Once upon a time, I did not think much (or at all) about this question. Now? I am fixated on it.

The question: First- or third-person?

As many of you know (because I tend to mention this fact from time to time), I am currently working on my second novel. I am really excited about my story and my fingers are crossed that you will all have the opportunity to read it in the relatively near future. But. For now. I am a citizen of First Draft Land and am bogged down in some technical questions. And the thing is that I am not sure how much these questions truly matter.

I wrote my first novel Life After Yes in the first-person. I cannot imagine having told Quinn’s story any other way. Getting inside her head, capturing her thoughts and dreams and neuroses, was essential, I think, to the arc of this tale. But now. I have a new story to tell. A different one. And I am faced with a dilemma. Do I stick with first-person, the narrative medium with which I am marginally more comfortable (and drawn to) or do I switch things up and go with third-person, a point-of-view with its own undeniable advantages (objectivity, breadth of vision, etc)?

The good news is that I think there is no right answer here. Beautiful stories are told both ways. I have encountered exquisite specimens of writing carved from both perspectives. In my estimation, a good story is a good story and compelling writing is compelling writing.

So. How should I decide? Should I trust my instinct, existent but far from firm, and stay in the first-person? Or should I challenge myself technically a bit and expand my writerly repertoire and render my next fictional world in the third-person?

Ultimately, this decision is mine. And I trust that I will stumble upon the right road — for me, for my new characters. But the priceless thing about having this blog is that it is a space where I can honor my confusion and open up and rattle off four splendid words, and ask. You.

What do you think?

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• Do you prefer to hear stories told in first or third person? Why?
  
• Do you prefer to write stories in the first or third person? Why?
  
• How much do you think this narrative choice matters, if at all?
• Do you even notice or remember what narrative choice your favorite authors made?
• Do you ever use your blog to explore your own dilemmas and seek advice from readers?
  

I don’t know where to begin, but begin I will… I am a woman. I am a writer. I am interested in telling stories about existential grays. About life and love and relationships and philosophy and pain. I have high hopes. With but one book under my writerly belt, I am still a rookie, but I do hope my stories will, over time, reach oodles of people. I also hope that they will receive critical acclaim should they deserve that acclaim. It would also be nice if, by doing what I love (and, man, this is it right here), I am able to contribute mightily to the financial integrity of the family I cherish. That’s right, here I am, at the starting gates of this literary race, hoping humbly and boldly for commercial and literary success down the road.

(Per New York law, dreaming big is perfectly legal.)

Late last night, friend and fellow blogger Kristen of Motherese sent me a link to a Huffington Post article by Jason Pinter wherein Jennifer Weiner and Jodi Picoult, two vanguards of women’s fiction whose talents and careers I respect deeply, discuss a recent online controversy about “the alleged shoddy treatment of commercial writers, in particular writers of what is commonly referred to as ‘women’s fiction’” that arose after the New York Times and other publications extensively covered Jonathan Franzen’s most recent novel Freedom. In this Huff Po piece, Weiner and Picoult offer “their thoughts on what role gender plays in literary criticism, the importance of popular fiction in our culture, and whether progress is being made.”

I implore you to click over and read the entire article now because it is stuffed with insights and angles and I can only scratch the surface of it here. Picoult and Weiner argue, each wielding her own compelling arguments and anecdotes, that the literary establishment, and the Times in particular, tends to overwhelmingly review male authors over female authors and “literary fiction” over popular or “commercial fiction.”

Something Weiner said really struck me, and concerned me: “I think it’s a very old and deep-seated double standard that holds that when a man writes about family and feelings, it’s literature with a capital L, but when a woman considers the same topics, it’s romance, or a beach book – in short, it’s something unworthy of a serious critic’s attention.”

When asked why she deems it important that commercial fiction receive critical attention, Picoult responds, “Because historically the books that have persevered in our culture and in our memories and our hearts were not the literary fiction of the day, but the popular fiction of the day. Think about Jane Austen. Think about Charles Dickens. Think about Shakespeare. They were popular authors. They were writing for the masses.”

Is there this double standard? I don’t know, but maybe so. Why might there be this critical rejection of tales that appeal to the masses? Again, I don’t pretend to know, but these things worry me and make me wonder about the literary world into which I tiptoe at this very moment. Here’s the thing. I have tremendous respect for Picoult and Weiner. Both of these women are immensely gifted; their writing is good and resonates with so many of us. I also love the Times. I grew up watching my parents flip through this paper at the breakfast table and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dream of one day seeing a book of mine reviewed in its pages.

