Last weekend, we had some friends over to our new place. My friend asked me a simple question, “What do you think about little boys having little strollers?” I told her I thought it was fine. “Me too,” she said. “As long as the stroller is blue.”

It was a simple, unremarkable exchange. But it reminded me of a question I have been pondering off and on for a while now, namely whether we parents should try to “encourage” our children toward “gender appropriate” objects and behaviors. Please note that I use scare quotes here very purposefully as I am not sure where encouraging ends and pressuring begins and I am not sure whether I believe that there are such things as gender appropriate objects and behaviors.

I remember the moment well. Toddler, two at the time, had just made the foray into potty-training. To celebrate this progress, we went shopping for big girl undies. At the store, we stood there, mother and daughter, in front of the display of baby briefs. Another mother and her daughter stood next to us, also perusing the merchandise. As fate would have it, both of our little girls zeroed in on the Diego underwear. Yes, in the boys’ section. This other mother was horrified. “You cannot have those!” She yanked some princess panties from the rack and whisked her girl away. Toddler’s interest in the Diego underwear didn’t wane. Very politely, very articulately, she told me those were the ones she wanted.

I didn’t give it much thought. I bought her two pairs.

To this day, my little girl wears these undies under her little purple outfits. She loves them.

So what? I am not sure, but I have always believed that we should let young kids be who they are. My little girls play with dolls and strollers and trucks and trains. Some nights, they sleep in blue pajamas covered in cowboy hats. Some nights, they sleep in pink pajamas covered in twirling ballerinas.

I let them choose.

Thanks to Lisa Belkin of the NYT’s Motherlode, I became aware of a recent controversy surrounding this ad wherein a little boy is depicted wearing his mother’s high heels and trying her lipstick. In the corner of said images are advertisements for a karate school. The message, presumably, problematically, is Let us toughen your boy up. Apparently this ad, arguably prime evidence of stereotyping and gender-shaming, was published online without the karate company’s consent. Click here if you are interested in the details.

I have a good friend with a little boy. He is a wonderful little boy – exceedingly intelligent and kind. He does like to try on his mother’s heels and necklaces and is an amazing dancer. I see this little guy and smile. I applaud my friend for raising such a charismatic character. Never in a million years do I think anyone should try to change this little creature into something he isn’t. Never in a million years do I think that this little boy at age four is emblematic of who this man will be at age forty. And if there is a connection? He will be an awesome forty-year-old.

Now, I am biased. I grew up an unapologetic no-frills tomboy. I lived for sports. When I was eight and attending soccer camp, I was called “Rambo’s wife” (I was tough and could compete with the boys). I wore a Larry Bird jersey to fifth grade more often than not. And my parents? They let me do my thing. They bought me autographed basketballs for my birthday. They came to my games. And when, in high school, I suddenly started wearing skirts and makeup, they rolled with it. They did what I think a good parent should do (within reason): They stayed out of my way.

But is it this simple? It never is, is it? We parents are doing the best we can. Each and every day. And in each of these days, we are faced with decisions. Some as simple as pink or blue. Some far more complicated, nuanced than that. And so. I don’t pretend to know what’s right and what’s wrong here. All I can do is draw on my own experiences as a child, and now as a parent, in this big, bad world.

___________________________________

• Do you think we should steer kids toward “gender appropriate” activities and objects?
  
• Is there such thing as “gender appropriate” activities and objects?
• Are there certain toys you wouldn’t let your little girl or little boy play with?
• Do you believe that we parents should, in many respects, “stay out of our kids’ ways”?
• Would you have bought your little girl the Diego briefs?
• Do you agree that the karate school ad was offensive?
• As a child, did your parents steer you toward certain activities rather than others presumably because of your gender?
  

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.

____________________________________

• 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?
  

Okay, this is a bit random. But also interesting. (To me.)

Have you ever been to UrbanBaby.com? Well, it’s a message board largely populated by urban parents and discussions chez UB range wildly from the practical (paint color suggestions, pediatric advice, baby name votes) to the more bizarre (sexual confessions, political rants, comparisons of household income to waist size – huh?!) Anyway, I used to frequent this site quite a bit when I was pregnant with Toddler and when she was young. At some point though, I stopped because I was disenchanted with the palpable meanness and snark that emerged in this anonymous forum.

