*

I am behind on mail and on comments here. I’ll catch up, but be patient with me. I’m staying focused on my book edits these days and have to make them my priority.

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Thank you to my guest this week, Jessica Keener, and to all of you who left comments and contest submissions. Hotshots who linked to LitPark: University of Illinois College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, Awesome Mustache, Mother Talk, The Education of Oronte Churm, Robin Slick’s In Her Own Write, Sarah Bain’s Geography of Grief, Keyhole Blog, Mommy Writer, and M.J. Rose’s Buzz, Balls and Hype.

See you Monday!

Now, don’t get mad at me, but there’s no weekly wrap. The answer to this week’s question is pretty much the story of my novel, which I need to focus on today.

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Thank you to this week’s guest, Oronte Churm, otherwise known as John Griswold; to everyone who offered up prizes for The Little Truths Writing Contest: Inside Higher Ed, McSweeney’s, featherproof books, and Les Chauds Lapins; to Steve Davenport for judging the contest; to all the folks who played here this week; and finally, to everyone who linked to LitPark: McSweeney’s, Masters of Miscellany, In The Life Of, Doreen Orion, Lily White Intentions, 52 Projects, Smile Politely, The Publishing Spot, The Split Infinitive, Lally Andreevna, The World’s Fair, Practicing Writing, FACE Talk, and The Education of Oronte Churm. I appreciate those links!

See you Monday for a new question of the week.

I asked Mr. Henderson how he would characterize my driving, and he said, “Timid… to the point of being unsafe.” My back-seat driving, on the other hand is all confidence!

I was surprised to learn that most of you who answered this week’s driving question characterize yourselves as bad, distracted, or exceptionally cautious drivers. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I dislike driving for two main reasons: My head likes to wander, so I find the whole experience of remembering where you’re going and reading signs and knowing which lane to be in incompatible with daydreaming. And I find being strapped in and forced to keep my hands on the wheel incompatible with being a restless workaholic.

I’ll tell you a little driving story, but first let me tell you where I’m giving a reading this weekend:

Saturday, Feb 16th, 12-3pm – The Bowery Poetry Club – $10
308 Bowery, New York, NY 10012
212.614.0505

The club is right across from CBGB’s, at the foot of First Street, between Houston & Bleecker. (That’s the F train to Second Ave, or the 6 train to Bleecker.) If it looks long and expensive to you, well, hey, I was thinking the same thing. But I hope some of you come down and keep me company while my hands and voice shake at the microphone.

The reading is called: Paper Dolls: Live Lady Essayists, and I’ll be reading with Kim Brittingham, Heather Maidat, Carol J. Clouse, and Shoaleh Teymour.

*

Okay, here’s a little driving story. I’ll call it, The Fog Storm.

When I was fresh out of graduate school, I answered an ad for a counselor in a group home. I was just right for the job. The trouble was getting there. I’m not good with directions, so Mr. H and I did a practice run and it was pretty far away.

I have some unusual phobias related to driving, but most seem to go away if I just close my eyes. For example, I can navigate a tunnel better with my eyes closed because that keeps me from overcorrecting and hyperventilating about hitting the wall.

I felt confident in my get-the-job outfit. I am a great interviewee and I knew I’d land the job if I could just find the building. I started early, didn’t want to be rushed, didn’t want to get anything wrong. And since it was raining, I wanted extra time to perhaps blow dry my hair in a bathroom before my appointment.

What I was unprepared for was the fog storm. By the time I got on the highway, the fog became so bad it was like driving inside a thick white cloud. I couldn’t see if I was in my lane, much less see exit signs. I slowed to under 20 MPH. The amazing thing, and what made me so angry about the selfishness and impatience of other drivers, was that other cars whizzed by, despite the weather and the danger it could cause.

Somehow, though I have no memory how I did it, I found my way to an exit and pulled into a 7-Eleven parking lot. I was in a terrible mood because I didn’t know how I’d get to the interview on time (and I am never late to anything). I was mad at the weather and mad that I’d pulled off the road and was no longer able to follow the simple directions Mr. Henderson had written down for me.

I called him from a phone booth, described the fog storm, told him there was no way I could go back out there. In fact, I admitted, just before I called him, I’d called the person I planned to interview with and explained that the drive was just too far and I was sorry for any inconvenience I caused. “Are you still there?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good. You weren’t saying anything. I’m so embarrassed about the whole thing. I’d rather have told them after they offered me the job. Now here’s the pesky part,” I said. “Kind of a favor.”

More quiet, so I proceeded.

“I need you to come and get me so I can follow you home.” And before he could fuss, I said, “Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t help the weather.”

Mr. Henderson listened carefully, continued his silence a while longer, then calmly asked, “How is that fog storm now?”

I looked around, and can you believe, it was gone. “It’s gone,” I told him.

“Remind me to show you where the defrost button is,” he said.

I waited in my car until he found me. Mr. Henderson is one of the kindest, least likely to anger people I know, but he suggested that I just follow him home, and when we got there, to leave him alone for a while.

Unfortunately, the very things that make some people angry, I find hysterical. I rolled up my window so he couldn’t hear me laughing. Do people really know the function of every single button in their cars?

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Quick but cool announcement for those who don’t hang out in the LitPark Comments section…

My girl, Tish Cohen, has not only had her book, TOWN HOUSE, optioned by Fox 2000, with Pulitzer Prize winning screenwriter Doug Wright (Quills, Memoirs of a Geisha) adapting it to screen, but now…

TOWN HOUSE is on the short-list for the Commonwealth Prize for Best First Book in the region of Canada and the Caribbean. How great is that?!

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Thanks for those of you who left comments and stories this week. And thank you to this week’s guest: author and director, Bridgett Davis. Those who rock because they linked to LitPark this week: A Mesa de Luz, She Shoots to Conquer, the Cape Cod Times, Holly’s Fight for Justice, and The Inside Cover!

