SAFE KEEPING: The beautiful face of my new novel

I’m thrilled to share the gorgeous cover art for my new novel, SAFE KEEPING, coming from MIRA in April, 2014.

My son is a murderer….

When I first wrote that opening sentence for this novel, it sent a chill down my spine. I have sons and couldn’t imagine it, ever having to consider that one of them was capable of anything so horrible. I wondered why I even wanted to. Nevertheless, I felt compelled to go on. The first chapter fell out onto the page through Emily Lebay’s, the mother’s, point of view, and it has remained very close to its original expression through multiple rounds of edits.

Here’s the gist of the story from the back flap copy:

Emily Lebay always thought of her family as ordinary. Sure, they’ve endured their share of problems, even a time of great trouble—what family hasn’t? But when a woman’s body turns up in the dense woods near their home, and Emily’s grown son Tucker is accused of murder, Emily is forced to confront the unfathomable, and everything she believed about her life is called into question.

I spent a lot of time with this family, Emily, her husband, Roy, her daughter, Lissa, and son, Tucker, and I grew to love them even though my heart ached for them. I think we must at times cross paths with people like the Lebays, we live on the same street with them, or pass time chatting with them in the grocery store line. They appear very ordinary, but we never really know what they might have endured, the same as they may not know the sorts of calamities we ourselves have somehow managed to survive. I imagine the many, many acts of courage that happen every day across America and around the world that go mostly unremarked and unreported. SAFE KEEPING is about that. It’s about courage and the indomitability of a mother’s and a sister’s love and the resilience of the human spirit.

I’m so eager to share this story with you. It’s available now for pre-order at Amazon, and I know I’ll be sharing more about it as the birthdate for it draws nearer. In fact, very soon, I’ll have some special news to share about EVIDENCE OF LIFE, too. In the meanwhile, I’d love to hear from you!

Dare to Dream: The Key to Passion

Like thousands of others around the world, I was inspired recently by Diana Nyad’s record-breaking Florida Straits swim. Watching her complete the final few strokes, stagger to her feet, unaided, and walk into the arms of one of her support team members brought me to tears. And when she spoke, as whipped as she was, her very first words were focused, unbridled joy, celebratory and inspiring. Paraphrasing, she said to never give up; she said you are never too old to chase your dream, and she said that while swimming looked like a solitary sport, it was a team effort. (She might as easily have meant life, that life is a team effort.) There she was, just out of the water after a grueling journey that lasted 52 hours and 54 minutes, and she was cheering us on! She’s 64. 64! And she did that. At another point, she raised her fist and said, “Boomer power,” I think it was. Something like that. It made me laugh. I fell in love with her. She’s wonderful! She’s an antidote...

Against so much of the conditioned thinking in our society about aging that writes off a person over 60. Heck, you’re 40 and in some people’s minds, you’re done, especially if you’re a woman. (Sorry, guys, it’s true.) It’s easy as you’re getting older to allow that mindset to overcome your imagination. (Does imagination age?) You can lose track of the kid in you, the thing inside that feeds your passion. In fact, Diana did. She quit swimming for thirty-one years. I didn’t know that until I watched her TEDx talk. I’m sharing it here, because I was so lit up by it.

It meant so much to me because I’m embarking on my own version of Diana’s swim, uprooting my life and relocating to another part of the state. And not only that but designing and building my house, a garage + potting shed, and a new garden. I’m going to be helping my son who is in the start-up phase of building his aquaponics farm venture, which I’m thrilled about. I’m working on a new novel, too, and I’m so excited about writing it. And lately another idea for an equally exciting story came to me. Suddenly, I’m on fire with all I can do. I’ve re-ignited my passion. I didn’t have words to describe all that I’ve been feeling just lately, and so much of it has been confusing to me, and a little unnerving, but then Diana Nyad did her incredible swim, and she described her process in this TEDx talk, and she gave me the words. Every time now I think I can’t do this, I’m too old, too tired, only one person, blahblahblah, I think of Diana, and her three things: don’t give up; you’re never too old; it takes a team. Following one’s passion is hard, grueling, beautiful work. It takes grit, so much grit. It’s messy and joyful. I hope I can always live it, and I hope you’ll tune in and watch Diana’s TEDx talk. It’s wonderful! 

Need relief from the Dog Days? 5 great end of summer reads

JUST WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU by Paula Daly

When a child is endangered, who’s the first person everyone looks at if not the mother? She’s the first one to take the blame and most of the time, she’s blaming herself more than anyone else could, whether it’s warranted or not. But what if as the mother the harm done isn’t to your own child, but to a friend’s child who was given into your care? And the harm is the direct result of your negligence, because as the result of your overwhelmingly busy, stressed out life, the one with the schedule from hell, you dropped the ball, failed to check up on, to follow through on the whereabouts of this child, and now, she’s missing? That’s the set-up, the trigger that ignites this riveting domestic thriller. It’s a story that begins with ordinary life and ordinary people who within the space of a day, of mere hours, find themselves under scrutiny from the police and the media, their friends and neighbors. This situation could happen so easily to anyone, really. How would you feel? That’s the question. What would you do? In her debut novel, JUST WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU, Paula Daly, renders a compelling portrait of a mother whose life takes the darkest detour imaginable. But character is the real strength of this novel. Each one is vividly alive and breathing right off the page, and the suspense builds with perfect rhythm until the last explosive page. And the ending is a shocker.