Recently, I have popped back on from time to time. Out of curiosity. To be honest, this site is an amazing resource for the writer. Where else can you log on and get a real-time sampling of human conversation and concern? Where else can you pose an anonymous question and get a near-instant response from real people? (Warning to all: if you are a UB regular, your antics might just appear in my next novel!)

Anyway. I was on the site the other day and I watched a curious debate ensue. I will give you the basics. A mother of three children says that she has lost all of her baby weight, that she is quite thin actually, but that she still has a conspicuous belly (she calls it a “ball”). Fine. So what? People have kids and their bodies change. This is hardly revolutionary, right? Anyway, this woman says that she does not want to lose any more weight, that she has tried every exercise under the sun, but that this “ball” will not deflate. And. And her husband will not stop talking about it and mentioning it.

Ugh.

This woman mentions that she cannot afford plastic surgery and that she just doesn’t know what to do. Then she (foolishly?) turns to the UB population for advice. And this lucky lady gets some pretty unanimous advice: Don’t worry about your baby belly. Lose the husband. Yes, that’s right. People get angry and told her that the issue here is not her body, but her betrothed. A few people defend her husband a bit and say that he is allowed to make comments about his wife’s appearance, that partners should be able to be honest about such things. Another responder says that there is a vast difference between discussing issues of weight and health and suggesting that a woman change something about her appearance that she might not be able to change. The general feel here is that this man was essentially evil for disparaging his wife, and particularly her belly, that safe and cozy place where his own three children had grown.

I logged off and thought about this some. Obviously, none of us has the whole story here. We have no real grasp of the dynamics in this marriage, or whether this guy, this critical-seeming husband, is bad news. But. I will say that this woman’s words made me a bit sad and a bit feisty. What should she do?

Of course this is not just about this one woman. This is about all of us, isn’t it? When we enter into relationships, are we tacitly agreeing to an atmosphere of honesty even on tough and upsetting concepts? Or are there things that are off-limits like body and particularly body after babies? Goodness, I don’t pretend to know.

What I do know is that in my opinion, 99.9% of women have some kind of body issue/insecurity. (I really can’t speak for men, but I imagine most men do too.) Personally, I could never be with a man who criticized my body at any time (short of some more serious obesity/health concern). I have witnessed men telling women not to eat the bread rolls at dinner or that they better watch it (and women saying these things to men too) and this stuff makes me cringe. I could never handle this. But maybe I am super-sensitive and idealistic?

Then again. Presumably, we all want to look good. For ourselves and those we love. Maybe, just maybe, this anonymous poster on UB is just as frustrated and critical of herself as her husband is. Maybe she wants to get her body back and is genuinely seeking advice about how to do this? I have no clue.

All I know? These body battles are tricky, tricky things and maybe come down to the individuals involved. One more thing I know? If Husband ever said anything negative about my body, particularly after popping out his precious progeny, there would be some old school fisticuffs. Thankfully (for him and for me), Husband, my sweet and supportive man, has never gone there. Maybe that is because I am so freaking hot and perfect???

__________________________________

• Has your partner ever said anything critical about your body or your eating habits? How have you handled this?
• Do you feel at liberty to criticize your partner’s body or eating behaviors?
• Do you think there should be an added sensitivity surrounding body after babies or no?
• Do you think this man in the hypothetical above seems like a bad guy, or just honest?
• Do you have any advice for the woman who dared air her issue on UB? How to banish the belly “ball”?
• Assuming you could afford it, would you ever consider plastic surgery apres kiddos?
• Are there any places you go to cull instant and killer writing material?
  

(Ha.)

Once upon a time, there was a young woman. She was a happy, if thoughtful, creature. A jolly, if jaded, city soul. One Thursday night, she went on a date with her husband, a handsome man whom she simply adored. They picked a small bistro. Settled into a small table for two. They perused the paper menu and nibbled on fresh bread. They smiled at each other over the flickering candle between them.

They talked and laughed about life and love and learning. About the subtle shifting of seasons. When the time came, this young woman dug into her crab salad with peppers, a dish colorful and spry. He tasted his lamb and declared it delicious. And then this young woman started talking about something she rarely discussed; her writing. She talked about her new protagonist, a smart young woman with issues. This woman’s husband did something at which he was singularly skilled: he listened. And they discussed this character. Her childhood scars. Her curious academic fetishes. Her sexual blocks.

And this young woman, this writer, was thrilled when her man spoke up. Asking questions. Offering ideas of his own. This man helped her create; making this character come to life in that tiny bistro. But then. He said something. Something little, but pointed. Something intelligent, but critical too. And this young woman put down her fork.

