An online essay writing class by yours truly

If you've been wanting to take a writing class but find the time is never right or the flight is too expensive, this might be perfect for you. Taught online through the Provincetown Fine Arts Center, this three week course has been very popular. I'd love to see you there!

http://www.fawc.org/24pearlstreet/application.php?CourseID=0123

Holiday Blues

It is one of the many mysteries of grief that you can be laughing and busy and baking and noshing and--dare I say it?--even happy, yet get slammed with sadness seemingly out of nowhere. When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time in the summer at the beach. And by a lot, I mean almost every day. I used to be (and still am) fascinated by waves. Watch waves long enough and you discover their pattern. One day, or hour, there might be a pattern of two small gentle waves and then one big curling one. Or several overlapping ones and then one solo perfect wave. This was important to figure out if you liked to ride the waves, which I did. I'd figure out the pattern to catch the best wave, then throw my Coppertone'd self into it headfirst. 

What does any of this have to do with grief, which really has no pattern and acts more like the rogue waves that used to knock me down and drag me to shore? Exactly that. As someone who likes patterns, to know the architecture of a book I'm writing or when someone will call every day, this inability to figure out grief's pattern frustrates me. I'm caught instead by those rogue waves. Like right now. 3:11 in the morning after a truly wonderful day cooking with Sam and wrapping presents with Annabelle, finally decorating our tree and house, a spur of the moment dinner party. Then finding myself an hour ago awake and unable to stop that rogue wave. Was it hanging Grace's tiny slipper on the tree? Or hearing about a boy her age who is now away at college? Or the loss of a friend's child that reminds me of what we've lost. I've come here into my knitting room, walking past a sleeping Annabelle, because it's one of my favorite places to be, hoping I can sleep among all this yarn and this stack of books waiting to be read, the mementos on the fireplace mantle and blue glowing light of the printer. But alas, I'm too knocked down for sleep, even here snuggled into the pink patterned bed linens and plethora of pillows that make this daybed perfect for napping and knitting and reading. So I'm thinking about waves. I'm remembering those long ago days at the beach, the sandy plums and quickly melting root beer Popsicles. The hot sun and salty breezes. The scratchy Navy blanket beneath my wet bathing suit. How carefully I'd study the waves! And oh that feeling of being lifted by a big wave, tumbled about, carried to shore. Despite my prowess at this game, at least once a day I'd get the wind knocked out of me. Perhaps that's why I'm thinking about waves on this eve of Christmas Eve. The holidays, with all their predictable pleasures and ability to lift us, also knock us down and take our breath away. Perhaps that's what I've learned tonight here alone in the dark. That rogue wave that is grief is going to come, and there's nothing to do but ride it to shore. 

Then stand up again, bruised and battered, and find the joy in a sandy plum, a dripping Popsicle. Or better yet, the sleeping people around you, the big messy glorious world outside your window. 

Holidays approaching

Dear Everyone Out There Who Reads This,

It doesn't quite feel like Christmas yet--our tree is too short and not yet decorated (waiting for Sam to come home), none of my nativities are out yet, it's 42 degrees most days and rainy, and I have a pile of presents in the knitting room to wrap. 

But. Annabelle is in high gear for her ballet, Polar Express, this weekend. And her class breakfast and holiday show tomorrow. And those Christmas gifts are all bought. And the cookie baking plan made. So I'm getting there. 

I'm up at 3:30 because I'm in the middle of a new novel, and my brain is working overtime. Every day, when I could be wrapping presents, I'm working on it. And when I do that, time flies. 

It's almost Christmas and I miss Grace. I can't help but remember how all she wanted were art supplies and anything to do with the Beatles. And I can't help but wonder what she would be desiring at 18, what college she would be coming home from, the joy I'd feel when she walked through the door. My beautiful girl. 

I know many of you reading this are feeling the same about your own beautiful children. Know a mom in Rhode Island is thinking of you. 

Please look for my op Ed on grief in the Boston Globe early next week. I'll post the link here. 