So what now? Should I duck behind my decidedly male name and allow some readers or reviewers to think I am a man? Of course not. Should I whip up some tales of espionage or murder? I don’t think so. I am a woman and I will write the stories I want to write.

What more is there to say? A whole lot. This thicket of questions and concerns is far too complicated for me to understand or address fully on this Friday morning. But what I can and will say is thank you. To Kristen for sending this article my way. To Jennifer and Jodi for standing up and speaking up on behalf of all of us. To Jason for bringing this article to life.

And thank you to you guys, my readers – writers and people – for allowing me to dream big here. And doubt big, too.

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• Have you followed this controversy? Have you read the article? Thoughts?
• Do you agree that there is a double standard in the writing world (and maybe in other professional worlds)?
• Do literary and commercial success need to be mutually exclusive?
  
• Why do we insist on a distinction between literary and commercial fiction? Can’t a book have literary heart and soul and pack a commercial punch?
• Do you think I should keep my unwieldy dreams to myself?
  
• Have you read books by Picoult and/or Weiner? Have you enjoyed them like I have?
  

“All first drafts are shit.”

Ernest Hemingway

I am a perfectionist. Full of paralyzing pride. I like to do things well, and right. Quite often, this perfectionism serves me splendidly. There’s nothing wrong with having sky-high standards, right?

Wrong.

Particularly when it comes to writing. As I have mentioned, I am in the process of writing my second novel. And, depending on the moment, my fingers are flying fabulously or I am having a hard time. In these difficult moments, I am getting stalled and stuck and stranded. And I think I know why.

I want exquisite prose and deft dialogue to tumble out of me. I want my ideas to be crisp and spicy, full of authentic and existential bite. I want my story to take shape like a famous statue. Right away.

Ha.

Thankfully, I have a good memory. I recall Life After Yes’s infancy. That famous first draft. It was utter and unequivocal crap, a big clumsy pile of paper riddled with inconsistencies and holes and nonsense. It was embarrassingly bad. But, you know what?

It was also a start. The start.

I shaped that pile of paper, that stream of words, into something better. And then? I shaped that something better into something even tighter. I did this over and over again, working hard, having fun, chipping away, adding, reinventing. And one day? One day, I had something that was okay. And then one day I had something that was good. And one magical day that good thing was really good. And then great. (Hey, I am biased. I wrote the thing.)

It is so helpful for me to remember this. That this writing thing is a process. It is so helpful for me to read Hemingway’s words. And I am not a fan of profanity but I make an exception here because, well, first drafts are shit. They just are. And an important and subtle distinction must be made. That distinction? First drafts are perhaps meant to be shit. This has nothing to do with experience, with rookie-dom. This is the way it should, perhaps must, be every time. Writing a first draft is an inherently messy endeavor; we are spilling shreds of self and story onto page, gathering bits of imagination and invention, collecting ingredients for what might become something wonderful.

But not yet.

So, on this fine Thursday morning, I want to thank Mr. Hemingway for his sage words and reminder to just write and write and write some more. To spew shit. The good kind. There is plenty of time to clean up later.

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• Do you agree with Hemingway that first drafts are meant to be mangled and messy things?
• Are you a perfectionist too? Does this help or hinder you more in your life?
• Do you spend more time writing or editing?
• Do you agree that there is wisdom in Hemingway’s words not just for the writer, but for the person? That, so often in life, we should just stop worrying and act and then edit the drafts of days later?
• Would you be suspicious of someone who claimed her first drafts were marvelous? (I would.)
  

I’m going to come right out and say it: I love Facebook. I do. It’s worth noting that I do not spend much time at all on the site – maybe ten minutes a day? – but the time I do spend is both enjoyable and rewarding. I love that Facebook facilitates connections with friends old and new. I love being able to see pictures of tiny babies and beloved dogs and lavish weddings and happy people. I relish being able to stay on top of the careers of authors I admire. Most of all, I love getting back in touch with people who were once important in my life, but slipped away for no good reason at all.

A few days ago, a friend from college whom I have not seen in ages – a beautiful and brilliant girl – messaged me to say that she had finished reading Life After Yes. I was thrilled of course to hear that she loved the book, but her note was so much more than simple praise for my literary debut. I could explain how deeply her words affected me, but decided it would be far more powerful to share her words with you. I asked her if I could write a blog post about our exchange and she was quick with a generous yes. She said I could post her letter and even use her name, but I have decided to refer to her instead as d just as she closes her note. I have also eliminated information about where she lives. (Hey, I’m a paranoid creature.)

