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?
  

After a long, hot day, you two retire to that small room with that big bed. That waiting cloud, puffy with pillows. You slip out of your clothes, fold them carefully and put them away. You grab your favorite pair of pajamas and step in. You are brushing your teeth in the bathroom when you feel it. A familiar hand on your waist. A playful finger tucks into the waistband of your pajama bottoms. Pleasantly startled, you turn. Drop your toothbrush. Your head throbs with details and doubts from your day, aches with the sharp stuff of reality, but still you smile…

Hold up. As much fun as it might be, this blog is not the place for quasi-erotic domestic snippets. Sorry. The title of this post is not entirely deceiving though. I do have a bedroom dilemma. But it concerns my daughters. Not so racy, I know.

Again, sorry.

In less than three weeks, after more than three years of dreaming and planning and work, we are moving into our new home. Once upon a time, I documented the progress of this home on this blog under the clever title Happy Headache. It was fun to trace the progress of our renovation here, but then I stopped. Not sure why. Anyway, we are moving. Soon. And in our new place, the girls will each have a wonderful room.

Toddler’s is purple.

Baby’s is blue.

But.

As many of you know, we just returned from an extended vacation and during said vacation – to the woods, the farm, and the beach – the girls shared a room the whole time. Husband and I were a bit worried about this arrangement because our kids have different sleep schedules. But we rolled with it. And you know what? Everything went well. Better than well. The girls loved being in the same room. Every morning and evening, Husband and I listened to their conversations, precocious and precious, on a sound monitor. Over the course of the two-plus weeks, Toddler taught Baby how to sing her ABCs, Twinkle Twinkle, and Itsy Bitsy Spider. Post-vacation Baby is far more verbal than pre-vacation Baby. And the girls? More so than ever, they are best buds.

Now. Now we are home and the girls are back in their own rooms. They don’t appear overly sad about this. They are indeed adaptable little critters. But I’m a bit sad about this. Because there are no longer those amazing conversations to spy on at the opening and close of the day. There are no longer the impromptu music lessons. Or the quiet discipline. (At a certain point every night, Toddler would say firmly to her signing sister, “It’s bedtime now. No more books. No more songs. No more Mommy and Daddy.”) The tight togetherness, surprisingly harmonious, was temporary. We are now back to our world of sisterly separation.

And so. I find myself in the thicket of another parenting dilemma. Yes, we have designed two separate rooms for our two girls in the new place, but should we use them or should we put our little creatures in the same room? It is worth noting that Husband and I are leaning toward having a third child at some point, so the girls will likely share sometime in the relatively near future anyway.

This might not seem like a big deal to you. Or a genuine dilemma. But it is to me. Because I grew up sharing a room with all of my sisters. We all bunked in a giant green dorm of sorts and I slept on a top bunk. It was absolute chaos, but I loved it. There was never a lack of laughter or drama or friendship in that room. And this was such an important aspect of my childhood that I actually wrote my college essay about it.

So. This question matters to me. And I have a mere eighteen days to decide what to do. And so I’m asking you to weigh in here. Because you all have experiences. As kids who shared rooms or didn’t. As parents whose kids share rooms or don’t.

(Help. Pretty please.)

What do you guys think? Give the girls their own space or let them bunk together?

If you like my writing or me (or the wallpaper in my kids’ rooms) or you simply want to make me smile big, please buy my book (which is considerably more spicy than this post)!

First order of business: Thank you. For reading my admittedly very vulnerable post yesterday. To be honest, I was very scared to publish those words. Scared to put myself out there. Before publishing, I read those words to Husband and he said to go for it. That those words were honest and raw and heartfelt. And that they were me. And so. With shaky hands, I hit publish. And then I sat there, shrouded in soft silence, waiting for you. Your words. And they came swiftly and sweetly. And, throughout the day, I lapped them up, your sentiments, thoughtfully strewn here in my space. And, magically, meaningfully, I felt stronger. More secure. Before I knew it, smiles, real smiles, returned.

