, Finca Vigia.
The Newport MFA: a perfect combination of creativity, history, beauty, and inspiration, which is all yours to have. Just call or email us for more information or to get an application. Remember, we have new classes beginning every June and January!
Phone: (800) 637-0002
Email: admissions.salve.edu

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

On Revision

Today I hit send on my new novel. For the fourth time. Each time I thought I had written a lovely, moving, compelling story and each time my agent told me “Not yet.”  Here’s the thing. She’s always right. When you are so close to the story, it’s hard to see its flaws, where it falters, what it still needs. This time I did a major overhaul. I added two other POVs. I changed the ending. Completely. I did what Joseph Conrad suggests: re vision. To see the story anew. It may still be not quite right, but with each revision it gets closer. I hope. Dare I say like life itself? We keep tweaking and revising as we go, sometimes doing a major overhaul. And sometimes life does the revision for us. I spent a lot of time today thinking and writing, and much of that thinking and writing was trying to articulate my life revisions. At sixty, I completely changed my life. For the better. My mom told me one day as I cried at her kitchen table: You're not going to be cute forever, you know! What are you waiting for?
I was terrified and exhilarated stepping into a new life, setting up a new home with Annabelle, changing my life completely. Major overhaul. Who would have thought that I would find true love and embark on an exciting revision with someone who loves everything I do—reading, cooking, eating, traveling, playing cards, talking about literature. The list is long. But then life did a big revision by taking Gogo. The weight of this loss sends me to bed, or to pick up my knitting needles. The taking apart of her house, our family’s home for over a hundred thirty years, saddens and depletes me. But then Annabelle and I curl up together and binge watch The Gilmore Girls, her head in my lap. Or my husband makes me dinner and tells me to just sit and knit. Or I see Sam walking down a NYC street toward me and get wrapped in one of his amazing Sam hugs. Or I stay in bed with my computer on my lap and two cats on my feet. I don’t know if my latest revisions on this novel are right yet. I only know you keep at it, cutting and changing and adding new POV. You just keep at it. 

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

On the road again

I’m on the first leg of a journey to Greece with my wonderful husband: taxi to train station in Providence, Amtrak to NYC Penn Station, meet him under the departure board and together take LIRR to Airtrain to JFK, flight to Athens. For some this would be daunting. Me, I’ve always loved trains and planes gobbling up miles and depositing me somewhere faraway. Maybe it comes from dreaming of those faraway places as a little girl. I used to write down names of countries and study maps for fun. As soon as I earned enough money to buy a plane ticket I did: $99 round trip on delta from Logan Airport to Bermuda. I was sixteen years old and I’ve never really stopped since then. Travel is not only fun and exciting for me, it’s also a comfort. So it’s no surprise that this year, after losing my beloved Gogo, I’ve been on the road a lot. London to see my fabulous son Sam in THE DIANA TAPES; Paris with Annabelle; Dingle Ireland with both of my wonderful kids and Cousin Gina; and today on the road again with my love headed to Greece. Excitement mounts as I take this Amtrak train to meet him under that sign!

When I get home, I begin the sad task of packing up Gogo’s house, a house that has been in my family since the 1880s when my great grandparents arrived from Italy. No one has left it since. Until now. I still haven’t returned since Valentine’s Day when I raced there to get my mom in the ambulance. But return I must. To pack and sort and even give away the very things I’ve spent my whole life amongst. How I am dreading this process! So for today I will board a jet, drink champagne, play cards with my wonderful husband, read a book or knit or watch a movie, and ten hours later step into the hot bright sun of a new Athens’ day. We will explore an island and drink wine with friends. We will swim and gape at the beautiful ruins. And we will explore the ancient ruins, what is left behind by long gone people who lived and loved too. For a few moments or a few days there will be just this. Another form of comfort for broken hearts. 

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Domesticity

What a wonderful month I’ve had since I last posted here! Annabelle graduated from 8th grade, Sam left for London to continue THE DIANA TAPES, the inaugural residency of the Newport MFA was a rollicking success, and my favorite people gathered joined Sam in London in a sprawling Soho flat with a roof deck and room for big dinners, late night games, so much laughter and love that I returned refreshed and happy just in time for Annabelle to drive to Truro for one of our favorite yearly trips—a week at Castle Hill where I teach, we watch movies and eat berries and read and visit with friends. Sadly we leave here tomorrow and I will spend most of the next week or so with my most wonderful husband in NYC for lots of art and theatre and good food, before Annabelle and I fly to Paris and then on to Dingle Ireland to meet Sam and enjoy one of our favorite places in the world. That’s a quick recap of summer so far here.