See you Monday with a new question of the week.

I have to stay focused on my edits, so my wrap will simply be a picture of my page in the book of six-word memoirs:

NOT QUITE WHAT I WAS PLANNING (HarperPerennial, 2008), page 45. And my six-word entry is this: Mistakenly kills kitten fears anything delicate.

You’ll have to hurry to get this collector’s edition of the book with Brian McEntee‘s name misspelled in it because future editions will be corrected. And if you want to hear a little more about kittens, I blogged about them here.

Brian, as you may have guessed, is the lovely one in the cow costume… see Monday’s post. I think he’s great.

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Thank you to this week’s guests, Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser of SMITH Magazine. And thanks to all of you who added your own 6-word memoirs to the discussion. Much appreciation to everyone who linked to LitPark this week: The Boston Globe, The Publishing Spot, A.J. Davis, Roy Kesey, SMITH, Indigo Editing!

Okay, Mr. H is in London and my kids are in bed, so back to the novel edits I go. See you Monday!

Quickly, before I get to the weekly wrap, I have a some music for my friend, Patry Francis, who was the focus of LitPark this week. This is a little gift to her from my kids, plus my very good friend, Kenny, who is the heart and soul of my Sunday soccer team.

“Time” – Pink Floyd

Also: “You Better, You Bet” – The Who; “Strawberry Fields” and “A Day in the Life” – The Beatles

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I am overwhelmed with gratitude. And speechless, for a change. So instead of sharing my thoughts from this week, I’m going to quote some of the people who participated in the amazing, world-wide LIAR’S DIARY Blog Day.

* * *

Today is the day that we, as a community of writers, show our support and encouragement for one of our own, Patry Francis, author of The Liar’s Diary. I remember how thrilled I was leading up to the publication day for my first novel. The idea of going from city to city and meeting people who had or would read my book was incredibly exciting, and I looked forward very much to that day in June. I cannot imagine what I would have felt if, after all the hard work writing the novel, editing it, meeting my publisher and publicists, and all the planning that goes into launching a novel, I discovered that I had cancer and that I would have to shelve all the plans that I had worked so hard for.

This is what happened to Patry Francis. I don’t know her personally, but I feel bound to her by our craft and by the deep and intimate love that we writers have for it. I am proud to be one of hundreds today to show support and encouragement for her. I urge you to visit her site and read her blog. And of course read The Liar’s Diary.

And Patry, here is to continued recovery and a prosperous and healthy 2008 to you. ~ Khaled Hosseini, THE KITE RUNNER

* * *

Dear Patry,

Health care professionals thought I had a mere two weeks to live. In 1999. I was so weak, I could barely lift my T-Square off my drawing table. When I attended my first and last book signing for “Chili-Chili-Chin-Chin,” the distance from my parking spot to the fairgrounds where my books awaited me seemed like the Long March. I needed to sit down every few steps in order to gather strength and breath. My voice—my “chi”—was a mere whisper.

The night I came home from the hospital to continue infusions at home, my great grandfather came to me in a dream and said I had no excuse to be in bed when I still had his story to complete. Today, nine years since that dream, I am my healthy self—new and improved I am certain my deep desire to complete the manuscript kicked my body back on the path to life.

Patry, I know you have many more books to send out into the world. They are awaiting your return to vibrant health, stories that only you can tell.

Now that my legs are muscular and my voice strong and clear, I will be your legs and voice in helping you carry “Liar’s Diary” out into the world. I promise I will send emails to friends with the link to your webpage http://www.patryfrancis.com/ in the weeks to come. ~ Belle Yang, BABA: A RETURN TO CHINA UPON MY FATHER’S SHOULDERS

* * *

About two years ago, a galley of a debut novel called LIAR’S DIARY by Patry Francis turned up in my mailbox. I receive galleys all the time, and the author of this one was unfamiliar to me, so I had no reason to pay any special attention to it. Often I don’t have the time to even crack open the covers, much less read them. But this one had a seductive cover, and since I was headed up to Canada for a medical conference anyway, I threw the galley into my suitcase. A day later, sitting in my hotel room in St. Andrew’s, I started reading it. In straightforward but compelling prose, it opened quietly. No explosions, no murders, just a gnawing sense of domestic unease that grew more acute and more disturbing with every chapter. I was caught like a hooked fish and reeled helplessly into the story. I recall sitting in a seaside restaurant, my outdoor table facing the water, but my eyes glued to the page. The waitress who came to refill my water glass commented, “Wow, that must be a good book.”

Damn right it was.

I was delighted to give that book a blurb, and delighted to hear that so many other readers shared my opinion of it. Patry thanked me profusely and although we never met, we did exchange several emails. The book was released, Patry’s career as a novelist was launched, and I looked forward to seeing other books from her.

Then, on Patry’s blog, she recently revealed that her life had taken a sudden and devastating turn. She was diagnosied with an aggressive cancer, for which she had to be hospitalized. Although she’s home now, and her prognosis is good, naturally it’s her recovery that’s consuming her attention. Not the novel writing. Not anything as trivial as fictional stories and people who don’t exist.

She is coping with real life.

We writers often get so caught up in our fictional worlds that we forget our own lives and our own needs. It takes something like this — a real illness, a real crisis — to make us focus on what’s truly important.

Here’s to you, Patry. May you come back from this illness stronger than ever. May you go on to write many, many more books like LIAR’S DIARY. All of us — readers and writers alike — are rooting for you. ~ Tess Gerritsen, THE BONE GARDEN

* * *

I wasn’t really going to blog about Patry Francis today. I told myself that she had so many other amazing bloggers and writers in her corner, helping her celebrate and publicize the paperback edition of her book, The Liar’s Diary—what could I add to the discussion? In the grand scheme of things, my voice is very small. So I would sit on the sidelines and cheer for the important players on the field.