Hey Aidan!

I just finished your book today and I LOVED it! I know it’s taken a while for me to finish, and I’m going to share why it’s taken so long because its so very relevant to how the book affected me. I’ll try to be brief (not because I don’t want to share– I’m an exceedingly open person so I will always elaborate– I just didn’t want to ask you to read a novel of my own, just yet So, the move to X was great and I love the city. A few weeks after starting work, I was getting ready to take time off to study for the bar (which I wasn’t that excited about since I’m even more ready than I thought to not be in the law), when my dad suddenly died. It was unexpected, so it was a lot to process and a lot to do (his affairs are a mess and it’s going to be a long time to sort things out). I wasn’t close with my dad, but had already gone to a lot of therapy to address those issues, including asking the question of whether I was okay in case he died (weird I know but my sister has crazy weird premonitions and last summer she said she thought he’d die in the next year or two). Even so, it still hit pretty hard. But I still had to study for the bar and then the MPRE, so that was pretty stressful- flying back and forth to Y with my little barbri books.

And then right after I finished the bar, I was in one of my close friend’s weddings in San Diego and I was totally caught off guard by my reaction to the father/bride dance (I played it off after a good long cry outside). And then the next day the guy I’d been seeing for the last 2 months (not terribly serious but high potential) broke things off. So, quite a lot in the last month.

I’m actually doing really well, and this weekend finally had some time, so I picked LAY back up. I think it was just what I needed. In this crazy way it tied together so many things I’m struggling with– wanting to escape the law in part because I question whether I can remain ME within it, dealing with the death of my father (who was not perfect, but was still my father), knowing it will be my mother who walks me down the aisle some day, and still looking for the person to walk towards. So, not only did I think it was brilliantly written and raw and honest in a way I don’t expect from first novels (call me a literary snob , but it touched me. And I mean it REALLY touched me. As a writer I imagine you hope to touch people and I’m hoping this is one of the highest compliments I can give you for your first of what I hope are many brilliant novels. So, thank you for writing it! I’m also so excited for you and will be recommending it left and right!

I realize this was a bit of a sad face message, but it was only so you could see how much your book meant to me. Otherwise, I am doing well– X is a great city, I’m thrilled to live near my mom and sister and nephew, I already have some great friends, I really like the people at my firm, I do yoga a ton and am still running (gearing up for a half in Moab, Utah which is supposed to be gorgeous)… so overall I really am okay. I only emphasize this because I know if I read all that, I might question whether “I really am okay” is an email message front covering a broken soul. I’m not broken– I’m just settling back in to “whelmed” from “overwhelmed” and wanted desperately to finish your book and tell you what I thought! It just happened to have taken on a very personal edge for me.

Anyway, I hope you are doing well! I see pictures of your gorgeous little girls and see you in their faces… so amazing!

xo,
d

I read these words again now. For the umpteenth time in two days. I smile and fight tears. This friend is going through so much right now, but she is also so strong, so vibrant, so d. It means the world to me that she took time from her life, her complicated life, to write these words. To tell me that my book affected her, struck something in her. This letter reminds me of many things, but two in particular: (1) We are not alone. We are all struggling with something. We all have open wounds, lost parents or lost loves, haunting personal and professional doubts, mental and physical aspirations; (2) I am writing to make people feel. This, for me, is not ultimately about sales rankings and bestseller lists and money. This is about writing words, stringing them together with heart and soul and reverence for humanity, in such a way that they might, if I succeed, touch someone else, and profoundly.

Thank you for your words and the reminders they bring, d. I love you and know you will weather this cruel storm with your trademark fortitude and grace.

_____________________________________

• Do you have any words of encouragement or wisdom for my friend d during this time?
• Do you write to make people feel? To make yourself feel?
• Are you amazed by the resilience of human beings during objectively rotten existential times?
• Do you enjoy the connections and re-connections that Facebook facilitates?

This morning, I woke up sad.

For several minutes, the inaugural minutes of this July day, I didn’t know why I felt this way. I looked around me for clues. My legs were tangled in powder soft sheets. The door to the bathroom was ajar; through the opening I heard the rumble of Husband’s shower. Out the window, tree branches swayed, flirting with the sun, cocky even at this early hour. A muffled melody came from the corridor; the sweet chirping of little girls. And, at all of this, these small things that are so big to me, these mundane morsels of the everyday, I did smile. But that smile faded too quickly. And I was left there, alone in my bed, swaddled in sadness once more.