In mere moments, this woman’s mood soured. Her words departed. She looked down at the napkin in her lap, so white, so blank, so stiff, no longer hungry. Her husband apologized. They vowed to talk about something else, but silence ensued. That flame flickered between them. And, in a soft voice, she apologized too. For sliding down, and away. For being so sensitive. For everything.

They paid the check. Walked into the night. Inched block by block toward home. I wish I could do something to snap out of this, she said. Her man nodded. A short time later, she felt better. Silly again. She grabbed her man’s hand and skipped beside him. His hand, though, was limp. She looked at his face, his eyes. And she saw what she had done. She had made him plunge too. Into that place. That bad place of blah.

She apologized again, her words sincere. He told her over and over that it was okay. That he was fine. They walked along, hands swinging, not touching. At home, they surrendered to the couch. In time, the fog lifted from them both. Their fingers laced, they watched a television program. Their smiles came back.

***

Okay, that woman was me. Shocker, I know!

But this happened, this little something. Just last night. And this morning, I said to husband: Is it okay if I blog about bad moods? He said: Sure. We talked about last night, about how miserable I was in those moments, about how that misery was short-lived, but utterly yucky and contagious. Husband said something interesting. He said that he is immune to other people’s moods; that mine are the only ones that really affect him. I chose to view this as sweet instead of sinister. I chose to see this as a sign that we are unbelievably tight and that if I am sad, he is too because he cares so much and feels so close.

I don’t know. But I am sitting here in my yoga pants and bedhead wondering about bad moods and whether they can be cured before they spread and infect others. Whether there is something I could have done in that quaint restaurant to treat my momentary malaise. Just now, I did what any savvy modern soul would do. I Googled “bad mood.” The first search result was an article from Real Simple magazine called Banish a Bad Mood in 15 Minutes. Yay! I clicked.

And then I laughed. Because the article tells us that we can pull ourselves out of a funk with three simple steps: (1) Decode your mood! (2) Calm down!; and (3) Create a Strategy! I had zero tolerance for this article. I felt, and immediately, an aversion to the prescriptive strategy it offered for everyday blues. I guess I think that bad moods happen and that we just need to wait them out. (Or eat a cupcake. Yum.)

I don’t know. Maybe I should really go back and read that article. Maybe it contains true pearls that will come in handy on my next date night when my mood threatens to dive. Perhaps I need to be more open-minded. Or maybe I shouldn’t talk about my writing. Maybe the material is just too raw, too delicate, too fragile. Again, I don’t know.

I do know though that I am now fixated on the question of moods, on whether they are truly transmittable, and even more so between partners. Are good moods equally contagious? Let’s hope so because this morning I’m feeling quite perky. I’m going to go throw my arms around my man, maybe tickle him a bit, shower him with my silliness.

We’ll see what happens…

Dear Husband, Thank you for tolerating me and loving me, marvelous mood swings and all.

___________________________

• Do you ever unexpectedly slide into bad moods?
• Have you ever given someone else your bad mood? Have you ever fallen into a bad mood because of someone else?
• Do you think bad moods are particularly contagious between romantic partners?
• Are bad moods and good moods equally contagious or are germs of malaise more powerful?
• Do you ever discuss your writing with others? Are you sensitive about your material?
• Do you think we can follow steps to banish bad moods or are you skeptical like I am?
• Do you think moods are contagious through the screen? If you read a post from someone who is up or down, do you then feel better or worse, respectively?
• What do you do to combat bad moods? (Come on! Share your tricks. This post could end up being very helpful for us all!)
  

Yesterday afternoon, my phone rang. Caller ID indicated that it was a good friend of mine who lives in the South and just welcomed her third child a couple of weeks ago. I almost let the call go to voicemail as I do so often with incoming calls. Though busy bonding with Toddler during Baby’s nap time, I picked up.

I am so glad I did.

My friend and I ended up talking for a long time. Almost an hour, I think. She told me all about her delivery and her family and her new life as a mom of three kids. She told me about the big storm that just mangled the back of her home. I told her about our new place, about how we are getting more and more settled here, about how the kids and cats are in heaven. We joked about that long ago time when we were big firm lawyers and about the present day when we often spend long minutes wrestling with the sundry parts of sippy cups. (Where do all those missing parts go?)

When I hung up the phone, I felt a swell of something. Of happiness. Of friendship. Of connection.