And then I realized—how utterly un-Patry like of me. She is someone I deeply admire in part because she has insisted on putting forth her words and her vision—even when she was a working mother struggling to balance the needs of her children with her writing. Even now after the diagnosis she received—an aggressive strain of cancer.

Last year, she fulfilled a long standing dream and published her first book, The Liar’s Diary, a psychological thriller about how the friendship between two women exposes dark secrets at the heart of their lives and families. Throughout the process of getting the book written and published, Patry shared much of her experiences and wisdom on her blog, Simply Wait. Those of us who are still writing, still dreaming, still hoping, found a champion in her…someone who had some of the same limitations, the same (or more) responsibility, the same STUFF that makes up a life, and who still realized her dreams through her talent and her tenacity. She’s such a vital presence in our creativity community, always ready with encouragement, humor, wit, perseverence, and breathtaking writing.

Patry has shown me that it doesn’t matter about the size of your gift, or your audience, or your voice.

It just matters that you open your mouth, pour out your words, and sing.

So, everyone, go out and support this amazing woman and writer. Go buy a copy of the newly published paperback of The Liar’s Diary.

You’ll be so thrilled that you did. ~ Mardougrrl

* * *

Today, while stealing time for some all-too-brief blogrolling, I kept encountering the story of Patry Francis. There certainly were a lot of people blogging about her, so perhaps you’re familiar with this story too now. But, in case you aren’t, you can learn why today (er, yesterday now, as it’s past midnight on Wednesday) is The Liar’s Diary Blog Day.

I’ve been thinking about Patry Francis all day, thanks to her friends and the perfect strangers who’ve agreed to write about her. She sounds like a wonderful person, and I wish her the best of health and many years of productive writing. Patry Francis reminded me of something that, just now, I really needed to be reminded of, and that is the nobility of the struggle to create.

We all have things we struggle through, and yes, it can be easy to both dismiss our own challenges or to grow them into monsters and then cower under the bed. I don’t have all the details of your struggles, and you don’t have all the details of mine, but they’re not really necessary, are they?

My point isn’t so much about keeping things in perspective as much as it is about remembering to keep up the fight–and encouraging those around us to do the same.

At the end of the day, we’re the only ones who can decide how to make our dreams come true while continuing to work day jobs, take care of our families, maintain friendships.

Patry proves it can be done. Patry proves it should be done. Today was about Patry’s fight for so many people, but, more than that, it was about everyone who struggles to type a line of dialogue that doesn’t sound fake or get a description down on the page that does justice to the image in your head.

So it’s not saving the world. (Except I’ve got a theory that says that it is, actually, doing just that on a small scale, every day. I can make these kinds of sweeping, arrogant statements, not because I’m a writer and I think my work is going to change the world, but because I’m a reader, and I’ve read books that have changed mine.) It’s not a waste of time, writer. It’s well worth the struggle.

I solemnly swore I wouldn’t buy any more books until I’ve whittled away at the bins of To Be Reads by my nightstand, but I’m bending that rule in honor of Patry, my own particular struggles, and yours, too. I ordered her book just now, and I’m bumping some things down the list so I can read it as soon as it gets here. The way I see it, Beowulf’s waited for centuries; it can hang out another few weeks.

And frankly, I don’t think I can stomach epic poetry right now–I’m in a liar’s diary kind of mood, you know? ~ Jennifer Duncan

* * *

This morning I sent out a mailing to the 4 or 500 people who read my political rants and forwards, only this morning, I urged them to buy Patry’s novel as a way of helping themselves and of helping her. I felt particularly good doing this, because I’ve been cranky of late about how a ‘virtual’ community is not really a community at all, and how much of the blather about the Internet is really self-congratulatory, and basically a very watery meal. A community brings you soup when you’re sick or buries you when you’re dead. They pick up your children from school when you can’t.

The deficiencies of the virtual community become stark to me when I consider that at this point in his Presidency, Lyndon Johnson was a broken man, unable to rule and exercise power, while George Bush, despite low double-digit approval figures, is still planning and conducting pointless wars and destroying the economy. The largest contributing difference to these two times is, to my mind, the internet and the unintended consequences of fragmentation. While we stay home, composing and forwarding political screeds, and blogging our asses off, the apparatus in Washington continues unabated.People are not “out in the streets”, or attending teach-ins, reveling in the visual affirmation of thousands of like-minded souls rubbing shoulders with them, demonstrating and practicing civil disobedience.

However, this morning, by linking Patry’s work to a far-flung community of disparate souls, by joining this conscious community effort, and by asking my “reader” friends to enter the world of Patry’s imagination, and support her , I felt the hard-and-fast line between virtual and actual communities soften and blur a bit. The blurring of hard and fast lines, reminded me, how in most cases, life presents itself as “both-and” and not conveniently as the “either-or” I try to bend it into. I’m grateful to Patry for being the occasion of that insight, and grateful to this community who have banded together to try and be of help to her. I’m grateful for the invitation (and occasion) to sit and re-think a bone-dry prejudice. A deep bow to all. ~ Peter Coyote, SLEEPING WHERE I FALL

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You shouldn’t buy a novel because the writer has cancer.

You shouldn’t buy a novel because a writer is poor, or talented but unnoticed or has an abusive husband or lives in a besieged place.

You should only buy a novel because it’s good, and I know that Patry Francis’ novel ‘The Liar’s Diary‘ is good wrting and even better reading. I know because I read it and loved it and wrote about it a year ago when it was only in uncorrected proofs.

It’s a story of murder and love and betrayal (always a promising mix) but more than that, it’s a story with honesty and skill burned into every line.

And Patry Francis, whose book, ‘The Liar’s Diary,’ comes out in paperback today, does have cancer, and is fighting it with every ounce in her body — just as she fought to write when she was a waitress on Cape Cod with three kids and no hope of ever being published. It’s an aggressive form of cancer but Patry is an aggressive sort of woman who won’t let this bastard win without a fight down to the mat.