But like a good existential trouper, I sat up, reaching for my glasses on the bedside, eager to see. Eager to see more clearly the lines of my life, my good life. Eager to see more clearly the lines of my melancholy. Because there is one thing worse than sadness: unexplained sadness.

I paused on the edge of our tall bed, my feet dangling freely like that of a little child. I continued to listen. The sounds changed. Husband turned off the spray of water. My girls started calling for us. And it hit me. Suddenly and swiftly. I am sad because we are moving. Because one week from today, our life will be in boxes and crates. Seven measly days into the future, my family will migrate.

And I know this is exciting. That it is a distinct privilege that we have been able to dream and design, brainstorm and build, and pick wild purple papers. I know. And I know that it is a matter of time before we are settled there, before the new place is home.

But for now. For now, this is home. This is our place. This is the place where I have spent seven-plus years, stumbling and evolving. I arrived here a young girl, a student of life and law, confident and confused. I will leave here a different breed. A wife and mother and wordsmith, a student of love and loss and longing, ever confident and ever confused. Husband proposed here. Our babies were raised here. Dad knew this place. I wrote my first book here (and at Starbucks). I threw killer parties here. A lot of good things happened here. A lot.

In the kitchen this morning, as we were pouring our coffees, I hugged Husband. Like always. But this time I lingered, not letting go. “I’m sad that we’re moving,” I said.

And he hugged me fiercely. “I know, but we are moving in the right direction.”

With these words, something lifted in me. Lightened. A smile settled. And, this time, it didn’t fade.

“Thank you,” I said. To my man. The man who moves me every day. Who will move with me next week.

And then I felt a rush, a tricky emotional tide. Of sadness, yes. The sweet kind. Of happiness, in muted and magical tones. Of excitement, building. Of change, scary and sublime. Of relief, that I can be honest, that I can be sad, that I can say what I’m feeling. To my guy. To you.

With my cup of coffee and my computer, I went to the couch. The couch that will be soon hoisted by strong strangers into a big truck. I did what I so often do when I’m a bit lost. I looked for words. Words about change. And I found something that made me smile.

“There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction”

Winston Churchill

This made me smile because Churchill and my man said the very same thing. I told Husband. You are a very smart man, I insisted. And I kept smiling.

But behind that smile, this smile, the complex sadness lingers and asks. What is the right direction? Is there such thing? How do we find what is right? What if we are not as happy in our bigger home with the high ceilings and crystal door knobs and  fancy wallpapers?

____________________________________________

• Do you ever experience unexplained sadness? How do you cope?
• When you approach big change in your life, are you more confident (a la Husband and Churchill) or confused (like I am)?
• How have you handled the moves in your life? Has it been hard for you to leave behind the space, the memories, the years?
• In life, do you think there is such thing as the “right direction”? Or do you think there are just directions, paths, this way and that, and we tell ourselves they are “right” to feel better about our choices?
• Am I a spoiled brat (indeed likely) for not being 110% ecstatic about moving into our lovely new place?

{Shameless self-promo. Because I want a big, bad writing career and rumor has it that sales matter }

Life is like riding a bicycle.

To keep your balance you must keep moving.

Albert Einstein

I am not very good at stopping.

My days are stuffed with chaos. Profound chaos that emerges from a brilliant mixture of choice and chance and children. Persistent chaos that defies my clumsy attempts at boxing it. And this chaos, this chaos that has come to reign, it keeps me on my toes, keeps me acting and reacting, thinking and saying. Night time offers no solace. There is chaos there too; a choppy storm of images and insights. Each morning, I awaken with shards of more chaos to carry with me.

My days are full of flux. Activity. Motion. There are creatures crying and singing and laughing and running. There are emails dancing. There are things to do, mouths to feed, goals to envision, words to write, hands to hold, memories to tend, fears to accommodate, hopes to fluff. There is Time, that beast that has no choice but to tick and travel, marching on with us and past us. There is no pause button. There is no status quo. There is evolution with is soft core and hard edges. There is change, good and bad and indifferent.

Life moves and morphs. We cannot ask it to stop. It does its own thing. And so. We must move with it, spinning those wheels, our wheels, looking ahead and around, speeding and slowing, the world’s wind whispering sweet nothings and sweet everythings into our tiny ears, toward destinations unknown. To keep our balance, we must keep moving. Always moving.