I do not get this feeling when I hit send on an email. I do not get this feeling when I update my Facebook status. Or float a tweet into the ether.

Yesterday, I professed my love for Facebook and my respect for the unprecedented phenomena of modern social media. My opinions have not changed overnight; I continue to believe there is an immense, if inscrutable, power inherent in the technological tools (blogging, FB, Twitter, etc) that so many of us have come to embrace.

But.

I realized something yesterday in the quiet moments after my call with my friend. I realized that as we dive further into this world of buttons and screens and soundbites, we really are missing out. On faces and voices and moving lips and rumbling laughter. On the stories that come in bits and pieces, without grace perhaps, over the phone line or in person. Stories that cannot (and perhaps should not) be edited for their content and grammar. We are missing out on the organic interpersonal stuff that used to me the norm.

This is not all about social media. I have never really been much of a phone person. I remember my school days and being amazed that my friends logged so many hours chit-chatting on the phone. Perhaps this is a hereditary thing? Dad was never big on the phone and the master of the two minute call that ended with his endearing and sing-song, Morn morn.

Maybe this is just me?

(I don’t think so.)

I worry that the advent and experience of social media, the ubiquity of text messaging and email exchanges, is allowing me – and so many of us – to hide behind the screen and the words we weave. I worry that, by following the trends of the day, we are compromising our relationships, and with them, ourselves.

I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know.

But I do know that I am going to make more of an effort to pick up the phone and call the people that matter. I am going to make more of an effort to engage in and indulge in real conversations, the clumsy and exquisite kind that cannot be duplicated online or in print. I am going to make more of an effort to flip this screen shut and get out there into the world and see people. And talk to them. Old school style.

(And then I will of course come here and blog about it.)

__________________________________

• Are you a phone person? Have you always been?
• Has your use of the phone changed with the emergence of email and social media?
• Do you think social media is changing patterns of human connection in a problematic way?
• Do you find yourself writing an email or sending a text instead of picking up the phone because it is “easier”?
• Do you ever worry that if things continue the way they’re going our kids will grow up not knowing how to make eye contact or conduct real conversations?
• Do you think there is a way to embrace the technologies of the day while also retaining traditional communication skills?
• Are you too baffled by the mysteries of sippy cups?
  

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 weekend, I saw Eat, Pray, Love with Mom, Sister C, and Sister T. Admittedly, I had read only the first fifteen pages of Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir from which the film is adapted (Toddler was a wee one then and I didn’t have an abundance of free time), but still I was excited to see it. The movie was good, the scenery was exquisite, and Julia Roberts didn’t disappoint.

At one point in the film, Roberts (who plays Gilbert on her three-stop journey of self-discovery) visits an abandoned ruin in the middle of Rome. I can’t remember the surrounding details exactly, but she says something like:

“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.”

These words struck me. They struck me so powerfully that I whipped out my phone in the middle of the packed theater and jotted them down. So I could come back to them. And here I am. Coming back to them.

Gilbert’s story of self-ruin and subsequent self-transformation is stunning, but it is also extreme. After divorcing her husband she leaves all that she knows to travel and find herself. She devotes a year of her life to eating and praying and loving, all ways of exploring her own personal ruins and rebuilding her life. I can appreciate this tale, but I cannot relate to it wholly.

What I can relate to though is the more subtle idea of crumbling and creation. The notion that things must fall apart in order to come together again. The concept that chaos is where order is born. There is something immensely encouraging about these ideas.

There are times when I feel the earth shaking beneath my feet. There are moments when I detect decay – of control, of happiness, of identity. There are points in my writing when I feel like my story is shredding itself to nothing.

These times are tough. They test me.

I am realizing now, in this very moment, that these times are tiny moments of existential and creative ruin, of fertile unraveling. Maybe cracks must form for wholeness to manifest? Maybe uncertainty must reign for understanding to alight? Maybe questions must creep – through our lives and minds and stories – for answers to come?

This realization – that a good, full life entails moments of meaningful destruction and disorder, of poetic ruin and rubble – is worth more, far more, than the price of admission.

____________________

• Have you read Gilbert’s book or seen the movie? Thoughts?
  
• Do you buy the idea that ruin can be a gift?
• Have periods of transformation in your life been preceded by moments of ruin?
• Have you ever gone to a movie for fun and walked away with a shift in outlook?
  