If you’re in the market for a good book today, and it’s my way of thinking that everyone should be… every day, follow this link to Patry’s website or to the place on Amazon where you can buy ‘The Liar’s Diary.’ It sounds a bit odd and silly; but I want to help a good writer write more. We writers are seen by others as grasping and greedy, unwilling to write kind things about others’ books unless we’re sure those books won’t pose a threat to our own.

That’s not true.

Or it’s not true for many.

The very best writers have mighty hearts.

Most of them whom I know have an excess of compassion for others who serve this demanding goddess.

And so, today belongs to Patry. More than 200 other authors are mentioning her today, in their blogs, as well. I’m only one of them, but proud to be. ~ Jacquelyn Mitchard, THE DEEP END OF THE OCEAN

~

Now, many of you know I told Patry not to comment on every blog and every post because the whole purpose of this was to allow her to rest and focus on her health. But, okay, Patry has really wanted to say something to all of you, so here she is…

Talk about spinning heads! When I first wrote about my illness, I decided that if I was forced to drink an ounce of pain and trouble, the only answer was to counter it with two ounces of bliss. Little did I know that through all of you, I would consume a whole case of it. As a consummate daydreamer, I’m in awe of Sue, Laura, Karen, Jessica, Tish, my agent Alice, Sue’s agent, Dan, the folks at Backspace and Red Room and Circle of Seven Video and so many others who envisioned this day, pooled their resources and really made it happen. To them, and to all of you who have responded with such amazing generosity, I send a bottomless case of gratitude. Huge thanks and love to all of you. ~ Patry Francis

~

Thank you. All of you.

I’ll see you Monday for a new Question of the Week.

I am deep into my second round of book edits, and I’ve been very busy helping to get things ready for THE LIAR’S DIARY Blog Day (which is Tuesday, January 29th), so I’m just going to give you a quick tour for the weekly wrap.

All of the public transportation I take funnels me through Penn Station.

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I go through these doors all the time. Cars and cabs used to be able to pull up to the doors, but no more. Now there are enormous cement barriers to keep vehicles a good distance away.

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Penn Station and Madison Square Garden are all in the same building, so if you time things just right, you can take a ride with a lot of drunken sports fans. This is not as bad as it sounds.

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The thing you have to know about NY is that people are actually really friendly, but there are a lot of people and most are in a hurry, so if you walk slowly or stop to ask someone a question, you are going to make about 500 people late. You do not want to do that.

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There are soldiers with automatic weapons everywhere in Penn Station. These guys are really nice and really bored so I always try to wave to them on my way to my favorite haunts.

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My favorite stop inside Penn Station is Penn Books. Whenever I go there and browse the Literary Fiction and Staff Recommended shelves, I wonder if there’s enough time in my life to get through all the books I want to read.

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I am not a health food nut, but I am totally addicted to the beet, celery and apple smoothie from this place. It stains your mouth a wicked red, so it’s something I’ll only get for the ride home.

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I love the live music at Penn but rarely stop. Do you remember the story of Joshua Bell playing at the L’Enfant Plaza Metro Station? No one stopped for him either. (I’m told I quote this article too often, but it left such a big impression on me for a number of reasons. Read it if you get a chance.)

Okay, I should get back to my edits….

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Green-Hand, me, Bach-Boy in Paris this summer.

Oh! Before I call it a week, I just want to mention a strange something that happened to my son, Bach-Boy, who many of you know is not just a phenomenal little piano player but also scary-smart in math. [OOPS, HAD TO EDIT OUT SOME IDENTIFYING INFORMATION, SORRY] and now he attends a college math course two hours a week. Anyway, he was sitting in class at his normal public school when a letter was delivered to him from a very prestigious college. The letter noted an article in a newspaper that had mentioned him and said, ‘While it’s (WAY WAY!) early to think about college, we want you to consider our school and want you to know you can call anytime, etc. etc.’ When my son handed me the letter, which was of course all crinkled at the bottom of his backpack, we both just busted up laughing. Every day after school, Bach-Boy and I go on a walk together. That day, we talked about his excitement about the release of DIARY OF A WIMPY KID, 2 because, right now, that’s way cooler to him than going to college.

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Thank you to this week’s guest, Dan Passamaneck, and to everyone who played here. And thanks to those of you who linked to LitPark this week: Imagination in Flight, Rioter’s Roost, the Sun Sentinel, Ovations, The Split Infinitive, The Chucklehut, The Book Pirate, and Backspace at Publishers Marketplace. I appreciate those links!

It’s been absolutely killing me not to share this news. But I’m going to have the amazing Lance Reynald do the honors. I am so very happy for him, you have no idea! Here’s Lance…

This week’s wrap seems such a hard one to start. It feels as though it’s such a long one coming, but it really isn’t. Still, I find myself floundering around looking for some point of origin for the crazy fortuitous journey to begin.

It certainly isn’t a secret around the Park that I really love our craft. In all it’s wild and crazy forms. Everything from some of the classics to the craziest and most random of the bloggers. I find inspiration, insight and some spark within most of it.

A few years ago I started tinkering around in Bloggsville. It gave me a place to explore my writing and get some feedback here and there from what I found to be a compassionate and understanding audience. Initially hidden behind a series of quirky screen names and odd profile photos I overcame a certain timid nature and used the medium to find my voice. The worlds of Journalspace, Blogger and a few others I can’t remember and long ago deleted acted as an incubator for the style of writing I find has become recognizable as my own.

Now, a mild digression moment here. When I started all of this wild blogging the literary world didn’t yet understand the medium or what role it might play. All the writerly magazines dismissed it as a waste of time. I even had a few friends that we’re writers tell me not to invest my time and skills into something that wasn’t the actual “ work”. As though they all adhered to this unwritten rule that they were a breed apart from the common blogger; the writing done in the medium something less than their efforts. This view is still a riddle to me. It’s all words and audience somewhere isn’t it?

