An Honest(y) Dilemma

Honesty is the best policy. Be true to yourself. Different strokes for different folks. The First Amendment gives us the right to say what we want.

As I write this entry into my blog, I honestly have a stomach ache because I’ve offended a fellow writer. (Guess I’ll never make it as a NYT book critic if I’m this much of a wimp.) I am a 48-year old mother of four, and a Libra (for whatever that’s worth). I’ve been called a “pleaser,” and I’m still not sure if that’s good or bad. The LAST thing I want to do is offend a person. That being said, I have my personal likes and opinions, as we all do. I also have a quick tongue and often regret what comes out of my mouth before I’ve considered how it will be heard. That’s one reason I’m a writer ~ I can edit and rewrite my words before I show them to people.

One of the supreme benefits of our world, at least and foremost in the United States, is that we are exposed to so much because of differing interests. I don’t go see horror movies, but they make millions of dollars off people who do. I don’t read Sci-Fi books nor books about vampires (although I did read the Twilight series to see what all the rage was about ~ and I read all four books because Stephenie Meyer has a knack for plot and making readers (me) sympathize with Bella). I prefer crime dramas on TV to sitcoms like “The Office”. I prefer mysteries and literature to Chick-Lit. But that’s my prerogative; that’s what our world is about.

However, social media is ubiquitous, and the impact and transparency of social media is game-changing.

My point is, I recently read Sara J. Henry’s debut novel, Learning To Swim. In my review on Goodreads, I called her book “a page-turner”, a “strong debut novel”, and said that she “did an excellent job at keeping the reader guessing “Whodunit?”, and I finished with “I thoroughly enjoyed the story”. However, I also said that “I found her fundamentals (i.e. syntax and vocabulary) to be rather elementary”. Unfortunately, it was this comment that apparently stuck out in Ms. Henry’s mind. I hereby and whole-heartedly apologize for offending Ms. Henry.

I am a writer, not yet “an author”. I have not yet had my fiction work published. I do not hold an MFA in English or Literature. Some people would say that I shouldn’t be able to critique work in a public forum without those credentials. Some would say that if I do, my critique should be dismissed. However, I am a voracious reader, and I have opinions. I have written two and a half novels (the first I shelved because I realized it was naive at best). The second I have submitted to agents, and gotten some nibbles but no representation yet, so I have rewritten and revised upon the feedback I’ve gotten from agents. My mother loved it (yeah, I know, but she does have a Ph.D. in Higher Education), another Ph.D professor of English at Ole Miss, Dr. Colby Kullman, had very high praise for it including “suspenseful”, the “characters come alive”, and it “by far surpasses any of their MFA’s first novels” ~ enough praise to keep me going through multiple agent rejections. Ironically, my own father “did not like it.” He told me that in person. He said it was “too raw” for his taste. (Perhaps I should have advised him that my bisexual, drug-using, unfaithful female character was in no way autobiographical before I gave it to him.) But enough about me.

In the world of the Internet, Twitter, Goodreads, etc., when a person puts their opinion online, it’s very likely that someone will either disagree or be offended. It happens everyday. I am sure that when my work (either my current book or a future one) is published, it and/or I will be criticized. I am under no illusion that everyone will like it in part or in whole. But that is “a supreme benefit” of living in America. I have to be willing to risk being hurt if I put my work out there.

Before writing full-time, I was an art dealer. I saw a lot of beautiful work, and a lot of ugly work. I, of course, only represented work that I thought was great art. Again, I have my opinion on what is “great art.” I was never a fan of Robert Rauschenberg, though he’s considered one of the greatest artists of the Twentieth Century. I also didn’t like A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan for the same reason I don’t like Rauschenberg: I thought their “ground-breaking originality” was gimmicky. Rauschenberg famously added “found objects” in his work (in the mid-50s put a taxidermied chicken in/on one work). Egan did an entire chapter in Power Point. I understand the “Power of the New”, but I don’t have to love gimmicks. Meanwhile, Egan and Rauschenberg (the latter posthumously) have laughed all the way to the bank, as they say.