But what’s been on my mind these past few days is the wonderful female British and Irish writers I’ve been reading the past few months—Maggie O’Farrell, Anne Enright, Anita Brookner, Tessa Hadley, and Jane Gardham. I’ve just been devouring all of their books non-stop, and realized slowly how respected and appreciated they are for exploring the same topics US women writers are often ignored for writing—family dynamics, love, parenting, friendship, home, children, siblings. What is described with derision as “domestic” here. (Though these writers are well regarded here; it’s American female writers who aren’t typically). The plots are often more emotionally tense than plot oriented, though there is always a plot: should we sell the house? Should we stay together? Should I go home? This has been some of the happiest reading I’ve done in a long time, book after book of the human heart explored with intelligence and curiosity and gorgeous prose. I’m inspired as a reader, a writer, and a woman by their words and stories. Please read every book these women have written.

As for me, I’m on my new novel’s fourth revision and it’s a huge one. I think I’ve figured out so much in this go round. I’m excited to get to work every morning, and hope to have it finished before I leave for Paris. Of course, I’m always ready for still more critiques from my agent and then my editor but I think I’m very close, at last.

I’m immersed in knitting a Churchmouse Yarns tunic but it’s too bulky for traveling so I’m also knitting slouchy hats for Christmas gifts. Though the needles are small so perhaps I shouldn’t use the plural?

So sad that Donald Hall died last week. My husband and I are such fans of his and Jane Kenyon’s and their love story. This morning at Michael’s recommendation I listened to the Fresh Air podcast tribute to them. If you’ve the time, spend an hour in their good company.

I hope your summer is sunny and bright. 

Sunday, June 10, 2018

Stuck in O’Hare

When your first flight cancels and they tell you they will put you on a 5:45 PM flight TOMORROW, so you spend too much money to rebook and then that airplane has a flat tire after the longest TSA Pre-check line in maybe the whole world, it would be so easy to be in a foul mood. But I’m not because after the sad news about Anthony Bourdain (dear friend to my husband, who is devastated and stunned) I have been awash in gratitude. I am stuck in O’Hare with the funniest, smartest fourteen year old maybe in the whole world (aka Annabelle) after a weekend in which:
We stayed in a lovely apartment in Lincoln Park. With a hot tub. On the roof. With a view of the Chicago skyline. (Thank you cousin Matt)
We had breakfast with the wonderful Nick who got us reservations for lunch at Rostier.
We had that lunch, and it was remarkable and memorable in every way.
Annabelle and I went on a cruise to celebrate my dear friends’ daughter’s graduation from DePaul, and it was joyful and full of lovely people.
My husband, fresh from Anderson Cooper, was waiting for us on the dock and We had deep dish pizza delivered after our Uber driver ordered us his favorite one, “with butter crust.”
We had lunch on Saturday with Annabelle’s former beloved English teacher at The Gage and then we walked a few blocks and saw Hamilton (again) and I cried during the entire second act.
We met Michael’s friend chef Brian and his delightful family at Duck, Duck, Goat and then went into the hot tub and an played the Hamilton soundtrack loud while the lights of Chicago twinkled at us.
Annabelle and I got to watch Michael and Brian break down a hog.
My 25 year old son still calls me every day and shares his life with me.
Our cancelled flight sent us back to the apartment and Annabelle and I got to lie on the sofa and read until Michael rushed back in time to tell us goodbye and send us off.
Life is so hard. And so sad. And so glorious. Hug the people you love. Read books. Knit. Love hard. 

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Globetrotting

Well, not really. But kind of. Annabelle left for two weeks in Spain and to ease the missing for her I set off on my own adventures. First, Michael and I visited friends in Santa Fe, and had great food, great conversation, and great fun in that unique lovely spiritual place. I was so happy we tookMichael to Chimayo, where back in 1996 I traveled to with my then three month old baby daughter Grace and my dear friend Matt for a miracle cure for my father. Dad had been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer so a miracle was our only hope. I wrote about the experience in my first memoir, DO NOT GO GENTLE, which is available now as an ebook at https://openroadmedia.com/ebook/Do-Not-Go-Gentle/9781480466876.