And then came MySpace.

Now, this is where the naysayers should pay a bit of attention. Back when I still had fewer than 50 friends over at MySpace my roll call included a collective of memoirists, a major imprint, a handful of talented writers, literary organizations and of course, Jenna Jameson.

They all said serious literature would never catch on in Bloggsville.

Hmm? (how serious are we talking.)

In April of 2006 I added my most valuable friend to that MySpace page. A friend that would help me find a novel in the random blogposts. A friend that would offer unwaivering support to an idea, a dream. A friend that would connect me to some of the most talented writers working with the craft today. The friend that would quickly move from a shared love of thunderstorms to having the affectionate nickname of “the wondertwin”.

It was the wondertwin that saw the very first copy of Pop Salvation. She gave me the push to take it from a few insane blogposts that left my readers mute into a novel length debut.

Certainly, there are a few people in my life that made the growth of the novel possible. But, Susan Henderson is the one that I’d credit with actually pushing me to limits of my own potential with this one. She’s the support that resulted in the book’s completion. That support isn’t just about our friendship, it’s about a passion for our craft. A friendship born in Bloggsville, with a steady foundation here on this page you’re visiting.

[USED TO BE A COOL PICTURE OF A POP SALVATION CAMPBELL'S SOUP CAN, BUT IT'S GONE NOW.]
Click here to “friend” Pop Salvation. Cool mock-up courtesy of iamthatguy.

Looks a bit like serious work to me.

Crazy journey for two years work, huh?

Where does it all go from here?

Well…

Working with friendships, taking chances here and there, taking heed some of the conventional wisdom and doing it my way anyway? Admittedly, I am a bit of a workhorse, and not a patient one at that. Susan can vouch for me there. She saw the first copy of Pop in early October and my worries about what it would do followed soon thereafter. We’re always our own worst critics though.

I don’t have the typical story with this one. I can’t tell you the tale of swimming in the slush pile and having a wall of rejection letters. I queried three agents informally via e-mail and sent along the first 40 pages. I didn’t hear back from a single one of them. Doubtful any of them have seen a single word. No contact is certainly no rejection. One thing I learned about my patience over the past few months; no form rejection letter means they haven’t even found the time to look at you.

I relied on friendship and the strength of my work here at the park to get my foot in a door. I’ve learned that there is a certain code, or compassion, among writers.

When we can, we help one another.

I’ve had a lot of help in the past two years.

I asked one of those friend’s what his advice was regarding how to send my little book out into the world. His response to my worries about the conventional wisdom,

“what’s to lose… at worst you’ll get a form letter back.”

Being ever the rule breaker and anarchist at heart, that was just the push I needed to do exactly what I wanted to do. Was that sneaking in the back door or just a bit of luck on the DIY approach I apply to most of my life? Who knows? It worked.

Pop Salvation ended up exactly where I wanted it. The imprint my gut told me would be the best home for it. Getting it there was through hard work, determination and the friendships built right here in the Park.

So, to all of you and especially to the Wondertwin, Thank You. I wouldn’t have done it without such a great bunch of friends and such a lovely playground.

Now, I’m off to bust out some edits and get this beast on the shelf for you kids in a year or so. I can’t wait to see what it all looks like then!

All my best and all my heart.

Follow that dream, you can get it!

xo. LR

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Thank you to this week’s guest, Monica Drake, and to everyone who linked to LitPark this week: Rachel Fershleiser at Smith Magazine, M.J. Rose, Reading Writing Living, Kimberly M. Wetherell, A.J. Davis, Anthony S. Policastro, Janet Reid at FinePrint Literary Management, the Amici Forever forum, Charles Shaughnessy, Word Junkie, and Simply Wait.

The times I didn’t think I’d live through, the ones I wouldn’t wish upon anyone and hope to never experience again, are the very times that made me wiser, more compassionate and forgiving, a better lover and friend.

I started to write about a couple of life-changing experiences I’ve had with loss – I’ve had more than a couple, as have you – but there was a pity-party quality to them, and I’ve decided I’d rather talk about my #1 role model, Nelson Mandela.

I’ll keep it short since everyone already knows his story. Two summers ago, we took our kids to Robben Island in South Africa, and toured the prison with one of Nelson Mandela’s former inmates. I was glad to bring my kids there so they could learn at this young age what a remarkable thing it was for this man to have been imprisoned unfairly and given not only hard, but useless, labor for two decades, only to emerge more loving and more committed to justice.

He chose to view prison as a university (“Each one teach one.”) and as he performed his hard labor, he and his inmates considered it “classroom time.” When he was freed, any bitterness or retaliation would have seemed perfectly justified. And yet he said, “If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner.”

I realize I’m talking about choices more than loss. It’s one of those days I don’t have it in me to travel too close to the topic of grief. So be it.

Loss tends to show you what’s important, what you’re made of, what you might value before it’s gone. I suspect, if we slow down a little, we can learn some of those things without having to walk through fire. Maybe today as you’re standing in a long line, tapping your foot, or snapping at your kid for dropping his coat and backpack in the middle of the floor, or complaining about something you don’t have but desperately want… just maybe you’ll find there’s another choice to make – an opportunity to help someone or show love or laugh or just simply realize that if you lost the very things and people you complain about, you would feel devastated.

I’m just saying.

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Thank you to my guests this week, David Habbin and Robin Lerner. Thank you to Charles Shaughnessy for sponsoring such an exciting contest. And thank you to everyone who commented, and to those who linked here this week: Jordan E. Rosenfeld, Robin Grantham, Denis Johnson, Wikipedia, treasure(RED)aj, Kim Smith, Laura Benedict, Charles Shaughnessy, Mike Taperell, Robin Lerner, All Kinds of Writing, How Not to Write: The Art of Writing without Writing, A Sp8ce Odyssey, Transmission, and David Habbin. I appreciate those links!