As for Ms. Henry, I honestly enjoyed her novel, and look forward to the sequel. It’s just that when I compare her debut novel to Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward, Angel, and Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day (the other two books I am currently reading), I find her fundamentals to be “elementary”. “Straightforward” or “undemanding” might have better choices. Perhaps it is wildly unfair to compare a debut novelist to some of the great writers on their masterworks. “Nothing is good or bad except by comparison.” I should be so lucky as to have a debut novel out there for people to critique.

Again, Ms. Henry, my apologies. I hope that everyone who reads this will buy your book and you will make lots of money off the controversy!

The flip side of the coin, one I will try to remember for the future: “The less said is the best said.”

Don’t Be Afraid of Nude Beaches

Oops, did I say “nude”? I meant new. Don’t be afraid of NEW beaches.

With one week left in our Costa Rican trip, my husband and I decided to check out a nude (darn, did it again) new beach, Playa Panama, just five minutes from our home. No one around here really talks about it, but we thought that might be a good thing ~ no damn tourists! So we went.

We soon found out why no one talks about it. It’s not as nice as the beach we normally go to, Playa Hermosa. We walked all the way down, then back again, but decided that because it’s rocky and muddy, we wouldn’t go back. But we would finish our walk.

At the risk of sounding jaded, I chose not to take my camera with me. I thought that after 9 weeks, I’d seen so many bugs, birds, fish, and creatures that I wouldn’t bother. Every single time I say that, I regret it. (Like the day we saw a bull running down our street. A bull, with horns running down our street. Fortunately we were in our car, but this was a street where many locals walk or ride their bikes. No camera then either.) Today we saw dozens of pink crabs scurrying across the sand and diving into their little crab caves. We saw iguanas eating leaves off the low-hanging trees, turkey vultures eating garbage, and pelicans snapping up fish off the beach at low tide. We also saw snails, real, live, crawling snails in their shells. Walking seashells! This country never ceases to amaze me.

The same advice goes for life and literature. Don’t be afraid to try nude new things. Even if you think you don’t you’ll like something, say a new genre or author, there are oftentimes snippets that will amaze you. If nothing else, it’ll give you something to gripe about, like stepping on rocks at the beach.

It’s easy to stay in one’s comfort zone, but that sounds like living in a rut to me.

It’s for Appearances’ Sake, Dear

Ah, vacation mentality: When you read books you wouldn’t normally read; wear clothes you wouldn’t normally wear; drink drinks you wouldn’t normally drink.

A few weeks ago my husband and I went to Panamá. The first two nights we stayed in Bocas del Toro in a jungle tree house, yes, with geckos, spiders, and toucans. Then we flew to Panamá City and stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel, with 25 floors, marble entryway, and hot water. Well a funny thing happened when we arrived…

My husband went to check in, and I went to ask the concierge for a dinner reservation. We were hot and tired and it had been a long day getting there, but we were on vacation so it was okay as long as we had a nice dinner to look forward to. Ernesto was happy to help. “La Posta,” he said. “Bery good food. You lub it.” My husband came over and sat beside me, and I told him we had a reservation in one hour at a great restaurant. “We’re lucky to get in,” I said. “What kind of food do they serve?” he asked. “Good food,” I replied. Well, this hotel was full of business people dressed in suits and carrying briefcases, the polar opposite of our former tree house, and we were dressed in shorts. But we didn’t care, we were on vacation! So my husband asks Ernesto, “Can I wear shorts? That’s all I brought with me.” “Oh, no, señor. Not to La Posta.” So we thanked Ernesto for getting us in, but suggested he find us another restaurant. “I call them,” he said, “to cancel.” Okay, so my Spanish isn’t very good, but I did overhear Ernesto telling the hostess our problem. He said very loudly, “El hombre – tiene – no los pantalones!” My husband asked me to translate. “The man – has – no pants!” My husband turned red (not sure if it was anger or embarrassment). This had never happened to him before. You see, for the past 40 years, my husband has owned a chain of clothing stores. He sells pants!
(Fortunately, La Posta let us come anyway, happy to take our money.)