I am not very good at stopping. Which is good, I guess. Because I am in the business of living.

________________________

Do you believe that to keep our balance in life we must keep moving? That if we stop fully to study the landscape of existence, to question things, to discern order, we will fall?

*** Would you like to join Team LAY? Click for details!***

I have two words to utter on this fine Monday morning:

Thank you.

In case you missed it, there was a fascinating conversation in the ILI comment box last week about whether it is good to be “nice” or not. I encourage you to check it out if you haven’t yet. But in that original blog post of mine, I posed a question, an honest question that I was a bit afraid to ask:

How do I continue to promote my rookie novel Life After Yes in a non-offensive, yet effective way?

Here’s the deal. Here’s why I asked the above question in the first place. I am a new kid on the writing block. A rookie in this delightful game. And, frankly, I am thrilled beyond measure to have a uniform at all. But. Because I am a newbie, an unknown entity, it is hard – and understandably so – to gain exposure. I’ve been so excited to hear from so many people who have read Life After Yes and loved it, but the plain truth is that there are many many people who will never ever hear of my book or of me because that is the way things work. And this is not a sob story. No. This is reality.

But I am a scrappy little tomboy here and I’m not willing to play dead, to curl up in an air-conditioned corner and pray that strangers stumble upon my words. No. So I asked you guys for some advice, and, man oh man, did you come through. You were full of ideas, many of which I plan to follow through on! And let’s not veer too far from reality. Heeding your genius suggestions will most likely not morph me into the next J.K. Rowling (even though my name A.D. Rowley is auspiciously close), but it will help. Because of you and your thoughtful ideas, more people will meet Quinn and that simple fact? It makes me smile. So, one more time:

Thank you.

Here are some of the ideas you all proposed. I list them here because I honestly feel this blog post could prove useful for fellow bloggers and authors and people who would like to get the word out about their creations!

1. Blog Tour

When LAY first debuted, many of my loyal blogging buds wrote reviews of my book or interviewed me on their sites. (You know who you are and thank you!) The result was incredible! There was a tremendous amount of buzz about my book around its birthday. I was also fortunate enough that TLC Blog Tours set up a blog tour on my behalf. Here is the link. Here we are, two months later and I would love to keep touring! If you would like to interview me on your site (about the book or the writing process in general or insecurity or anything), please leave a comment or contact me! Also, if you plan to review or run a Q & A and would like to giveaway a copy of LAY, let me know and I can send one along.

2. Book Clubs

The “niceness” conversation last week was prompted by my visit to a wonderful book club outside of Chicago. It was absolutely fascinating for me to participate in a discussion of my creation and I would love to do this again. And again! If you have a book club in the NYC area and plan to read and talk about LAY, let me know and I will do my best to come (only if you would like me to)! If you have a book club anywhere else and would like me to participate via Skype or a call-in, let me know!

3. Guest Posts

If you would like me to write a guest post on your site (I will link my readers your way), please contact me. Again, I would be thrilled to write about the book, or about almost anything else (within reason!). OR and this is where it gets fun, if you would like to be considered for a guest post here on the weekends, please let me know. I have been planning this for a while, but, hey, let’s launch it now. Since I do not blog on weekends, I would love to make weekends my ILI Old School where I showcase your best archived posts (or original posts that tie in to the themes of this blog).

4. Tweet Ups

Twitter parties! I know that many of you are on Twitter and if you are not, I encourage you to join if only to attend one of my forthcoming Tweet Ups. How does this work? I pick a time and we all gather at our computers (hey, we are here anyway) and we chat via Twitter. About what? About Life After Yes. Yes, the book. But more so about life after yes – all of the issues and questions that come up in life after we commit – to a marriage, to a family, to a career. I will post more details about this, but I honestly think it will be fun and juicy.

5. LAY Ambassadors (Passing out free copies! Covertly leaving books in strategic places!)

How to get the word out and gain exposure? Give out copies of my book. For free. Yes, that’s right. For free. I have done this a handful of times now. I have walked up to strangers and said, “I just published my first book and I was wondering if you would like a copy?” And the recipients have been excited! I plan to do this some more particularly since LAY takes place on the Upper West Side of Manhattan where I live. But… This is where you guys come in. How fantastic would it be if I could do this – handing out copies of books or leaving them in strategic places – all over the country? If you read my book and enjoyed it and would like to be a LAY Ambassador, please contact me! I will go ahead an mail you a slew of copies to distribute where you live!

