A Face For Radio

So, I had my first radio interview on KUOW, the Seattle NPR affiliate. It was great--the host, Megan Sukys, was wonderful about making me feel comfortable (as much as I could in a studio, with a microphone practically against my teeth). I'd had a bit of an idea of how the interview would go. We'd discuss my book, my experience with the journey of discovery, how it's impacted me in my life, etc. I made some notes, but in the end I was worried about being too attached to them. I stumbled here and there and the wonder of editing in the end managed to piece it altogether in coherent way. And that blemish that managed to spring up just a day or two before the interview didn't matter at all.

I spoke with the representative for readings at Elliott Bay Books about this Saturday's reading. She was very excited about having me there and was so complimentary of the book. I'm a bit nervous, of course, but am pumped for a great evening talking about the story. Having friends and family will certainly help a lot.

The best thing about yesterday though was reconnecting with an old friend. Throughout this, I managed to hook up with a buddy of mine who I'd known way back in 6th grade. It's been nearly 30 years since we'd seen each other. As it turns out, he and his wife are looking into adoption--something I know quite a bit about. He's a great guy and we both and are looking forward to staying in touch.

A Life Not Lived At All

So, in the last week, I've read about 2 memoirs--one published years ago, another just about to hit shelves--in which the writers have apparently fabricated the entire stories. I'm not talking about a little pinch here and there, embellishing a detail or two, I'm talking entire lives fictionalized and sold as fact. More than "A Million Little Pieces", the first one, "Misha: A Memoire of the Holocaust Years" was pure fantasy, as was the almost released, "Love and Consequences", in which the autor wrote of a life growing up white in a black foster home, selling drugs for gangs in East LA. As I think about all the efforts I took in making sure my facts were verifiable or, if memories, accruate to the point that they could be recalled by others or at least reasonable, it makes me wonder how these writers ever imagined they could get away with it? Besides just duping the reading public, they've really lied to themselves. In the case of Misha Defonseca, over time, the years of lying began to seep into her own understanding of reality. In her advancing years, she actually began to have a hard time separating fact from fiction, however outrageous it was. Having been through the publishing process, I feel for the publisher to an extent. My editor was very clear with me about my responsibilities as a memoirist, making sure my facts were just that and, if they were sensitive, making sure that there was nothing that could be actionable in court. In the case of my father's criminal past, I know that at least that much is verifiable. For my personal stories, they have to go on faith in most cases, as many things really aren't verifiable. In the case of family memories, I can only imagine if an editor got into the mess of interviewing dozens of people, trying to get a clear story that matched the one their author wrote. My copyeditor did a great deal of fact checking on my final manuscript, but it was more about checking dates, quotes, business and geographical names, etc. I think that's where their responsibility ends, really. It's bad business for memoir writers!

Today could very well be the end of the race for the democratic ticket. In so many ways, I hope it is. I adore and respect both candidates and the last thing I want is for either one of them to embarrass themselves any further than has already been done. There is so much admiration in bowing out gracefully when the rewards of a brighter future neccessitate it.

Timberland

This weekend, we have several trees felled on our property. We're in the process of "thinning" out some alders, fir and whatever else seems to choke the sun from our house. We're trying to be selective, I think. My partner is the one who really wants them gone--I like them, but then I'm not the one with the eye for landscape aesthetics. It is nice to see some clarity, but shocking all the same.

As the "tree guy" cut up the logs and stacked them into piles of eight foot sections, my mind went back to an old picture that had been my grandfather's. It was a postcard from Bennett, Wisconsin, of the old family homestead some time around 1920 (or before). All around were stacks and stacks of logs, waiting to be hauled to the sawmill and cut into lumber. That was it, nothing deeper than that. No comtemplation or reflection, just a quick flash memory of that picture. Oh, and I had a beer, too, so maby that remided me of my grandfather, too. Maybe not.