And today? Today I am happier. Happier because I allowed myself to stop pretending and strip down for you. Happier because you allowed me to be something other than polished perfection. You allowed me to be me. Today, I am happier for another reason though. Last night. Last night was pure celebratory magic. Last night was another Happier Hour. The third I’ve hosted so far. This time, the party took place in a gorgeous four-bedroom apartment with fabulous city views in a new building on the Upper East Side called The Azure. We women sipped delicious wine donated from a wonderful Argentinian label called La Linda and talked about Commitment & Celebration. And my co-host was the incredible Jes Gordon. And because I know many of you are new here (welcome!), I will read you what I said to the cluster of sixty or so women who gathered to listen and learn.

Welcome all to this beautiful apartment on this beautiful evening. Many of you know the idea – both simple and profound – behind Happier Hours, but it’s worth repeating for the rookies here. The idea is that a chilled glass of wine is a scrumptious way to bookend a long, hot day, but that conversation and connection are what truly make us happier.

And tonight, I am plenty happy. I am happy because my first novel Life After Yes debuted a little over two weeks ago. Some of you might know that I had a bit of trouble coming up with a title for my story. Up until the last few months, it was called BlackBerry Girl. But then one random Wednesday afternoon, as I was wrangling my little girls on the Wild Wild Upper West, my editor called and told me – very diplomatically – that we needed a new title.

At the time, I wanted to cry – and I’m pretty sure I did – but after many brainstorming sessions at Starbucks, I came up with Life After Yes. And it is the perfect title if I do say so myself. Because, yes, it captures the subject matter of my book – an engagement and a maybe wedding. But more so, because, really this story is about something bigger. It is about saying Yes. About commitment. Not just to a man, but to happiness, to a city, to a career, to friends, to dreams.

And what is life, but the commitment and re-commitment to people and places, to passions and purposes? And so. Tonight, we celebrate commitment. Tonight, we commit to celebrate. Conversations and connections. Life and love and literary ventures.

But my book is not all that is making me smile. Hardly. Tonight, I am giddy because my good friend and event planner extraordinaire Jes Gordon is here with me. Sure, Jes is a rock star in her own right. She runs her own very successful business and she too just published a book. But what means something to me, a great something, is that once upon a time, Jes planned my wedding to Husband. I remember waltzing into her studio with Mom, sitting and talking and dreaming about my big day. I remember her showing me the tiny white ski vests that became our totally ridiculous, over the top, and amazing save the dates. They said: “Take a snow day!” Jes was incredible to work with and thanks to her love, creative genius, and imagination, my wedding day, the day on which I committed to my forever guy, was perfection. Not fairy tale perfection. But my kind of perfection.

So, thank you, Jes. For helping me celebrate my commitment more than five years ago and for helping me commit to celebrate many magical moments in my own life after yes.

Like this one.

And then I turned things over to Jes. Unlike me, she had nothing planned. She did not clutch a piece of computer paper between quaking fingers. Instead, she just talked. About her story. About her commitment to helping people celebrate. She was articulate and engaging and wickedly funny. She threw around a naughty word here and there which made us blush and giggle. I wish I could tell you everything she said because she was really that good, but I will stick to one thing. One brilliant thing.

Jes talked about being naked. About how writing a book and putting it out there in the world is like standing naked for all to see. She also said that this is what happens when we are brides; we think we are there tucked away in our expensive tailored gowns, but in reality, we are stripped down, naked, there to be judged. And that this is a scary and amazing thing. As Jes said these things, I stood beside her, smiling and nodding. Yes, because I love me a good metaphor. But more because she is right. I remember my wedding day. Standing there in my vast princess dress. Surrounded by people looking, watching, judging.

And that is how I feel now. My book is out there. Which means I am out there. A piece of who I am is floating about. But I am also still here. In my yoga pants and glasses. Behind a soothing screen. A human being. One with dreams and doubts and fears and flaws. One who is just now realizing how powerful, truly powerful, vulnerability can be. How it can free us, and connect us, and make life real and good.