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Now, if you haven’t read this week’s interview, go make yourself a cup of coffee and enjoy! And if you haven’t entered Charlie’s 200-word contest on the positive side of loss, please do. You won’t be sorry! And if you have a little more time after that, my friend, Churm, has some follow-up analysis on that John-or-Paul survey a lot of us participated in.

Hmm, I feel like ending the week on a preposition, just because I can. Okay, have a great weekend, everyone! See you Monday!

We spent New Year’s with our friends who, if anything tragic ever happens to Mr. Henderson and me, will take custody of our kids. It’s a house full of sarcasm, heckling, eye-rolling, laughter, and elementary school kids drinking coffee on the weekends. In other words, we approve.

Our friends have three daughters, and they are probably the closest thing our boys will ever have to cousins. The kids all woke up New Year’s Day, built a fort that used every blanket and pillow in the house, and hid underneath with walkie talkies, announcing Code Red alerts whenever they saw a grown-up. It was the girls’ idea, but inside the fort, they decided to eat sardines and anchovies for their first meal of the new year. This small detail will become important later when I explain my resolution for 2008.

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I spent most of 2007 holed up in my writing cave. I was pretty much unavailable to my neighbors – always rushing, always trying to get out of a conversation and back to my book. I went on vacations with my laptop, sat in the living room with papers between me and my family. The focus was great for the book, but this year I want to look outward. I want to be more present about what’s going on around me, and I want to take the time to be sure the decisions I make day-to-day reflect my beliefs.

I’m going to share with you two personal decisions I made last year that I’m going to keep up in 2008. First, I completely gave up bottled water. And more specifically, Fruit2O, which I bought by the case every week at Costco. I bought all that Fruit2O, thinking it was a good thing to drink more water (especially if it was peach and grape flavored) – but the benefit to me left a lot of plastic waste for all of you. So now it’s water in a glass; and when I play soccer, I take a thermos.

If you think you’re seeing blond highlights, they’re not blond.

The other personal commitment I made is not to dye my hair, despite the constant pressure I get from my hairdresser. He loves to point out all the gray and thinks the world would be better if I had highlights. I tell him I think the gray is sexy. Besides, I earned those gray hairs. But I have other reasons. One is environmental. Those chemicals are terrible for the environment, not to mention the folks breathing them in on the spot. My second reason is financial. There’s not a lot of cash left over once the Hendersons pay their bills, and that money can go to Nature Conservancy or hair dye. Spending it on my hair would, frankly, make me feel shallow and hypocritical. How can I say I believe in one thing and then go do another? But the main reason I resolve not to dye my hair has to do with the girls eating anchovies and sardines in the fort.

Right now, those girls are smart and bold. They’re making forts. They’re doing spy duty. They stand with their hands on their hips and tell you their opinions. They know who Barack Obama is. They know why their grandpappy had to sneak out of Hungary when he was eight. They have big ideas about what they want to be and how the world could be better. Thirty years from now, the last thing I hope for these girls is that they’re standing in front of the mirror, criticizing their looks, and putting all their extra time and money into hair dye and wrinkle cream. There are more important things for smart and fiesty anchovies-for-breakfast types to do with their futures. I’ve thought about this all week, and I’m convinced that we do a disservice to young girls when we panic about looking older.

It’s not that I’m not panicked. If you want to feel shitty about the way you look, open any magazine, look at any ad.

I did a little Google search to see the difference between Hollywood looks and normal people looks. Here’s 40 in Hollywood and some 40 year old who posted her photo on a dating site.

Hollywood 50; normal 50:

Hollywood 60, and a lady I’ll bet has never considered plastic surgery or face creams:

It’s damn hard to grow old gracefully in this country, but what if we take this burden off the little girls of today by talking less about our looks and spending less time trying to pretend we’re still twenty? (It’s not like we’re fooling anyone!)

We all know it’s the heart that matters. But how many of us, in the daily choices we make, are spending our time, energy and money on what we believe?

Imagine if these ten-year-old girls, when they are my age, are so perfectly content with the natural changes that happen in their bodies that they spend their time pursuing dreams bigger than trying to achieve Hollywood beauty? Imagine if the magazines were full of normal women? And rather than ads about diets and Botox and plastic surgery, imagine if there were articles on these young women as they run for President or create great architecture or write great literature?

I’m not saying it’s easy to lose the crutch of beauty, but I do believe it’s my generation’s responsibility to change the message we’re sending to young girls. Just a thought.

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One last thing. Speaking of heart…

If you already know Patry Francis, I don’t need to tell you what a wise and generous writer she is. If you don’t know her yet, take a trip over to her blog, Simply Wait, where she writes about her life with inspiring, unsentimental candor.

Patry is one of the pillars in the writers community, who knows the long haul of writing a book and taking those rejections and reworking the book and knocking on doors – and somehow, even experiencing these blows, she manages to show grace and compassion and joy. One of the best thrills I know is to see folks who are both great writers and great souls get their breaks in the business. So when it happens to someone you love, someone you’ve been rooting for, and during the time of celebration, you find out they got diagnosed with cancer, what do you do?

If we could cure her, we would. We have to leave that to the doctors. But can we take up the job of promoting her book so she can focus on getting better? Yes, we can!

This is where you come in!

On January 29th, THE LIAR’S DIARY will be released in paperback. And we’re holding a huge, joint-effort blogging day for all those who want to show support for Patry, for cancer survivors, for writers helping writers, and for the strength and spirit of the blogging community.

I’ll tell you how. On January 29th, use your blog, your MySpace page, your Publishers Marketplace page, whatever you’ve got, big or small, and point people in the direction of Patry’s book. You can even come to LitPark on the 29th and copy whatever I’ve posted and use it verbatim on your own blog. There will be photos, promotional videos, free books for folks who’d like to write reviews.