Here in Costa Rica, we live in a tiny beach town. We wear shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops every day. It’s fine because no one really knows us and we have no one to impress. In Des Moines, we work there, we’re on boards, we know people, we must keep up appearances! We wear real clothes, and we shower BEFORE we go out. (Here you shower when you get home because of the 95 degree heat.) But the people who live here in Costa Rica year round, the ones who work here and know people here, they wear real clothes and the women even wear makeup! The way people dress is acutely tied to the image they want to impart—everywhere.

So this got me thinking. As a writer, when my “value” comes from my words, from my brain, I should not be judged by my shoes, my clothes, or my purse. It shouldn’t matter what I wear. How liberating! But that’s not the way the civilized world works. We do judge people by their appearances (at least at first), and we do judge books by their covers. I wonder how many books lie in anguish on the shelves at Barnes & Noble because their covers are not enticing? I wonder how many people get overlooked because their appearance fails to impress.

Certainly there are exceptions. Bravo for those brave enough to be themselves at all times and let the world figure out how wonderful they are the hard way – by LISTENING to or READING or WATCHING – their skills. And what about when actors like Brad Pitt grow nasty beards in feeble attempts to downplay their natural good looks, or when Charlize Theron and Halle Berry make themselves look ugly to play certain roles? THAT is when they win Oscars.

Aha! It shouldn’t matter what’s on the outside ~ we’ve all heard the cliché… But, it does to a degree. Therefore, when I get home, I’ll wear makeup again, and high heels. And when my book is published, I will care very much what the cover looks like.

Meanwhile, I’ll write the best book possible so it can live up to it’s appearance.

Gr8xpectations

If you’ve been following along, you know my husband and I spend the worst of winter in Costa Rica. Now spring is here and our days in this beautiful country are drawing down, but we haven’t lost our adventuresome spirit.

For the past two years, we have heard about a Farmers’ Market just twenty minutes from our home, so we decided to check it out. Have you ever been to CR? It is LUSH with bananas, plantains, mangos, pineapple, cantaloupe, rice, sugar cane, coffee, and more. Boy did I have great expectations!

That’s not really a surprise though, it’s the story of my life. Hell, Gr8xpectations used to be my email address ~ not kidding. I don’t think anyone has gotten their feelings hurt more than I have (at least it seems that way). I always hope for the best, give people the benefit of the doubt, and generally count on people staying true to their word. The older I get though, the more I understand how life really works. Soon I will be cynical, skeptical, and pessimistic like the rest of you.

Ok, so today. The Farmers’ Market? Should have been called a Farmer’s Market. No joke. One (American) lady had one basket with a few heads of lettuce and some cucumbers. That was it. I don’t even LIKE cucumbers! Apparently there’s a “real, local” farmers’ market on Fridays in “the city” but we missed it. Guess we’ll try again next year.

But, think about it. Don’t we all carry expectations with us to some degree as we go on vacation/buy a new book/go to a movie/order a nice meal? Sure we do. We hope and expect things to be fun, good, or entertaining, especially if we’re spending time and money on them.

So here’s what I’m wondering about:

Why is it that we’re more likely to be let down by a “good” book that isn’t “as great as they said”, and we really enjoy work that had low expectations? Same goes for movies like Little Miss Sunshine and Sideways. They were small films that had huge box office and critical success.

This is actually encouraging news for me. Since I don’t have an MFA, since I haven’t written a blockbuster yet, and I spent most of my working life as an art dealer, the expectations for my debut novel probably won’t be too high, except my own of course. I won’t be happy until I’ve written the best book possible, one that perhaps Charles Dickens would be impressed with. Or maybe William Faulkner. He once said: “The only thing worth writing about is the conflict in the human heart.” That is exactly what my novels are about.

Meanwhile, I’ve really got my hopes up for the Farmers’ Market in Des Moines; it’s enormous, plentiful, and only one block from our home. It will be great!