From Santa Fe we flew to Oaxaca Mexico where we stayed at the most romantic inn, Casa Oaxaca, and ate the yummiest food, drank the best mezcal, walked our feet off, and simply loved being there and in love. We hated to leave, except that we needed to get to NYC for the opening of Sam’s play Off Broadway at the HERE Theatre. Michael's wonderful mom and her husband flew in too, and I was so proud I just about burst. If you are in NYC—or London, where it goes next—please go to see THE DIANA TAPES! All the info you need is on the website thedianatapes.com. Michael and I are hosting a show and reception for twenty people on Thursday night, and then taking Annabelle and two cousins to see it in London in July. When your three year old looks at you and tells you he’s just gotta sing and dance and then grows up to really be living his dream...well, it makes a mom pretty happy.

This week we are nesting in our NYC apartment, which we have completely done over with lots of color and art we’ve bought together on our travels. It’s so lovely to just be here together enjoying it and the city we love.

Also this week I’m finishing a round of revisions on my new novel, which will go back to my agent and if she gives a thumbs up on to my editor. Then of course more revisions!

I read Anita Brookner novels on vacation and if you haven’t read her yet please start now. My favorite is THE HOTEL DU LAC but none will disappoint you.

I have one knitting disaster to report: Aero Mexico took my needles! I had to pull off all my knitting! And they were plastic circular ones, size 3. Unbelievable!

It’s hot as Hades in the city today, so I am going to put on a summer frock and walk down to Penguin to sign copies of SHE LOVES YOU YEAH YEAH YEAH. Pub date June 26 and I am so excited!

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Thoughts on home

I have been unable to go back into the red house with the blue door where I lived for so long and where I raised my children. It is still too painful. The idea of “moving on” is a strange one, I think. After all, Annabelle and I made a new home that I love (in many ways even more than that red house). It’s full of openness and light and love. Michael and I are redoing his apartment so that it reflects us—more color, art from our travels, crafts our friends made, pieces of our still brief but wondrous life together (even as I write this he is in nyc installing lights and painting one wall Caribbean blue and hanging art). So haven’t I “moved on”? That phrase implies leaving the past behind, something I think we should never do. We should work on forgiveness, knowing that forgiveness sometimes takes a lifetime. We should not let regret cripple us, but we should learn from that regret to make better choices. We should embrace our failures, but not become failures. We should savor our past successes, but not rely on them forever. In other words, we should keep taking risks, fail better,build on our successes. We should keep moving, but not move on; rather, we move forward with all of these complicated emotions and life events. There is another house I can’t go into. It sits on top of a hill. It’s white with a red door. It’s been in my family since 1884. The last time I was inside was Valentine’s Day, when I raced in to grab something of my mother’s before the ambulance took her away. She was born in that house, and lived there for most of her 86 years. I grew up there, returned to it at times when I felt beaten up by life or to introduce a new love or to sit with her over endless cups of coffee to figure out next steps in this messy glorious life. If I did step inside, perhaps I would still be able these three months later to catch a whiff of cigarette smoke and the remains of meatballs frying. I could open any drawer and know what I’d find there. And it’s these memories, so sharp and raw, that keep me away. When Grace died, well meaning people told me it was imperative to clean out her room. To “move on”. But my wise grief counselor told me I should not even step in that room until I was ready, and only I would know when that was. One summer morning, over a year later, I woke up and knew I could do it. Yes, I trembled as I walked down that hall, but once inside I was grateful I had waited. On that day, I could laugh when I found carefully hidden candy wrappers from sneaked chocolates. I could inhale her smell without falling apart. I could choose what to keep and what to let go of. I hadn’t “moved on”. I’d lived well. I was still angry at medicine and God because such grief and anger shouldn’t go away in a year. Or even ten years. Or ever. It should morph and change and not destroy you. But you should never stop feeling. Good God, isn’t that why we are here? To feel everything in profound ways? Grief and anger and joy and love? I do not ever need to go in the red house again. And a wise friend told me I don’t even need to go in the white house again. “You have people who love you enough to do it for you,” she said. The idea comforted me, though I know one day I will wake up and get in my car and drive that road I’ve been driving since I was sixteen, straight past the Dunkin Donuts, left after the bridge, right up the hill, left at the garage. I will be ready to pull in the driveway and see the image of my father smiling on the back porch, my mother at the stove frying those meatballs, my brother at the kitchen table solving problems on a slide ruler, my own young self playing jacks on the kitchen floor, reading a fat book in the rocking chair, talking on the phone with girlfriends, running out the door on the arm of a boy ready to grab everything life held out to me. I’ll be able to do that not because I moved on, but because I didn’t. 