Just to give you a very small idea of what you’ll see on the 29th, I’d like to thank the folks who have already stepped forward to help: Laura Benedict, who came up with the idea. Patry’s editor at Dutton, Julie Doughty. Her agent at the Jean Naggar Literary Agency, Alice Tasman. Her publicist, Laurie Connors. Eileen Hutton at Brilliance Audio. Dan Conaway from Writers House. Jeff Kleinman at Folio Literary Management. Eve Bridburg at Zachary Shuster Harmsworth literary agency. And…

Mario Acevedo
Susan Adrian
Samina Ali
Christa Allan
Anne-Marie
Joelle Anthony
Jorge Argueta
Melanie Avila
Tricia Ares
Backspace
Backstory
Terry Bain
Gail Baker – The Debutante Ball
Anjali Banerjee
Lauren Baratz-Logsted
Elizabeth Bartasius
Carolyn Burns Bass
Brett Battles
Laura Benedict
Pinckney Benedict
Janet Berliner
William Bernhardt
Alexander Besher
Bev
Marcie Beyatte
Brenda Birch
Roberto Bonazzi
Bookfinds
Raven Bower
Laura Bowers
Beatrice Bowles
Tara Bradford
Gayle Brandeis
Stacy Brazalovich
Susan Breen – Gotham Writers Workshops
Heather Brewer
Eve Bridburg – Zachary Shuster Harmsworth
Sassy Brit
Heatheraynne Brooks
Josie Brown
Pat Brown
Ruth Brown
Ken Bruen
Rachel Kramer Bussel
Aldo Calcagno
Austin S. Camacho
Bill Cameron
Lorenzo Carcaterra
Vincent Carrella
Karen DeGroot Carter
Rosemary Carstens
Cynthia Clark – Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine
Jon Clinch
Kamela Cody
Oline H. Cogdill – Sun-Sentinal
Tish Cohen
Eileen Cruz Coleman
Laurie Connors – Penguin
Eileen Cook
Richard Cooper
David Corbett
Auria Cortes
Bill Crider – Pop Culture Magazine
Kim Cristofoli
Ann Mare Cummins
Sheila Curran
Kristie Cutter
Jordan Dane
Josephine Damian
Daryl Darko
A.J. Davis
Kelli Davis
Alyssa Day
Alma Hromic Deckert
Jim DeFelice
Mike Dellosso
Katrina Denza
Bella DePaulo
Karen Dionne
Felicia Donovan
Julie Doughty – Dutton
Gerry Doyle
Firoozeh Dumas
Christine Eldrin
J.T. Ellison – Killer Year
Sheila Clover English – Circle of Seven Productions
Kate Epstein – the Epstein Literary Agency
Kathryn Esplin
Rachel Fershleiser at SMITH Magazine
Ryan Field
Michael A. FitzGerald
William Floyd
Natasha Fondren
Jamie Ford
Connie May Fowler
Heather Fowler
Therese Fowler
Jenifer Fox
Thaisa Frank
Michelle Gable
Gary Gach
Leighton Gage
Neil Gaiman
Colin Galbraith
Jayson Gallaway
Jane Ganahl – Red Room
Erika-Marie S. Geiss
Linda Gerber
Shane Gericke
Tess Gerritsen
Karin Gillespie
Anne Glamore
Kathi Kamen Goldmark
Jewelle Gomez
Susan Helene Gottfried
Deborah Grabien
Elizabeth Graham
Caroline Grant
Robin Grantham
Bob Gray – Shelf Awareness
Nancy O. Greene
Robert Grudin
Lisa Guidarini
David Habbin
Jim Hanas
Lynette Hart
Melanie Harvey
Michael Haskins
Melanie Lynn Hauser
Bill Hayes
Susan Henderson
Heidi the Hick
Georgia Hesse
Billie Hinton
Vicki Hinze
Lori Hope
Khaled Hosseini
Eileen Hutton – Brilliance Audio
Gina Hyams
International Thriller Writers
David Isaak
Susan Ito
Lisa Jackson
Arachne Jericho
Allison Johnson
Jen Jordan – Crimespree
Jungle Red Writers
Lesley Kagen
Polly Kahl
Jessica Keener
Charles Kelly
Lisa Kenny
Jackie Kessler
Merle Kessler
Kristy Kiernan – Southern Authors Blog
A.S. King
Jeff Kleinman – Folio Literary Management
Sandra Kring
Kyra
R.D. Laban
Rebecca Laffar-Smith – Writers Roundabout
Clair Lamb
Daphne Larkin
Larramie
Judy Merrill Larson
Caroline Leavitt
Leah
Virginia Lee
Leslie Levine
Mary Lewis
Richard Lewis
Liane
Sharon Linnea
Julie Anne Long
CJ Lyons
Jonathan Maberry
Amy MacKinnon – The Writers Group
Tim Maleeny
Ric Marion
Nancy Martin
Adrienne Mayor
L.C. McCabe
Ellen Meister
Melba
Christa Miller
Kyle Minor
Jacquelyn Mitchard
P. A. Moed
Terri Molina
Pat Montandon
David Montgomery
Alexis Moore
Joe Moore – Inkspot
Amanda Morgan
Sarie Morrell
Murderati
Amy Nathan
“Nathalie”
Tia Nevitt
Nicole
Carolyn North
Martha O’Connor
Andrea Okrentowich
Lori Olivia
Aimee Palooza
Pamela
Michael Palmer
Stephen Parrish
Marie Peck
Marcia Peterson – WOW! Women on Writing
Jason Pinter
Anthony S. Policastro
Douglas Preston
Terese Ramin
Jody Reale
Janet Reid – FinePrint Literary Management
Kamilla Reid
Lance Reynald
Michelle Richmond
Maria Robinson
John Robison
James Rollins
M.J. Rose – Buzz, Balls & Hype
Renee Rosen
Jordan Rosenfeld
Russell Rowland
Anneli Rufus
Hank Ryan
Marcus Sakey
Harris Salat -Visual Thesaurus
Rachel Sarah
Maria Schneider – Writer’s Digest Magazine
Nina Schuyler
Dani Shapiro
Rochelle Shapiro
Charles Shaughnessy
Jessie Sholl
Robert Siegel
Clea Simon
Lynn Sinclair
Shelley Singer
Sisters in Crime
Robin Slick
BPM Smith – Word & Bass
Bridget Smith
Claudia Smith
Kim Smith
Stephie Smith
Alexandra Sokoloff
Char Solomon
James Spring
Emilie Staat
Maryanne Stahl
Bella Stander
Kelli Stanley
Marta Stephens
Bronwyn Storm
Jennifer Talty
Judith Tannenbaum
Mindy Tarquini
Charles R. Temple
The Outfit
David Thayer
Joyce Tremel
Danielle Trussoni
Louise Ure
N. L. Valler
Barbara Vey – Publishers Weekly
Bev Vincent
Brenda Wallace
Therese Walsh – Writer Unboxed
John Warner – Tow Books
Gary Wassner
Brenda Webster
Sarah Weinman
Kimberly M. Wetherell
Dan Wickett – Emerging Writers Network
Jennifer Weiner
Laura Wellner
Susan Wiggs
Liz Wolfe
Cheryl Wyatt
Stephen Wylder
Irvin Yalom
Belle Yang
Dawn Yun
Michele Zackheim
Victoria Zackheim
Ernie Zelinski
Crystal Zevon