Thank you, Jes. For your unique and unwavering friendship and support. For making me – and all of us – realize that buttoning up and playing it safe is not what makes us happy. No. It is being naked from time to time – at our weddings, in our words and wishes and ways, that makes it all worth it.

Today I am happier.

Thank you, Jes.

Thank you, all.

___________________________

• Do you agree that there is an immense power inherent in vulnerability?
• Do you agree that life entails constant commitment and re-commitment to people and places and purposes?
• Do you have a hard time stripping down and letting go?
• Are you good at celebrating life’s sweet moments?
• Are you afraid of commitment?
• Did you feel naked at your wedding or at other times in your life? Was this scary or amazing or both?
• Do you think that in blogging we are in many ways stripping down, exposing emotional and existential skin?
  

She sauntered into the room atop hot heels. Scattering sexy and sheepish smiles. Oozing intelligence and experience. Like cultured creatures, we approached one another – a blonde Professor of Insecurities and a brunette Professor of Irresistibility. We sized each other up, shook hands and traded words of welcome. I thanked her in advance for joining me, us. For sharing her wiles and her wisdom. She thanked me for inviting her. We were off to a good start.

Marie Forleo.

As some of you know, I hosted Happier Hour Part Deux this past Wednesday night. Along with seventyish other women (including one of my beloved bloggy buds and one male crasher!), I welcomed the fabulous Marie. And she didn’t disappoint. To the contrary, Marie wowed us all, sharing brilliant bits of her expertise and experience (her nixed engagement, her foray into hip-hop, her self-publishing bravery, her insights on being rich, happy, and hot). She made us laugh deeply and nod fiercely.

Marie did something on Wednesday night that I attempt to do here every day at Ivy League Insecurities: She told her story and in doing so, she told ours. She talked about how alike we all are. Brunette or blonde, young or old, shy or bold, city or country, we are all going through many of the same things. We all face many of the same challenges. We are all victims and victors in the same thing: Life.

And it became clear – and instantly – that Marie is good for far more than dating advice. Her fabulous book How to Make Every Man Want You is indeed a Trojan Horse. Sure, it contains tips on lassoing good men, but at bottom, it is a guidebook on how to love. Self and other. And how to live. Well and fully.

And so. I am a wee bit biased, but I think the night was pure magic. We sipped cocktails and savored conversation. We were silly and serious all at once. We listened and learned. We allowed ourselves – on a random Wednesday in April – to slow down, open up, and be happier.

Marie shared so many compelling ideas about presence and purpose, but one in particular struck me. And I wanted to share that idea with you because this idea has already changed something in me. It was, and is, that powerful. An existential light switch of sorts.

You are not your mind.

You have a mind, but you are not your mind.

Marie elucidates this concept in her book,

You have a mind, but you are not your mind. You are also not the conversation you have with yourself in your mind. You may be thinking, “What conversation? What is she talking about?” That one!

…Your mind … is a past/future fear-based machine that is primarily concerned with survival. It’s always comparing, analyzing, scheming, and talking to you about what you need to do in order to become better, prettier, more successful, or more attractive. The mind is usually not supportive of your irresistibility. It likes to talk about your mistakes and how bad, unattractive, stupid, or unworthy you are. (By the way, none of those things your mind talks to you about are actually true, but unless you become aware that you are not your mind, you believe them to be true.)

As someone who is tethered to a busy and buzzing mind, a mind that does not cease with its creative and critical chatter, this was good and necessary for me to hear. I love my mind dearly, but sometimes, often, it distracts me and drags me down.

I am more than my mind. Far more. We all are.

It seems that I was not the only one who was shaken – in a good way – by Marie’s musings. Kate Northrup – my friend who generously introduced me to Marie and who was also with us on Wednesday night – wrote a great post yesterday about how she too is more than her mind.

We are not minds. Or bodies. We are people. People with bounty to bring and luggage to carry. With questions to live and love to give.

We are all insecure. We are all irresistible.

Thank you, Marie, for making Happier Hour such a smashing success and for waking me up to the reality that I am more than my marvelously manic mind.