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Mother's Day

Here it comes. The first Mother's Day without Gogo. How different this pain is from the first Mother's Day without Grace. There is something about losing a child, something about losing your beloved mother at 86 and your beloved daughter at five. Such different but profound griefs. As my dear friend Amy said recently about losing her mother: There's just something not right. Yesterday I went to buy Mother's Day cards for my dear aunt and for my mother in law. How clever I was avoiding the entire section that said: For Mom, and lingered in the section for everyone else. This year I will spend Mother's Day in NYC with my own kids and my marvelous husband. We will go to a play and out to dinner and there will be joy and laughter and love. And Gogo will be there with us in all of our hearts.

It seems like every day I have a new form to sign or something new to get notarized or a decision to make. I've decided to do just one sad thing a day, even if that means things are getting done slowly. Although this mostly has to do with Gogo, I've extended this policy to unpleasant people I have to deal with as well. And it helps. I don't get that avalanche of grief or anger that comes with total immersion. I highly recommend this.

And now to happy news: I've finished the first draft of my new novel! Yay! But of course this means the beginning of revisions, which I'm starting on today. Stay tuned for end of this revision and beginning of next one. Beginning writers are always surprised at how many rounds of revision I do. Even this first draft has actually been revised twice already--once when I reached page 75, and then again after Michael read most of it and offered comments. So we might start the count at three already.

I am making great progress on my Turkish bed slippers:
https://www.churchmouseyarns.com/products/turkish-bed-socks-pattern
The color is the most lovely jewel blue and they are just complicated enough to make me pause and think. On the train yesterday Michael saw me staring at my little slipper hard and puzzled and was quite amused!

Things to be excited about:

SHE LOVES YOU YEAH YEAH YEAH, my new YA book is available for pre-order here or at your favorite indie bookstore:
https://www.amazon.com/She-Loves-You-Yeah/dp/1524785113
It tells the story of Trudy Mixer, the biggest Beatles fan in her school, who--along with three oddballs--sets out to meet Paul McCartney after the Beatles 1966 concert in Boston. I was happy every minute that I spent writing this book.

THE DIANA TAPES, a play by What Will the Neighbors Say, my son Sam's theatre company, is opening Off Broadway on May 27!
You can get tickets here:
http://here.org/shows/detail/1969/
After this run, they go to London!

Michael and I are taking four lovely trips in the next month. To santa Fe to visit my friends Mary and Andy. To Oaxaca to eat and walk and be romantic. To Chicago with Annabelle where Michael will work, we will all go to see HAMILTON (again for AB and me), and we will eat at Girl and the Goat, one of my favorite restaurants. And to Michael's hometown of Cleveland so that he can show Annabelle around--at her request (how happy I am that my kiddos love this man almost as much as I do), which means the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, an Indians game, hopefully dinner at the Greenhouse, and all sorts of wonderful Cleveland things.

Now it's time to begin those revisions. And yes, I'm excited about that too!


Friday, May 4, 2018

History

As e e cummings wrote:

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

And for me right now that root of the root, bud of the bud is that I am faced with the challenge of emptying and selling the house that has been in my family since 1884. My dreams have been filled with me trying to move history books too large to hold, of lifting ancient tablets, of losing seashells in the surf. 

Today I had to talk about getting rid of furniture and giving away clothes and what can be thrown out. But every day I walked into that house and that furniture, those clothes, those superficial things, brought me comfort. I can’t even walk in there. 

Ah grief. 

I carry your heart, Gogo. I carry it in my heart. 

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

The tricky thumb gusset

One of My favorite knitting projects this year has been the ferryman mitts from churchmouse Yarn and tea on Bainbridge Island, Washington. This pattern is tricky and simple, beautiful and challenging, and a perfect carry on the airplane project. When sam saw the mitts I had knit for Annabelle he asked for an identical pair in the same yarn. So why, after successfully knitting this pattern three times did my fourth thumb gusset fail? I just can’t get it right! This is what is on my mind today, those things we succeed at over and over and then somehow manage to fail at for no particular reason. As you all know, knitting is a perfect metaphor for life. Well, my latest “thumb gusset” is a new novel I have just finished. Of course, typing the end really just means the end of that draft, and time to let the revisions begin! There is such a feeling of satisfaction and dare I say even enjoy when I finish a draft of a novel. If you are lucky like I am, then your husband eagerly reads that draft and gives you the most brilliant notes and suggestions for revision. He tells you that you have written something wonderful. But like those pesky thumb gussets you can’t help but wonder if you can really pull it off again.

