Best Seller Shelf
Earlier today I had the pleasure of discussing Paint Chips with the Tommy and Brook Book Club at Baker Book House.
It was a whole lot of fun and I got to see some fabulous friends.
While there, I noticed that Paint Chips…my little novel…was on a very special shelf.
The Baker Book House Best Seller shelf.
GASP!
I didn’t even put the book there. I asked one of the employees and she said that, indeed, it was legit.
Here’s the proof.
I was so excited. And giddy. And very grateful for the wonderful people in Grand Rapids who have made their purchases at our local and very happy book store.
Then I realized I was on a shelf with Kyle Idleman. I met him this time last year at a conference. We have mutual friends.
But when I got home, I laughed at this picture.
The title of Kyle Idleman’s book made me chortle.
“Not a Fan.”
And it’s hanging out WAY on the other side of the shelf.
Clearly, it doesn’t take much to amuse me.
(FYI: if you don’t live in West Michigan, but plan to purchase a paperback copy of Paint Chips, how about you give Baker Book House a jingle. They can ship it to you. It’s a whole lot better to support the independent book sellers than the big online conglomerate.)
The Day Purple Boy Visited
Yesterday, I felt completely overwhelmed. After an afternoon of editing, I’d retrieved the kids from school, gotten them to lug all their gear inside. Got the homework folder out. Found snacks. Tried to figure out dinner. Started to pack one lunch for the next day…
Then I heard it. The knock on the door.
Thinking it was the guy from the electric company (not the show…the actual guy), I huffed to the door.
“Ugh!” I said under my breath. “This is not a good time.”
Opening the door, I found the most unusual person/place/thing/etc. on my porch.
It was a purple boy.
My neighbor boy stood on my porch in a full body suit made entirely of purple. I nearly cried from the laughter.
It was just what I needed.
Sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed, I need a reminder that life is funny. That it’s full of delight and love and silliness. I just have to remember to see it.
Tell me: What makes you remember to delight in life? What is it that will pull you from a bad mood? I love to hear what you have to say!
Weekend in Indy
This past weekend, I hung out in Indianapolis. Well, in the Hyatt Hotel, at least. It was, possibly, the most exhausting weekend of my life. But it was also pretty stinking groundbreaking.
I intended to write out all that happened. But, between the food and giant hotel, the agents and editors…oh…and ALL THE writers…I thought it better to just post a few pictures. I’ll caption them for you.
Things I don’t know. Things I do.
My kids just started school. I got my first “smarty pants” phone. I’m editing my second novel. This weekend I’m meeting editor(s) to talk about a third that I haven’t yet written. Tomorrow, I need to make dinner.
I feel like I don’t know a whole lot these days. Such as…
1. I don’t know what to wear tomorrow. I do know that most of my clean clothes are making me angry right now.
2. I don’t know how to check my voice mail. I do know how to use my phone as a flashlight.
3. I don’t know if this second novel is any good. I do know that it isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever read.
4. I don’t know if letting my daughter get hot lunch every day is good. I do know that it makes life WAY easier (especially since a peanut allergic kid in her class makes PB&J and NoNo&NO).
5. I don’t know if the idea for this third novel is too ambitious. I do know that it will stretch me.
6. I don’t know geometry. Not even a little. I do know that geometry nearly made me homicidal in 11th grade.
7. I don’t know what to do with the skin on, bone in chicken breasts in my fridge. I do know that, if anyone is reading this, they’ll give me pointers.
8. I don’t know if I’m ready for my kids to be this big. I do know that they’re growing no matter what. I’d better get all the snuggles I can!
9. I don’t know if the dishes in my dishwasher are clean or dirty. I do know that I’m too tired to check.
10. I don’t know if anybody read through all this. I do know that I wouldn’t have! Ha!
Your turn…tell me a few “don’t know/do know” things! And if you have a great idea for the chicken.
What I Wished I Could Have Said
The kid who rang up my groceries last night broke my heart.
Somehow, as he scanned my zucchini and frozen waffles, he got to talking about his mom. How great she is. How she raised him alone. How he owed her everything.
And about how his father abandoned him.
“I can’t wait to have kids of my own,” he said. “Because then I can show my dad what a real father is.”
His smile made dimples tuck into his cheeks. But his eyes were sad.
“One of these days, your dad is going to realize what he missed out on,” I said. “And he’ll have a lot of regret to deal with.”
It was all I could think of.