______________________

• Do you have any professional/intellectual crushes?
• Do you agree that we are more than our minds, than the conversations in our heads?
• Do you believe that we are more alike than we are different?
  
• Do you believe that insecurity and irresistibility can commingle in us?
• Do you think that, in some part, our insecurities and humanness can add to our irresistibility?
• Do you think we are so insecure, to some extent, because we do not feel irresistible enough?
• Have you ever encountered an idea or person that triggered a profound realization in you? What was that idea?

ILI DAILY CHARM: MORE OF ME!

Today you can also find me and my words next door at Amy’s wonderful blog the Never-True Tales! Is it a bit bizarre and egotistical to feature myself a daily charm? Perhaps. But Amy’s blog is well worth a visit. And anyway, as my friend Gretchen Rubin says (or quotes someone who said?): “Ubiquity is the new exclusivity.”

Did this title hook you in? Fabulous. That was the intention.

But it’s not my title. So I can’t take credit. This is the title of Marie Forleo’s bestselling book. The subtitle for said book? How to Be So Irresistible You’ll Barely Keep from Dating Yourself!

Committed or no (Marie assures me that the title of her book is a bit of a Trojan Horse that belies the deeper, more universal substance of its pages) how can you not be the least bit curious about the contents of this book? I am. Check out the first paragraph of Marie’s Preface: “What if I told you, that in about an hour, I could share information with you that could make you happier, healthier and more attractive in a matter of minutes?”

Um. I’d be listening. We’d all be.

And we will be! For it is time for Happier Hour Part Deux! Many of you know that a month ago I kicked off my quasi-salon-series Happier Hours and that I hosted the incomparable Gretchen Rubin who spoke and sparked conversations on the topic of Happiness. We all know that I suffered a sublime Happiness Hangover after that exquisite evening and found myself debating the Dollhouse Hypothesis of well-being. The gist was that the first gathering for wine, women, and words was a ringing success.

Next Wednesday (4/21/10), I will welcome the incomparable “multi-passioned” entrepreneur and author Marie Forleo. Marie’s resume might make you cry. She is a best-selling author, speaker, online-entrepreneur, Nike Athlete and Master Trainer, fitness personality, and dancer/choreographer. Marie’s Rich, Happy & Hot™ brand is “dedicated to empowering women with tools to create financial, spiritual and emotional wealth through entrepreneurship.”

On top of all of this, Marie is a philanthropist, fiancee, and mother. (Nauseous yet?) Marie has appeared in The New York Times, Shape Magazine, on The Rachael Ray Show, ABC’s 20/20, CNN.com, Forbes.com, HSN and has done numerous interviews on radio and TV.

I could go on. But won’t. You get the picture. And it’s very pretty.

I am thrilled to have encountered Marie (thank you, Kate!) and am eagerly anticipating next Wednesday when Marie will grace a wild pack of curious and conscious women with her wisdom and words. Marie will speak on the topic of Presence, on how we can all do a better job of residing in the present moment, and as I am terrible at doing this, I can’t wait to hear what she has to say.

Between now and then, I will do my homework and think about what I want to ask Marie. Some questions I know I want to ask: Ultimately, how effective are self-help books and programs? Has she seen remarkable changes in people who have followed her ideas? Can things like happiness, irresistibility, and presence truly be taught – and learned?

Admittedly, these are tough challenges. But I have zero doubt that Marie will have some insightful answers for me. And all of us.

______________________________

• How do you feel about Self-Help books and programs?
  
• Do you think we can study precepts on how to improve ourselves and truly improve ourselves?
  
• Do you think that happiness, presence, and irresistibility can be taught – and learned – or do you think these ever-elusive qualities are innate or acquired through life experience?
• Do you have any questions you would like me to ask Marie next week?

**Because this Happier Hour will not take place in my cozy home, we can be a bit more flexible with respect to numbers. If you are reading this now and you are in the Big Apple vicinity and are interested in joining Marie and me for Happier Hour Part Deux next Wednesday (4/21), please email me at ivyleagueinsecurities@gmail.com, introduce yourself, state your interest in attending, and I will send along pertinent event details!**