It's raining (again), though I believe it's just an interruption in some wonderful, pre-spring sunny weather we've been having lately. We're due for some more sun tomorrow. Yee ha!

Everyone's a critic

Wow. This past weekend, I got the first two reviews of my book, "The Lyncher in Me." What a strange experience, to read what complete, unbiased critics think of one's work. I have to keep in mind that these reviewers read a ton of books, they don't have to write a full article on my book, and the fact that they chose to--and had so many complimentary things to say ("hauntingly beautiful", "riveting", "unflinching") is quite amazing. Even those few areas in which one writer was more critical were okay. It took me some time to be settled with it, but I understand it's one person's opinion, and one person might value what another person finds unnecessary. It's good. Really! And the great thing is, the review is all over the country, so I can't argue with that.

Back on the homefront: We're mired in a kitchen remodel, in limbo. Our carpenter was gone for a week on vacation, leaving us with a sink and a stove and not much else. I keep thinking back to an older "Amazing Race" episode in which the contestants were to put together a desk from Ikea. After a dozen cabinets, I could do it blindfolded, drunk on a shrimp boat during a hurricane.

Ode to Fashion

A Farah suit can be devine
When standing patiently in line

One hand fumbles with one's keys

The other drums the counter, he's

wishing he had a suit that was made
sometime this past decade

But green is now the new charcoal

and fabrics from plants is a worthy goal

petroluem should stay beneath the earth
mixed with memories of dinosaur girth

Flip the lapel, flash a peace sign

A Farah suit can be divine

Hot Off the Presses!

So I got the "official" copy of my book last night. Very cool--stunning actually. The photo of the rope in in a matte finish, backed by stark, glossy white. On the spine, the title "The Lyncher in Me" stands alone with the faint shadow of a noose underneath. Looking inside the book, it's funny and a bit embarassing to see the photo of myself and Virginia Huston seated together (in summer of 2006), then comparing it to the author photo on the back flap (taken a year later). It's like a voting off episode of The Biggest Loser. What a difference 25 pounds makes. I sure could have done without that weight in that 104 degree Missouri heat, that's for sure. It's all exciting and scary as hell. But I'm so proud of the way the book has turned out--the endorsement quotes really lend an air of authenticity (Rebecca Walker's quote is wisely placed on the front cover, verically running adjacent the spine).

Last night, I sat down with my eldest son and showed it to him and it was great watching him beam as he looked at it. The parent of a teenager looks for those moments when their child allows a bit of admiration to escape the stoic, "whatever" demeanor...

A Swirling Mass of Activity

Sounds more interesting than it really is. If I was in the midst of anything swirling, I'm not sure whether I'd swat at it or crouch to the ground, close my eyes, and wait for it all to be over.

This last week was that kind of storm. Two separate school activities (concerts), piano lessons, an evening meeting for each parent and school conferences. This was all between Tuesday and Thursday. Friday was a church teen overnight (with the teen sex ed program). Yes, it always sounds way more salacious than it is--the teen sex ed group is having a co-ed overnight! Is it like that final jumping out of the plane after hours of rolling on the grass, practicing pulling the ripcord and hoping that the parachute opens? No, but it is a great program. My favorite story? The one in which the teacher demonstrates use of a condom by rolling it over the hose attachement of a vacuum cleaner. I felt compelled to clarify to my son that he need not aspire to such garganutan proportions, lest be be sorely disappointed.

The weekend concluded with my partner and the kids at a dinner party while I volunteered for the local schools foundation wine auction. A great time and always a wonderful reminder of how lucky I am to work with a community that supports its public education so wholeheartedly.

I talked with my editor today and she was excited to tell me that the "official" copies of my book, "The Lyncher in Me", are being released today. I'll be getting them soon. The public must still wait until March 15th, but I'll have a few to show off before then. She says it's stunning, a combination of glossy and matte finish that really brings out the artwork nicely. Apparently, the book received a lot of attention at a recent trade show she attended. I can feel the storm kicking up again...