Man, I crack myself up!

Who, exactly, am I kidding when I say I’m going to blog more often about fathers, sons, and brothers?

Pretty soon I’m gonna get in trouble. Someone’s gonna tell me I need to take this whole writing thing a little more seriously, or else I’ll lose my blogging privileges. Ok, I tried, but I’m sorry, I can’t carry on a deep, serious, heavily researched blog about interactions of the human male. Just can’t do it.

Here is all we need to know about men:
They want sex.
They want their woman to respect them.
They want to be fed and cared for when they’re sick.
They want the one person with whom to share their secrets, the one who’ll tell them (repeatedly) they’re great, to never use their insecurities against them.
They want more sex.

And if you do all of the above, they’ll forgive a lot of little stuff, like shopping.

Can we move on now?

I have written two novels with a male protagonist, On A Midnight Street and The King Family. The best and only way I can prove that I know a little something about the male half of the human population, is to get published and let you be the judge from my novels. I promise you all, I’m working on that the best I can. I’m writing six days a week, editing out all the superfluous words, and when it’s sleek and shiny, I will submit my work to the appropriate agents. When the stars align, you’ll be able to find my books at your local Barnes & Noble.

Here’s the only secret most men will never share (don’t ask how I know this). They’re just as sensitive as us women, they just won’t admit it. So in case I’ve hurt anyone’s feelings, I’m truly sorry. “You’re great. Really, you’re the best. You’re so strong and smart and rich. I mean it! I can tell it’s true because you’re reading my blog.”

Fortunately, my husband really is the best, so this stuff is easy for me.

Ok, back to having fun! Stay tuned to see what ridiculous things I fixate on tomorrow.

Can’t – Stand – The – PRESSURE!

A few days ago, I figured out how to add a Page Counter to my blog. Now I can see how many people actually look at my web site. Cool! I have already learned that either I have more fans than I realized, or I have a stalker with twitchy fingers!

Fans? OMG, the pressure!

Ten days ago I made a promise to write more about fathers, sons, and families. Since then, I’ve developed stage fright, writer’s block, broken fingers, a terrible case of the flu… something! All I know is inspiration has fled.

I can tell you my step-daughter just gave birth to our first grandchild ~ a boy, of course! That’s kept me terribly (wonderfully) busy just looking at the pictures. Mother, baby, and father are all doing great, thanks for asking.

But the truth is, friends, I’ve been editing. Last weekend, I finished the first draft of my manuscript for The King Family, 82,000 words (300 pages), and now the tough work begins. Writing the first draft is the EASY part. Polishing it for submission separates the King family from the girls with dragon tattoos. (Plus, I’ve become obsessed with Twitter. If you haven’t tried it, you owe it to yourself to see what it’s all about.)(Then you can follow me there, as well.)(I’m quite funny when I can’t ramble on for more than 140 characters.)(Really!)

My mother, who holds a PhD in higher education, gave me the best editing advice I’ve ever received. Read the book backwards, she said, sentence by sentence, so you don’t get caught up in the story. That’s tough to do, but well worth it, even thought it takes a lot of time.

Anyway, I’ve been busy, not neglectful, but I do owe you all a post about MEN.

I’ll see what brilliance I can come up with as soon as I forget about the geiger counter on my blog page.

(Thanks for all the visits!)

Honor and Onward

As I write this, I am anxiously awaiting two phone calls. My step-daughter is in the hospital in labor about to give birth to our first grandchild. That’s the good news. I am also preparing myself to hear sad news about a dear lady as she fights a malignant brain tumor. One birth and one death. The circle of life.

This wonderful woman is the mother of my closest childhood friend. She was nearly as important to me as my own mother during my formative years. As active as anyone I’ve ever known, she and her husband traveled the world over, and she could tell tales from each trip. A gardener, a cook, an intellectualist, a mother, she was marvelous at all she did. Now she’s fighting a battle she can’t win.