I know this post is a bit boring and technical and lacking existential vim and vigor. But this post is important to me. Because, honestly, I wanted to pause and thank you for your ideas and for your continued support. This might all be for naught (oddly love that word). These strategies might prove to do zip for my literary baby. But still. Still, there is something immensely encouraging about having a virtual team around me, shouting from the sidelines as I go to bat in this game for my very first time. Still, there is something vastly rewarding about standing up there, here, and swinging for the fences. Yes, even if I ultimately strike out.

I’m getting redundant here, but I love redundancy, so:

Thank you, Team LAY.

(Don’t worry. Tomorrow, I will abandon this self-promotional sludge and go back to clumsily contemplating the modern cosmos.)

______________________________________

Please leave a comment and let me know if you have any thoughts or additional ideas! (Additionally, I plan to look into advertisements and video).  Also, please leave a comment or email me at ivyleagueinsecurities [at] gmail [dot] com if you would like to:

1. Interview me on your blog.
2. Review LAY on your site.
3. Guest post here or have me guest post chez toi.
4. Host a book club discussion around LAY and have me visit in person or virtually.
5. Attend a Twitter party. (What are ideal times during the week to host these?)
6. Receive a bunch of free copies of LAY to distribute where you live.

Life After Yes, my rookie novel, has been out in the world now for almost two months and I want to give you guys a bit of an update. And, as is becoming par for the course chez ILI, I also want to ask you about something. Something philosophical and something very practical. Here goes.

A few book highlights. Before I left for vacation, I was pushing Baby in her stroller by my local Barnes & Noble. Without realizing it, I slowed to a stop outside the bookstore and stood there with no real agenda looking at the window display. I told myself that I should go inside and see how LAY is doing. Baby was thrilled as she knew this meant a new Dora book (Mommy is a sucker) and I was oddly a bit nervous. We made our way to the New Paperbacks section where LAY had been displayed and it was not there. My heart sank. I was tempted to pout and leave, but no! I moseyed on over to the Information Desk, asked about my literary baby, and what do you know? It was on the Paperback Favorites table! The nice man (I believe his name was Alex) asked if I would sign some books and so I did. And I met the mother of a fellow lawyer who wants to jump ship and write. She bought my book for her girl!

While in Chicago, we visited a local TARGET. I was thrilled to see that the book section was right there by the entrance! When I inched closer, I saw a little label on an empty shelf in the Bestsellers Display that said Life After Yes. So, my book was on the bestsellers shelf and was sold out. Score! You know who else scored? Toddler and Baby. They are now each proud owners of utterly-flammable and not-at-all-hideous polyester Thomas the Train pajamas that they must wear every single night. They also got their very first (metallic pink) soccer ball which is a big deal since they will both one day be collegiate soccer stars like Daddy. (No pressure, kiddos.)

Do you guys know Leah Stewart? Well, she is a wonderful author (her latest is HUSBAND AND WIFE) and she organized almost fifty writers (mostly women, including moi!) to do an epic book giveaway. The contest was a follow up to Allison Winn Scotch’s earlier brilliant giveaway and the winning book clubs received books for a year! Anyway, I plan to write an entire post on this fabulous community into which I’ve luckily stumbled because I am beyond honored to be included in this amazing and diverse group of authors.

Speaking of book clubs, my good friend from law school who now lives in the Chicago suburbs encouraged her local ladies to read Life After Yes and she arranged the discussion so it would fall on a night when I could attend. (Thanks, D!) Truth be told, I have never been part of a book club, so I didn’t know what to expect, but I was excited! And for good reason. There was something completely fascinating about immersing myself in a discussion of my own story, of the characters I created. My fear, my biggest fear, was that the women there would censor things because of my presence, that they wouldn’t be as critical as they might have been if the author weren’t there.

Well. The women loved the book. Or most of them did at least. Or most of them said they did at least. But. Yes, there is a but. A big one. There was plenty of criticism. Not of my writing or my storytelling ability, thank goodness. But of the main character. Quinn. Now, I know many of you might not have found the time in the last two months to read my book, so let me give you a little color on this leading lady. Quinn is a confused modern soul. She is a bit lost. She makes mistakes. She has not been plucked from a Disney movie. Are you with me? She is flawed and struggling and, ahem, real.

These book club women had a hard time sympathizing with Quinn. They felt like she was indulgent, that she drank too much, that she was a shred promiscuous and untrustworthy. One woman in particular, a lovely mom of two who was our host for the evening, summed it up well. She said something like:

“I just didn’t like Quinn because she was not nice at all.”