“Yeah. I hope it hurts him.” He took my stack of coupons. “You know, so he realizes how it felt for me.”
Another customer got into the line. Put frozen pizzas on the belt.
The kid scanned my coupons. Pulled my receipt from the printer.
“Have a nice night,” he said.
“You, too.”
You are a fine young man. Don’t rush into fatherhood. Don’t let the bitterness destroy your goodness. Your mom is probably so proud of you, her heart aches. Break the cycle your dad started. But don’t let him control you. Just be you. You’re worth so much. So much. And the way you talk about your mom? Make sure you find a woman worthy of those words from you. And treat her the way you wanted your dad to treat your mom.
“I hope everything goes well for you,” I said.
“Thanks.”
Why I Cried
All three of my kids started school yesterday.
Yup. All three. For the first time. My daughter is in first grade. My boys in a young 5’s class.
I homeschooled last year. This year, I’m dropping them all off at the curb of the school. All three.
And I cried.
Not in front of them. I know better than that.
But I cried when I was all alone. Driving to Wendy’s to have lunch with a friend who recently dropped her oldest off at college.
If nothing else, I could remember that my kids still live at home, at least.
I cried, hiding behind my sunglass, because…well…
Because this is a first step of letting go. Letting my babies grow up.
They have needed me for everything. Food. Shelter. Shoes needing a double bunny ear knot.
Everything.
And now they don’t.
And now they are spending time away from my watchful eye. They will make friends that I don’t know. Learn games I didn’t teach them. Sing songs I’ve never heard.
Their lives are becoming…
…theirs.
Independent from me.
It’s another snip of that old umbilical cord.
And that’s wonderful and scary and displacing and exciting.
This is what I’ve raised them for. To go.
And that’s so hard.
And, so, I cried. Because they’re growing and going and I’m so proud of them.
Really. I think that’s just fine.
Today will be easier.
Radio!!!!
This morning, I had a first! I got to sit in a RADIO STUDIO! Star 105.7 (the big top 40 station here in Grand Rapids) and record an interview with Tommy and Brook (hosts of the morning show).
Seriously, they have beautiful speaking voices. I tried to keep mine from sounding like a chipmunk.
Tommy and Brook host a book club each month in collaboration with Baker Book House. And they’ve graciously decided to feature PAINT CHIPS for the month of September.
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
There’s that chipmunk…
Anyway, in order to promote the book club, I got to record with the two of them. They asked about the book, human trafficking, and my little writing career.
But, here’s the kicker. My favorite part was when Brook asked how it is that PAINT CHIPS has gone “international” and has so many “fans”.
My response?
“I’ve got really great friends.”
Because it’s true. I really do. Thank you all so much for the massive support.
It turns out, talking with Tommy and Brook was a blast. They were very kind and encouraging. I’ll post the date and time of the interview next week. Even out of town/country friends can listen online!
Firsts can be a little scary. But this first (being in a radio studio) was great!
So, your turn! Tell me about a “first” you’ve had. Was it scary? How did it turn out? I love to hear what you have to say.
Humbled By Typos
Writing means edits. Editing is writing. Slash those words. Kill your darlings*. Cut and add and fix and all that jazz.
I don’t mind editing. Actually, I like reading the ideas my editor has for my novels**.
When something structural needs to be fixed, I’ll do it. Go through and change up verb tense? I’m on it. Add a little to intensify a scene. Awesome.
But…oh, the embarrassment. The trauma. The…the…the…
TYPOS.
They can be sprinkled throughout a manuscript, hiding among sentences. They’re the little comma that snuck in somehow. Or the the the repeated word. “She took a step toward the steps”. UGH!
Nothing will bring the lofty mind of a writer back to earth like a manuscript, rife with typos.
When I need a little humbling, I think of all the tipos tIepoes typos that I consistently need to weed.
*”Kill your darlings” is an expression in the publishing biz. It basically means, no matter how much you love that scene/character/word, if it doesn’t fit, cut it. Happy. Huh?
**If you ever happen to need an editor for hire, Dina Sleiman is a great one. Her rates are miles below many others, but she is a quality, knowledgable editor. Click HERE for more information.
What about you? What keeps you humble?
Writers “Go There” — Guest Post With Wendy Paine Miller
Today I’m happy to host Wendy Paine Miller! Join me in welcoming Wendy to the blog!
I can’t say when it was that I realized several of my novels depict scenes that revolve around labor. I know women care about such events and I write women’s fiction, but the process of including births in my work wasn’t intentional. It doesn’t work like that. At least not for me anyway.