And please, if you're so inclined, follow me on Instagram or Twitter at annhood56. 

Be strong in the days ahead. 

It's my birthday!

I was born during a blizzard, and had today been a few degrees colder I would have celebrated this birthday in one! Instead: epic rain and wind. But happily home, under a blanket reading and listening to the rain falling hard. Lucky to have had lunch with Gogo and done a littleChristmas shopping with her. Soon enough there will be presents and a surprise dinner tonight. For now, enjoying solitude and quiet after a fall of touring and teaching. And tomorrow I begin my schedule of two hours of reading, two hours of writing, two hours of knitting. That's how novels get written, scarves get made, brains get fed, and I get centered.

 

Belated Happy Thanksgiving

Before we talk turkey, I have to tell you how wonderful the Miami Book Fair was. As always. Every writer you love and/or admire passes by and there's endless hugging and squeals of You're here! Not to mention the panels and readings and warm temperatures. I had the pleasure of paneling with two writers whose writing I adore but have never had the pleasure of meeting until Saturday: Lisa See and Ayalet Waldman. 

Home for 6 hours before driving to NYC the next morning. Ride made fun by having my buddy Tracey along. Ok. She actually did the driving. (Yay! Tracey!) and then back home Tuesday and the shopping and cooking began in earnest. 

Our usual Thanksgiving Eve bash was as crazy as ever. Though the day was a bit more subdued because of various health, work, and travel snafus (thank you, SNOW!!!) But it was just cozier and delicious and filled with family and friend love. 

Today both Annabelle and I battled fevers--no wonder we went to sleep at 7:30 last night, and slept almost fourteen hours--and headaches and general malaise. I did rally tonight to make a remarkable turkey pot pie and go to see Sam in a monologue show. But by the time we got back home I needed to get back in bed, desperately. A wee dram of whiskey always cures what ails me, be it physical, mental, or emotional. So hopefully this will do the trick. Plus, another day in bed tomorrow. Such luxury! Though I've got a date with Gogo to make meatballs in the afternoon. And later with Sam and Lorne for a movie, if I'm better. 

Sunday we will do our traditional tagging of the Christmas tree before I head to NYC, with Sam and Cameron, for teaching and meetings and lots of plays (early birthday celebration). 

But for now, sipping my wee dram and about to read a guidebook to Jerusalem, where I'm excited to go in February for the international book fair!

15 years in the making! Our first thanksgiving fire!

Miami!

On Friday I fly to Miami and the fabulous Miami Book Fair, which marks the end of this wild three month book tour! I'm so grateful for all the people I've met and all the places I've gone talking about An Italian Wife. It's been wonderful sharing experiences with so many other Italian Americans. Last Saturday's event in Plymouth MA hosted by Westwinds Bookstore (thank you Brooke!) with authors Christopher Castellani and Marianne Leone added to this celebration  of all things Italian. Our themes and experiences were so similar it felt like being with Mama Rose and family for Sunday Supper!

This week, before I head to Miami, I'm in NYC and get the chance to see both The Underclassman (yay Sara!) and Dogs of DC (yay Sam!). Then a little 80+ degree weather before Thanksgiving goes into high gear. 

Oh! And some exciting news: I finally started the decrease row on my bias blanket! 

Salem Lit Fest, Hickory Stick Books, Stellina, and Black Sheep Knitting

That's what my week looks like next week and I hope to see you at one of these great spots! Details on my website. 

As the book tour winds down (from August!), I'm tired as heck (hello my old friend anemia!) but happy as can be for the truly amazing response to An Italian Wife and to my own story about growing up in an Italian American family. 

I'm eager to get back to my writing (which I've kept doing of course) in the concentrated and focused way that I need to finish this new novel. And to be in the arms of my family, who have put up with more pizza for dinner than they should have to and with me coming and going at all crazy times. Can't wait to cook for them and hang out with them!

Lots of knitting and reading ahead too. But first, the final weeks of An Italian Wife and me on the road!