Wow. Interestingly, this was kind of hard for me to hear. And, frankly, I got a little defensive and protective of my protagonist. I said something like, No, she is not nice and perfect. She is struggling and having a bit of an identity crisis. And she might not be a nice person, but I think, ultimately, she is a good person. Honestly, I rambled a lot more than this, but I will spare you. The point is that though LAY is fiction, and is not a story about me, I felt personally invested in this discussion and even a bit hurt. Why?

I am not nice. Not a quintessentially nice person. Now, I’m not mean either. I am nice a lot of the time. I am polite and civilized (most of the time). But I’m not sure the first word anyone would use to describe me is “nice.” I would like to think of myself as thoughtful, empathetic, trustworthy, honest, loving, etc, but nice? I’m not so sure. I’m a city girl with an edge or two. There is some cynicism and skepticism pumping through my veins and sentences. Do I cheat on my husband and swear like a sailor? No. I don’t. But I’m still not sure that I’m “nice.”

Okay, Aidan. What ever is the point? Well, I’m not sure, but there is one and I think it’s kind of interesting. What is niceness? Is it something we should all strive for in our lives? Should we expect it of people and of protagonists? Or, maybe, is life more real and interesting when the barometer is core goodness and intention? Maybe no one can be nice all the time? Maybe we should be a pinch suspicious when we encounter someone who is nice all the time? I don’t know. I do know that I am rambling, that I love rambling, and that I feel very privileged to have made a cameo at such an interesting (and eye-opening) discussion of my own work that has left me questioning not only Quinn’s character but my own.

Now, the practical bit. I will keep this quick, but it’s important. I need your advice and expertise. It appears that LAY is faring quite well in the world. People seem to be buying the book and liking it. That said, it is very important (for the health of my first book and my sanity and my writing career) that the book continues to sell and that I continue to spread the word about it. But how? How do I continue to promote my book without it being overkill, simply too much? I am just not willing to throw up my arms and say “whatever happens, happens.” Not yet at least. There has to be a way to continue to let people know about my book and to encourage them to pick up a copy. You guys are smart. So, bring on the ideas!

Whew. That was longer than I expected. Recap: (1) I am not nice; (2) I am seeking a nice way to continue to promote LAY.

• Are you a nice person?
• Are you interested in reading stories about nice people?
• Are you suspicious of people who are always nice in every situation?
• Do you agree that it is possible to be a good person without being a permanently nice person?
• Do you agree that there is an important difference between being “nice” and “not mean”?
• Do you have any genius ideas about how to boost book sales two months into the game?
  

Time. It floats. It fades. It flies. It flits. It flees. And the thing is, the haunting thing is, that we can’t get it back. Once it is gone, it is gone. And I know this is obvious. I know I am not saying anything revolutionary here. I am stating the obvious. That time moves, and past us, and away.

And another thing. Another obvious thing is that time is not unlimited. Minutes pass. Hours turn. Days dry. Months finish. Seasons cycle. Years evaporate. Decades die. Lives end.

And so. It matters immensely how we spend our time. How we utilize the increments of our energy. Because how we spend our time is really how we spend our lives. It matters fundamentally and fiercely whom we spend our time with. Because the characters in our stories are our stories, aren’t they? They are it. It.

On this Friday in mid-June, this eighteenth day of the sixth month of my thirty-first year, I am thinking about these things. These simple and complex things.

Time. Creatures. Limits.

For the past year, and for the past several months in particular, I have worked very very hard. I have not slept well. I have not stopped. I have not logged nearly enough time on the wood floor singing and giggling. My fingers have done far more typing than tickling. And this makes me sad.

Because there are three creatures in my life, one big and two tiny, who need me. And I need them. And when I think about it, really think about it, when I allow myself to be honest with myself, I realize that I have not been there for them. Not in the way I would like to be.

Instead, I have been here. Tethered to this screen, loyal to my sentences and to my stories. I have spent much of my time (too much of it?) here. And good things have come from this. Brilliant things. Friendships and partnerships and ideas. A blog. And a book. And these are exquisite things.

But they aren’t my creatures.

And so. On this morning, I am left here. At the screen that has sustained me and supported me and taken me away. And I sit here now, a bit shaky, my cells tired, at a crossroads. Do I want to be here or do I want to be there? Really, I want both. I do. But sometimes, in the cracks of my days, in the cavernous crack of this particular day, I wonder – and worry – if both is possible.