On Amtrak today from Providence to New York City I did not even look up once so engaged was I in my revision process. I just had the most wonderful lunch with an old friend and now I will meet with my fabulous thesis students before dinner with my friend and editor. And then at 10 the key will turn in the lock and my fabulous husband will walk in, and we will tell each other about the thumb gussets that worked out and those that didn’t today. Tomorrow I will turn again to my revision, and to that fourth mitt.

When I walked from the subway today, all of the tulips in Abingdon Square were in bloom, a riot of red like they were at my wedding last year. I hope you see something as glorious today, that your knitting reminds you of our challenges and our victories. 

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

On love, loss, Knitting, and all the usual things I write about

It’s a rainy April day here in the northeast. As many of you know, I love the rain: the way it sounds and looks and smells. Last night walking in TriBeCa with a young friend I told her that I could smell rain coming. No, she insisted, you smell flowers. But I convinced her that since there were no flowers in sight, that sweet smell was indeed rain. It is lovely sitting on Amtrak, as I am now, watching the rain. And thinking about all the usual things that I think about and write about.

Most important of these is the loss of my beloved mom, Gogo. Tough as nails, she survived a heart attack in January and by early February was referring to it as her “so called heart attack.” She was back to making meatballs, hitting the casino, and even smoking. Do we have premonitions about these things? I believe I did. When Michael and I decided to get married, we had vague thoughts of a September wedding. But something led both of us to act sooner—love, of course; as Michael said, quoting a famous movie line, When you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start today. We both wanted to be sure Gogo saw us get married and saw our happiness. She had seen me through a lot of unhappiness, and from the moment she met Michael she knew I was loved and cared for finally. For our first anniversary, Michael gave me a gorgeous wedding album he’d made for me, filled with not just photos but a narrative and all of the poems read at the wedding and Laura Lippman’s lovely readings. There, in that book, is Gogo looking happy and confident. “My Ann,” as she called me, “is going to be ok.” She was right. I’m more than ok, enjoying a relationship of love and trust and laughter and poetry. But oh how I miss my mom! Recently I became unfortunately involved in someone’s messed up psychology, the very behavior Gogo can spot a hundred miles away and advise me on the smartest course of action. Without Gogo, I felt momentarily lost. How to handle such an attack? How to stay out of dysfunction? But then I felt calm, hearing Gogo’s wise words imparted on me over a lifetime.

She was my valentine this year. We went to lunch and laughed and gossiped. We went to Target and the grocery store. All normal and loving. Interesting that I’d baked her madeleines. That night she was rushed to the ER with what we later learned was a bowel obstruction, and my big loving family gathered in that ICU for ten days, taking turns sleeping on the vinyl sofas. Sam and his friends came from nyc. Friends of mine flew in from VA and Alabama. We cried together and laughed together, Michael fed us and this group of people reminded me what love really is. Gogo knew that. And she knew that she was surrounded with it until the very end, and beyond.

It will come as no surprise that I am knitting a lot—ferryman mitts from Churchmouse Yarn and Teas on Bainbridge Island with yarn from the great yarn store in McKinney TX. Next up, five baby hats for babies coming in August, and then a big summer project of a sleeveless pullover, another Churchmouse pattern. And I’ve been reading a lot—the Greenglass House series with Annabelle, Anita Brookner novels, and How to Behave in a Crowd beautifully translated from the French.

Michael and I spent our anniversary weekend doing the other things we love to do—see plays (we saw six!) and eat good food. We recreated our wedding lunch at Barbuto, took Sam and Katherine to Claro in Brooklyn (Oaxacan food, in preparation for our upcoming trip to Oaxaca in May), The Oxbow Tavern with friends, The Reade Street Bar for burgers with friends, and lots of Michael’s poached eggs on toast and homemade chicken soup, my ultimate comfort foods.

In Abingdon Square Park, the tulips bloomed yesterday, announcing spring. They were in full bloom for our wedding last year. We have much to look forward to. My YA novel, She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah comes out in June and was picked a Best Summer Read by Publisher’s Weekly. My new memoir, Kitchen Yarns, a collection of essays about food with recipes comes out in December. And I finished a new novel yesterday. But writers know that when you type THE END it only means the beginning of revisions.