I think these scenes kept showing up in my work because I was writing into the pain. As a writer, I was “going there.”
I have three daughters.
And I lost two babies in between my second and third.
What’s weird is I rarely ever bring this up. It’s still hard. Seven years later, speaking the word miscarriage still swells a sizable knot in my throat and the backs of my eyes sting with tears.
So why, you might be thinking, why go there?
I don’t really have a clear cut answer except to say it’s what writers do. Whether it’s a part of the catharsis or a subconscious gut instinct that women could sit around a table all night sharing labor stories, these scenes keep finding a way into my work.
I also think it’s because we’re bonded by birth stories. They are our badges of courage, our completed marathons, our tour de force, our personal Mount Everest, our interlaced threads of womanhood stringing us all together through vulnerability—by honest life-surging events as heartbreaking or funny or remarkable as they come.
So I write about births, as I did in the first scene of my debut novella, THE DISAPPEARING KEY. I feel what my character’s feel, their loss becoming my loss, their joy—my joy. I may not always agree with their choices or understand their reasoning, but more than anything else as I writer I aim to experience with them vicariously, without judgment, unencumbered and fully engaged with them moment by moment.
I step away after writing these scenes with a heightened sense of empathy, a fueled curiosity, and a deepened sense of gratitude for the ways women bolster and enliven one another in conversations that involve childbirth.
Why do you think women are so bonded by stories of birth? Have you experienced this to the case in your experiences with women?
Bio: Wendy lives with her husband, their three girls, and a skunk-dodging Samoyed. She feels most alive when she’s laughing, speeding on a boat, reading, writing, refurbishing furniture or taking risks. She’s authored ten novels and is currently writing what she hopes will be your future book club pick.
Her work has been published in numerous anthologies and online sites. Wendy graduated with a BA in English from Wittenberg University, where she earned an Honor of Distinction for her accrued knowledge of literature.
She’s represented by Rachelle Gardner of Books & Such Literary Agency.
Visit http://thoughtsthatmove.blogspot.com/ or connect with Wendy on Facebook or Twitter @wendypmiller
9,796.6 Miles
Last November, I sat at this table in the Gerald R. Ford Airport. A cardboard cup of vending machine coffee had made a ring of brown on the table. I’d spilled because, to be perfectly honest, I was nervous.
I was meeting Megan Sayer. For real. Face to face. An Australian was coming to spend time with me.
She’d come 9,796.6 miles. That’s a lot of them.
When she arrived, it seemed as if she’d only been a few states over. Maybe like she’d been in Idaho or Missouri. And that she’d only been gone a few days.
The nerves wore off right away.
She ate Vegemite in my kitchen. Weetabix at my table. Had fish and chips and lemonade (when what she really wanted was Sprite…I think…). Ate a Krispie Kreme. She had Thanksgiving. Twice. And both times I was thankful for her being part of my family on those days. And thankful that she loved the pumpkin pie. Even if it was out of a can.
She’d come 9,796.6 miles. And we couldn’t find her a REAL Twinkie. A friend brought over a fake one. But it worked.
After her few days in Michigan. She packed her bags full of sugar laden cereals and fun gifts for her family. I took her back to Gerald R. Ford Airport. We said our ‘good-byes’. We hugged. Tried to convince one another that a few years (even 5) go by quickly.
I watched her until she went too far past customs for me to seem non-stalkerish. I’d planned to wait until her plane took off. But I couldn’t do it.
Walking back out to my van, I felt lonely. Sad.
It would be a very, very long time before I’d see her again. I just knew it.
But, sometimes I’m wrong. And, I’m happy to say, that day, walking out to my van. I was wrong.
Because Megan’s coming back. And soon! I’ll see her in less than a month. And she’s bringing the whole clan!
This time, we’ll get to attend TWO writers conferences together. We’ll have a Sayer/Finkbeiner vacation (that will be ridiculously fun and uber relaxing).
What I thought would be years has turned out to be only months. And that, my friends, is pretty amazing.
Today’s Megan’s birthday. Well. Her American birthday. Yesterday was her Aussie birthday. But, when you live 9,796.6 miles away, you get two birthdays.
So.
Happy Birthday, Megan!
And…
Kangaroo, I guess!
Tell me. Have you had a long distance friendship? How did it work out? Are you still in contact? And…well…how about we all sing a little happy birthday song to Megan!
susiefinkbeiner.com 