And you, too, right? I will link everyone on this list and anyone else who drops me a note in the comments section, telling me you plan to participate on the 29th.

Okay, then. I just wanted to give you a heads-up so you could join the fun!

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Thank you to this week’s guest, Anthony Marais, and to all who played here. And thank you to everyone who linked to LitPark this week: Xujun Eberlein’s Inside-Out China: A Literary and Cultural Blog, The Very Hot Jews, She Shoots to Conquer. I appreciate those links!

My greatest teachers were not the ones in my classrooms. I had every intention of coming here today and talking about two people who shaped me at very critical times in my life – one was a little girl with a brain tumor, who I babysat for a decade; and the other was my high school janitor, who was a poetry lover, an opera fanatic, and my confidante. (That’s him on the far right.)

I was sitting in bed, starting to write about these two really amazing and influential people in my life, when I got an email. The title said, from the guy on your right. And it occurred to me that my favorite person (other than my kids) also happens to be a teacher. So, today, I thought I’d introduce you to Mr. Henderson.

This is Mr. H playing flamenco guitar. But he is no music snob because, if you request Mika, he’ll play that, too.

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Mr. H and I met when we were both 19 and sophomores at Carnegie Mellon. (Back then, it was Carnegie-Mellon with a dash in between.)

Me! Mr. H! (Also, Jon Walker, the drummer in his college band, The Turgid.)

When we first met, Mr. H was a set design major and into math, physics, Roman history, Einstein, Hegel, D&D, Bouguereau, The Stranglers and the Tom Robinson band. He wore fake, leopard spotted shoes, suspenders, and a derby hat. He dreamed of being a freelance designer, which we later discovered is like dreaming of being unemployed. Or worse, being employed but not paid.

Now, Mr. H is a kick-ass tenured professor (and freelance designer). To get a flavor of his teaching style, I’ll tell you one of his class rules. If you are his student and your cell phone goes off in class, you are counted as absent. If you answer the phone, you fail the course.

What skills does he bring to his students? Well, he paints…

He’ll even paint elaborate floors…

And he draws…

And he makes movies…

And sews…

He teaches all of these things – and, of course, design, and how to interpret a script.

He also teaches a props class. For the final, his students have to create a meal from a different time period. These are baby mice (known as “pinkies”) dipped in honey and poppy seeds. Mr. Henderson always eats a sample of each person’s project because that’s part of the grade.

And he teaches stage make-up. For this class assignment, his students had to create their own prosthetic make-up. This one made herself into a swan.

This is all fine and good. But if you ask our kids, the coolest thing he does is make scars and wounds.

These are more class projects. His students had to come up with a specific disease or injury and do their own make-up to show it. I am not posting the photo of the student who made small pox out of Rice Krispies because I know some of you read my blog while you’re eating…

Once, when it was career day at the elementary school, Mr. H and I were invited in to talk about our jobs. I went first and talked about my love of reading and the process of writing and editing. And then I asked the children if they had questions.

“Did you write Harry Potter?”

“No.”

“Did you write The Cat in the Hat?”

“No.” This was only funny maybe the first or second time and then it wore off.

Finally the teacher stepped in to help – “Mrs. Henderson, tell us what books you did write.”

Too embarrassed to tell the truth, that there was no book to buy, I answered cryptically, “They’re not really for children.” This forever after branded me as an assumed writer of erotica.

Then Mr. Henderson entered the classroom to discuss costuming actors for plays. He used Green-Hand as an example of an actor – creating fake bruises and scars on him to look like he’d been in a fight.

He was supposed to wash off the bruises but he went home on the bus all beat up. I asked him, “So, how do you think it went today?”

“Great,” he said, “Everyone in my class wants to be a costume designer.”

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I’ll end with one my favorite stories concerning Mr. H. It was when his band was playing at a little tavern, and a whole bunch of his students showed up. And when they started to remove their coats, we saw that several of the girls were wearing little crop-tops that had I love [Mr. H] written on them.

I wish I had a camera that day because you should have seen his smile. And I just know when he’s a very old man with no teeth and he tells the same story over and over again, that’s going to be one of them.

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Thank you to the super-lovely Paul Green for visiting this week. Thank you to everyone who played and commented. And thank you to everyone who linked to LitPark the past couple of weeks: Media Bistro, Comedy Central, Roy Kesey, Oronte Churm’s Inside Higher Education, Kimberly Wetherell’s She Shoots to Conquer (*new blog alert*), and Robin Slick. I appreciate those links!