In my current novel, The King Family, one of my characters, a wise old woman named Rose, speaks to her nephew about grief as she counsels him over the loss of a loved one. “You will miss her your whole life, but you can’t miss your whole life because of her,” she tells him. “Honor and onward, that’s my motto.”

News of the horrendous earthquake and subsequent tsunami in Japan is everywhere today. I cannot fathom the loss and destruction the Japanese people are experiencing as I sit in my home and write. Many of them won’t be able to put their lives on hold to grieve for their loved ones. They have no choice but to rebuild their homes and businesses as they mourn the loss of husbands, wives, and children. They must push on even as they cry. Honor and onward.

Dave Matthews has a song, “Funny the Way It Is”, that talks about the ironies in life. One line says: Funny the way it is, not right or wrong/ On a soldier’s last breath, his baby’s being born. Not funny at all, if you think about it, but of course that’s the point. It’s the circle of life.

As I anticipate the birth of our newest family member, I am saddened by the impending loss of an amazing woman whom I was lucky to have known. I will honor her always, and move onward to love my grandchild the way she loved me.

Honor and onward.

Fathers, Sons, and Brothers

As you faithful followers know, when I’m not writing, I’m reading. I read novels and I read about writing. I read blogs and web sites and twitter and newspapers. Read, read, read, that’s what I do.

Recently I have found many articles (coincidence or a message?) about blogging. Everyone has advice about blogging, and some of it I actually think makes sense.

I’m not quite ready to sell advertising on this blog (though if you want to pay me money, I’ll surely take it), but apparently I’m supposed to refine my subject matter a bit. All this time I thought the blog was supposed to be about me. Nope, it’s supposed to be about my subject matter, my field of expertise! Who knew?

If I wrote non-fiction, say How to Deliver Your Own Baby to Save Cash (which I did once)(accidentally, not to save money), then I should blog about “The Importance of Having Clean Towels Handy at All Times”, or “Why You Should Wait Till After Your Baby Is Born to Clean Your Carpets”. But I don’t write non-fiction, I write novels.

The King Family is the story of a man who runs from his own troubles straight into those his father buried fifty years ago.

Aha! I should blog about Fathers, Sons, and Brothers.

I’m sure you know by now, I have four sons and one step-son. I have a husband, a father, a brother, six nephews, an ex-husband, and even a male dog. And I, the lone female in my house, am the observer. I watch. I take notes. I “borrow”. I am continually and ever more deeply obsessed with the interactions of the male species, not always easy, rarely pretty.

Nothing fascinates me more, nor is more prevalent in my life, than my family. Ok, so I will try to blog more often about the interpersonal interactions between male family members ~ without revealing personal details. Don’t worry guys, you know I love you.

When I get really smart and brave, I’ll tackle mothers and daughters.

James Patterson, Save Me!

It’s easy to see how a writer can get distracted. “They” say that a writer dreams of the day he or she can escape to a mountain top to gaze over the ocean to write his/her masterpiece. Well, hello? Who among us could be plopped down in a foreign country and NOT want to explore a bit? It’s a different world here in Costa Rica, and there’s so much to see and do. Put me in a dark quiet room someplace boring! (I did not mention Des Moines.) (Jail wouldn’t be so bad if I had Internet access.)

I’ve been happily ensconced in my “office away from home” writing away. The first draft of my novel, The King Family, is now over 55,000 words (nearly 200 pages). On a good day, I write 1500 words, on a really good day I write maybe 2500. On a bad day, I take out most of those. At this rate, I could be finished with a strong first draft by the time we go home to friends, family, and freezing rain. (Please, no freezing rain in April!)

So what’s the problem? And why the hell would you ask James Patterson for help?
Excellent questions.

I have a good friend, Larassa Kabel. She’s my John Galt. Larassa is an extremely talented artist, one whom I formerly represented. (www.larassakabel.com) We usually meet once a month for coffee, and she alone can recharge me when I begin to flounder in my long trek toward “published author.” If only I were as good at writing as she is at painting! Anyway, she once told me that the really good inspirations we creative types get are the ones that you can’t get out of your head no matter what else is going on in life. That’s how an artist/writer knows what project to devote their precious time to. So, I have one of those.