This will be short because I have a big day ahead of me. Two, in fact. As so many of you know, this is the big BlogHer weekend! Lucky for me, this year’s blogging conference takes place in my backyard. Last night, I made my way to the Hilton where scores of fellow bloggers are staying for the weekend. I met up with a handful of cyber buds and we made a cameo at the People’s Party. I spent the majority of the evening with two wonderful women: Lindsey of A Design So Vast and Denise of Musings de Mommy. The conversations and salads were nothing short of delicious. And today. Today, I look forward to meeting so many more of the women I have gotten to know virtually over the past sixteen months. I can already tell this weekend will be a good one. Stuffed with the stories and smiles behind the screens.

Yay!

After a string of nutty days and very late nights, I’m happy to report that we are moved into our new home and reasonably settled. And by reasonably, I mean barely. But we are happy to be here even if we are aware of the reality that it will likely take months to get our bearings. On Friday, I made a weakling of a promise that I would post some new pictures of the new place. And maybe I will sometime, but not today. Why? First, I have not yet located my camera and hence there are no pics to publish. Second, I’m not sure I want to.

It’s weird. When I started blogging sixteen months ago, I had this profound urge to share bits of myself with the world. Even strangers. To me, there was (and is) something compelling and exhilarating about translating aspects of my personal experience into more universal words and sentences and stories that might resonate with others. I fell in love with the idea of communication and connection and collaboration in this modern world that, by design, is often so isolating and lonely.

Up front, when I started this blog, I had a big question to figure out. Would I identify my husband and girls by name and face or would I keep things more anonymous with them? Honestly, I had no obvious and overwhelming instinct one way or the other. I had read and liked many blogs that featured family pictures and used names. I had read and liked many sites where anonymity was the absolute rule. So. I decided to start this blog by going the anonymity route for my family, knowing that I could reveal names and faces at a later date once I figured out better how I felt about this online world, the ever-enigmatic concept of privacy and its protection.

What happened was that I never figured out how I felt. And so I kept chugging away the way I began, keeping identifying information about my family, nuclear and more extended, off the blog. And I’m pretty happy with my decision even though I wish I thought through my aliases a bit better. (Toddler is basically a teenager and Baby is now a toddler). I am proud of making a decision which for me was not principled really, but borne from mild, but detectable instinct. I am pleased that my blog, to date, has really been about me and my evolution and not about the ones I love who have not made the decision to render their worlds public.

But. Yes, there is a but. There always is. A part of me, not so tiny, is envious of those who have chosen differently. Of those fellow bloggers and writers who have opened up a bit more about their families. Who have shared beautiful family pictures. Who have highlighted faces. Eyes and smiles. Who have named names. Stories without names and faces, censored in the name of something complicated and inscrutable (privacy? modesty? fear?) are missing something, aren’t they? A layer of authenticity? Missing a layer of real?

And yet. There is part of me, not small, that continues to worry. About the effects – practical and philosophical – this blogging gig is having, and will have, on me and my family. We are all, myself very much included, riding this technological wave necessarily unaware of where we are headed and who we will be on the other end. It is when I stop to really think about what all of this means, this calculated exposure, these choices to abdicate bits of who we are, that I feel a swell of that initial hesitancy. Yes, even sixteen months later.

And so. That’s why. That’s why I have never posted pictures of my kids. Or shared with you their beautiful names. That’s why on this fine Monday morning, I’m reluctant to post pictures of my new home, rich with colors and patterns of who we are. There are parts of my life, bigger and smaller, that I must keep for me. For us.

At least for now.

And I am one person and this is my choice. I know this. I also know that this is an interesting question, an interesting bundle of questions. There are so many of us here, in this online ether, showing and telling, hiding and seeking, lurking and learning. We all have instincts, strong and subtle, about how to approach this world, how to edit (or not edit) our lives under its lens. And so. I ask you. That one-worded wonder that is currently Baby’s question of choice.

Why?

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• If you blog, do you reveal the names and faces of your family on your site or have you kept things completely or partially anonymous?
  
• Why have you chosen to do things the way you do them? Do you ever regret your decision or think about doing things differently?
• If you do not blog, but read blogs, do you have an opinion on this matter?
• Do you think anonymity strips authenticity from its object, or is simply the smart way to go?
• If you do post names and faces, have you ever experienced anything alarming where you worried about the safety of your family?
• If you do things anonymously, have you ever heard from readers who feel slighted by your censorship? (I have.)

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.)

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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.