April too means the celebration of both of my most wonderful kids, and the sad anniversary of losing Grace. When you read this, play a Beatles song for her. Buy tulips. Knit something for someone you love. Read a good book. Stay away from people who hurt you or attack you or make your brief precious life anything but lovely. Kiss everyone you love. Remember Mary Oliver’s wise line from a poem: What will you do with your one wild and precious life? Then do it. 

Monday, March 26, 2018

Follow your dreams to Newport with me

I am so excited about being asked to be the director of a new low residency MFA program at Salve Regina University in beautiful Newport RI. If you aren’t familiar with low residency programs, let me explain why I think they are a brilliant way to fulfill your dream of writing that memoir or novel, poetry or short story collection, or historical novel. Unlike traditional MFA programs that require you to uproot your family, quit your job, relocate for two or three years, low residency programs allow you to live where you live and work where you work. Instead packing off to Iowa or NYC, you come to campus for a week in June and a week in January. During those residencies you get the benefits of a writing community full of students like you, our fantastic faculty, and lectures and readings by our guest writers like Tom Perrotta and Alice Hoffman. Your work will be read and discussed in a small workshop led by one of the faculty. You’ll hear craft talks and eat dinner with all of your teachers. And at the end of the week you will go home, inspired and ready to spend the next six months reading and writing under the mentor ship of one of the faculty. This model is a dream for teachers, parents, career people, or anyone who can’t stop their life for a few years. Low residency MFAs are for people who want to write and need the flexibility the program provides. And an added bonus—we offer an optional semester in exciting Havana. I’ve taught at several of these and helped create the Newport MFA with the best of the best in mind. Is it time for you to follow your dream?
http://www.salve.edu/graduate-studies-and-continuing-education/newport-mfa-creative-writing

Saturday, January 6, 2018

2018

I remember my brother and me playing with some kind of calendar that allowed us to see what day our birthdays would fall on in the year 2000. It seemed a million years away from that day in 1966, sitting on the floor of the TV room in front of the zenith, black and white shows playing, Jiffy Pop popcorn between us. Somehow I looked up and even the year 2000 seems long ago now. I imagined we would all travel in flying cars, not hold our entire worlds in tiny phones. So much for my imagination!

Michael and I started the new year with a bang. Our planned romantic train ride 35 hours from providence to New Orleans cancelled after an 8 hour wait in Penn Station without any explanation or new departure time from Amtrak. We taxied home, had a great dinner at Barbuto, then were up and out at 6:30 the next morning for a flight. Disappointment and frustration over our  barged romantic adventure, and even more so over Amtrak and the terrible way they treated us for so long. But changing our plan was a good idea since the train did not leave until 1130 that night – – nine hours late – – got delayed again outside of Atlanta, and finally arrive in New Orleans at 5:30 in the morning, over 10 hours after our expected arrival. The plane got us here by 1030 in the morning giving us a whole Extra day in this beautiful city. However we had an exciting arrival when the taxi we were in from the airport to the Garden District was hit by a car that ran a red light.  Luckily everybody was unharmed, but the cars were in pretty bad shape. What a way to start the new year! I think we have had our share of excitement for a while, and I’m happy to report that for five glorious days we have been enjoying New Orleans, eating and walking and drinking lots of Sazarac‘s. One of the most wonderful things about my most wonderful husband is that like me he loves a working vacation. So we have been working every morning, each of us on our computers, each of us writing our books. And then we break for a long leisurely lunches, followed by late afternoon reading and then dinner. Pretty heavenly!

Tomorrow it’s back home and I have a week to get my taxes in order – – UGH – – work on my novel, get ready for my fabulous week of teaching at Eckerd College like I do every January.

There’s so much to look forward to already this year, including two new books: in June a new YA novel, SHE LOVES YOU YEAH YEAH YEAH, from penguin that I’m so excited about I could jump up and down; and a memoir, KITCHEN YARNS, from Norton, told through food and recipes coming in the fall.

I have finished all my knitting projects and looking eagerly for a new one! Meanwhile, dish rags!

Signing off with the smell of leftover lamb and rice wafting up to me, and an afternoon ahead in the French quarter watching the joan of arc parade, followed by king cake at a party.

Happy 2018 everyone!