The Friday Five!
Peace.
I’ll be honest: with all the war and misery of the last week, I wasn’t even sure I should do this blog today. Who cares about my stupid yard and miniatures and whatever else I’ll blather on about here? But at the same time, we need to be able to find light in the darkness. So consider this a candle, flickering. Lean in, move on, or anything else. It’s all okay.
Today is Friday the 13th. I would not say I am superstitious as much as suggestible. If you tell me anything is bad luck I will avoid it, forever, just to be on the safe side. That said, 17 years ago today, when I was newly pregnant and went for my first doctor’s appointment, alone—-my husband had an unavoidable conflict—-I did not expect anything bad to happen. But it did. There’s no heartbeat, the my doctor told me gently, as I stared at the screen of the ultrasound, trying to understand. No baby. Eight weeks I’d been dreaming and planning and suddenly it was just….nope. I will never forget the drive home that afternoon, alone, through these gorgeous winding country roads, leaves spinning all around me. I was embarrassed, which was weird. Like I’d told people a lie and had to take it all back. At the time, I didn’t know how common this was, that so many women carry a similar story. I’m doing it here, in case anyone out there is in that place. And for what it’s worth, the following January I got pregnant again. My daughter was born in September, and I can’t imagine a life without her. But every October 13th, I remember. Our lives are books, with some chapters better than others. But every story counts. Even—-especially—-the ones you don’t tell.
That was a SUPER heavy start. Sorry! For balance, here’s a picture of Chloe sleeping with her paw on my leg. I move, she’s the first to know.
I’ve been writing like crazy lately. It’s the funniest thing: while it’s only been four years since my last book, the market and publishing in general feels like a wholly different world. I’m not sure where my place is. But this book, for whatever reason, does not care: it’s coming, page by page, and all I can do is get it down. It’s so crazy that twenty seven (!) years after That Summer was published I find myself writing on faith and nothing else, just like back in my waitressing days. It will work out! I tell myself when I begin to panic. I’m just going to finish! I may even jump in on Nanowrimo next month to get there. (I have always wanted to try and do it.) So much is uncertain. But I know is I left my narrator walking the aisles of a home decor store with a boy, in search of a flowerpot, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Finally, this week I sent a couple of my miniature boxes out into the world. It’s one thing, I think, so make these, another to actually share them. I always get weirdly shy when I do it, because I know they are kind of weird. Then again, so is my writing. Anyway, I made one for Robin Roberts to celebrate her new marriage, and another for Coronato Pizza, one of my favorite local joints, which is closing. Again, the world is hard right now. But I truly believe that when you put kindness into the world it comes back to you. Even if it’s small. Maybe, especially then.
Have a good weekend, everyone!