It is a big question. A bold one. One that deserves me. One that seeks gentle thought and true embrace. I will give this question what it needs. I will let it soak me.

Tomorrow, my three creatures and I leave for vacation. There are plane rides and fishing trips and sand castles in our immediate future. And, up until this very moment, I have been terribly torn. Tugged. I have been confused about what to do. Because there are words to wax. A blog to maintain. And a book to promote. This is a critical time in my career.

But you know what? This is also a critical time in my life. A time when precious plates are shifting within me, when impossible questions are saturating my soul, when things are awash in grit and gray. My girls are young, but growing. Too fast if you ask me. My identity feels frail, fractured, full. Blogger. Author. Wife. Mother. Please note the order in which I list my aspects.

This says it all.

For the next two weeks-plus, I am taking time. Time off. Time away. And this scares me a bit, more than a bit, tremendously, but deep down I know. I know this is what I need. What they need.

My three creatures.

My three reasons.

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I hope you all have a wonderful couple of weeks, a great Father’s Day, and Fourth. Please do not give up on me in my absence. My words and I will be back and soon. And fresher than ever. Thanks to you all for your sweet support and understanding now and always.

*The lucky winner of Allison Winn Scotch’s The One That I Want is Lena!*

Last night, I had the distinct privilege of co-hosting a wonderful event with De Beers. It was Elle Magazine (who prominently features Life After Yes in this month’s issue!) who played matchmaker and set me up to partner with the esteemed diamond company. The evening was absolutely amazing and indeed a sparkling success. I wish that I could tell you everything that happened last night, every stunning detail, but, alas, I will stick to the highlights to give you a taste of the delicious diamond-and-champagne soaked affair.

An intimate group of eighty or so women (many from the fabulous 85 Broads network of which I am part) and a sprinkling of men gathered in the Magic Room on the top of the LVMH Tower in Midtown. We sipped Dom Perignon and viewed an exceptional array of diamond jewelry. When the time came, I stood in front of the coiffed crowd and introduced myself, said a little bit about my book and the importance of diamonds to Quinn’s story, and then I introduced a remarkable man.

Mr. Andrew Coxon. This gentleman has over four decades of experience in the diamond industry and is one of the world’s leading experts in the field. He stood before us all and spilled fascinating secrets about the mystique and science of diamonds. The crowd was captivated by his charming British accent, his priceless anecdotes (carrying a $6 million diamond in his pants pocket through airport security), and his philosophical and practical insights into the world of diamonds.

Mr. Coxon’s lecture was brilliant, but one thing in particular stood out to me. The idea of beauty. He spoke about how beauty so often transcends the 4Cs, certificates, ratings and other criteria, about how it is up to us to determine what is beautiful, how there is something profoundly subjective and instinctual about beauty. Mr. Coxon explained that when it comes to choosing a diamond (and a man? and a career?), it is all about the eye, mind, and heart.

After taking some questions from members of the rapt audience, Mr. Coxon invited us all to come up and check a machine he had on hand to test the beauty of diamonds. He explained that many perfectly-rated diamonds, when placed under this magnifying machine, are seen to be subtly or profoundly flawed.

How many of us went up there to do this Husband Test? Not many. I think we were all scared. Scared to know.

Hamida Belkadi, DeBeers’ CEO, closed the evening with a few words of her own. She told the most wonderful story about meeting her husband. She was in town from France for the weekend visiting her sister. They were at a party in a garden. Hamida said that she spotted a man in the distance, on the far side of the crowd. And she said she knew. In that instant. That this was her man. And sure enough, he is. Hamida said that this is really how we should all choose our diamonds. That we should wait for that magical that’s it feeling to overtake us.

I am well aware that I am rambling a bit here, that there is no ready focus to today’s thread. But that’s okay. That’s life. Really, I just wanted to crack a window into last night’s magic. To be honest, I’m in a bit of disbelief that I was invited to host such a lovely evening. But I am ever thankful that I was.

And today. I am smiling. In my mind dance images of dreamy diamonds. In my mind swirl questions about instinct and love and beauty and brilliance.

Thank you, Elle Magazine, 85 Broads, Hamida, Andrew, and DeBeers for including me in such an exquisite evening. I am honored and humbled beyond measure.

__________________

• Do you agree that there is something enigmatic about beauty that transcends objective criteria?
• Do you believe in love at first sight (when it comes to people and things)?
• Would you have taken the Husband Test or would you prefer not to know about the true nature of your stone?