Last June, my husband and I went to NYC to visit two of my sons, Ryan and Elliott. One night, a friend of Ryan’s joined us, Ariel. Ariel looks a lot like my son Ryan except for one distinction. I sat across the table from these young men and thought they looked like twins, with this one exception. I jotted a note to myself about my observation and thought ‘no big deal’. Ok, so that little note has become the idea that won’t leave my head! Those four words have germinated into a novel that begs to be written, complete with characters, names, places, crises, multiple crises. Now what am I supposed to do?! Whatever happened to writer’s block? I need to write faster! I need James Patterson to be my co-author!
(ooh,ooh, just kidding)

Anyway, that’s my life in a few sentences (450 words). That, and my husband and I just bought one way tickets to Panamá. We fully intend to come back, but…

Will the Real Karolyn Please Stand Up

People who are absolutely sure of themselves blow me away. Are there really such people, or have they just learned to fake it better than I can? Is anyone completely confident that everything they do, everything they say is exactly right? I couldn’t for a moment imagine being in politics. How can anyone be held accountable for something they said eighteen years ago? I mean, even if they meant it at the time, people change, the world changes. Ok, so Christine O’Donnell, that was a little weird, but still…

I like to drink beer from a bottle and eat pizza with my hands, the way my late friend Rob Borsellino taught me. I am a blue-jeans kind of girl, every single day I like to wear blue jeans, or black jeans or grey jeans. However, I love it when we’re invited to black-tie events. I wear makeup everyday (yes, even a touch here in Costa Rica). I drool over Christian Louboutin shoes and Prada purses. (Those didn’t come with me to CR though. That would be silly.)

I’ve been an interior designer, an art dealer, and now a writer. I’ve been married, divorced, single, remarried. (We’ve already talked about how many times I’ve changed my last name; no need to go into that again.) I am a daughter and a sister. I am a mom; that alone will never change.

“An unexamined life is not worth living.” Socrates said that nearly 2500 years ago. He also said, “The only true wisdom is knowing you know nothing.” I think I could party with Socrates.

You might have guessed by now that I have just finished reading Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking. It’s the sad, sad account of the twelve months following the sudden death of her husband John Gregory Dunne. At the same time, their only child was in and out of several hospitals for multiple reasons, most significantly a massive hematoma six months after John died. Didion is a brilliant and insightful author, and she raised some deep questions for me.

While no one goes through life untouched by sadness and tragedy, some people seem to live charmed lives. Wayne and I, for instance, live a seemingly charmed life because we live each day to its fullest (and Wayne was a hard-working business man and a good saver). But we both got here the hard way. My husband has serious health issues that are part of our everyday life. He never says, “One day I’d like to… ” If he wants to do something, go someplace, learn something, he does it NOW. I’m lucky enough to get to tag along. And, we never would have found each other if we both hadn’t gone through painful divorces.

What I think about often is who will I be, where will I be, in ten years? Or twenty? Or thirty? Wayne would insist that I live each day as it comes, hoping for the best but saving (money and memories) for the worst. If we each get our share of tragedy, will I be strong enough to survive when my bad days come? Joan Didion’s only child died during her book tour that chronicled her struggle to get over her husband’s death. Could I survive that? I’m not trying to tempt fate by calling my life charmed, I’m acknowledging the good days. As Arthur Ashe, the great tennis player who died of AIDS in 1993 said, “If I were to say, ‘God, why me?’ about the bad things, then I should have said, ‘God, why me?’ about the good things that happened in my life.”

I’m afraid to ask, Why me? Why am I so lucky? because it frightens me to think of how my luck might balance out in the future. What will my obit say? Scary stuff, huh? And that is why we live each day to the fullest. That is why I tell my family how much I love them every day.

Ol’ Soc, I think, would tell me, “Examine your life, one day at a time, for tomorrow you will know more.”

Peace out, friends.