WILD, From Lost To Found on the Pacific Coast Trail by Cheryl Strayed

Almost everyone can relate to the idea that life is a journey, but not everyone is so gifted with the use of language that they can render their journey, or any portion of it, with such eloquence and courage as Cheryl Strayed. This is a memoir that makes the genre worth reading. It is a story that can be life altering in the way that one person’s life, and the experience they’ve had when it is arduous and difficult and fraught with obstacles, not the least of which are one’s own flaws, can go beyond the words written on the page, as beautiful and eloquent as they are, and reach into another person’s soul, there to ignite a similar fire, a similar will to be brave, to persist. The story Cheryl tells is vivid and compelling and raw in its truth, and that is the beauty of it. Throughout her narrative, there are moments that are breathtaking and other moments that are heartbreaking, and some that are simply so comic, you laugh aloud, but throughout, the sense of her will and her determination, her honesty and bravery ring through every syllable just as these very same qualities, despite the missteps, must be the ones that brought her through the difficult times and places in her life. This is a memoir that will stay with you. It is at once a treasure to mine and an inspiration to hold onto.

THE MOURNING HOURS by Paula Treick DeBoard

First, I have to say I read an advance uncorrected proof of THE MOURNING HOURS by Paula Treick DeBoard that was sent to me by my publisher, MIRA, but just to clarify, I wasn’t asked to do a review, and in fact, had I not loved this book, I wouldn’t have bothered. It’s that whole thing—you know, if you can’t say something nice, etc…. But what I can surely say about this novel is that it was a nonstop thrill to read. The situation is calamitous. A high scho
ol kid, an athlete on the fast track to a college scholarship, an all around great guy with a bright future, is implicated when a girl he’s dating disappears on a snowy night in Wisconsin. This isn’t the typical suspense novel, some police procedural, no. It’s a heartrending story about a family that is suddenly, illogically and brutally broken apart by a single tragic event, and the incredible suspicion that explodes in its aftermath, tainting the entire family. Long-held loyalties shatter. Trust is gone. And the future that once seemed solid and sure is, within days, wholly brought into doubt. That this fast-paced, tautly written page-turner is told through the eyes of a nine-year-old narrator, the sister of the accused, only makes it more poignant when she’s forced to make choices and to evaluate circumstances that are beyond her understanding. It’s not until she returns as an adult to her childhood home that she begins to understand the mystery of what really happened on that long ago snowy night. It’s not at all what she thought, and the end, when it comes is shocking and nothing at all like what she might have predicted.

THE BURGESS BOYS by Elizabeth Strout

At the heart of this story are two brothers, and the complex nature of their relationship is revealed
through their response to a shocking incident, perpetrated by their teenage nephew, their sister’s kid, the loner who’s so awkward and shy, he barely makes a blip on the radar screen. Now this kid’s in trouble, and the Burgess boys, both lawyers, are summoned by their sister to the rescue. That’s the scaffolding, the ribs so to speak, where this story hangs, but it is so much more and all of it rendered in the inimitable style that Elizabeth Strout is known for. From nothing more than words, she creates a wonderfully gorgeous and accurate cast of characters and sets them into situations that are vividly real and poignant, managing to make them accessible even when you don’t like them or their opinions much. But the really riveting core of this novel, at least for me, was in how she took a fairly ordinary family, albeit one that suffered an enormous and shocking tragedy early on, and a current situation, fraught with racial tension, one that had all the earmarks of becoming a national incident, and reflected though these circumstances the similarities that lie between individuals, whether in families, or political parties, or communities or nations. We are all the same, all human. For my money, having read all of Ms. Strout’s books, I like this one best.

IN THE SHADOW OF BLACKBIRDS by Cat Winter

People always seem to speak of our current time in history as the worst the world has seen, but consider 1918. Not only was the world embroiled in a brutal war that was killing thousands, but lives were also being lost to the Spanish flu, an outbreak so huge and widespread it was labeled a pandemic. People wore gauze masks. They chewed cloves of garlic and hung them from their necks, and they died like flies anyway. The fear and grief that was spawned as a result, that must have hung in the air like a shroud, gave rise to a near frenzied interest in spiritualism, in ghosts, in ways to talk to the ones we love who have passed. It must have seemed that Armageddon had come. I felt that it had from the very first page of Cat Winter’s beautifully written, eerily atmospheric debut novel, IN THE SHADOW OF BLACKBIRDS. The story is categorized variously as horror and paranormal, and the reading audience is YA. But that seems too limiting for this novel’s sweep. It has an almost “ripped from the headlines” kind of feel to it as if it could be happening now, and all of it were true. It’s a riveting read, and not just for kids, either. There’s so much wisdom in the words, in the story that’s developed on several levels. There’s a lot to ponder. One of the lessons that seems clear, at least to me, is how indomitable the human spirit is. It comes through the wonderfully drawn main character, Mary Shelley. This is a novel that teaches about a long ago time in history, that has lessons for today. And the photographs that are included with the story are compelling and chilling, like iced frosting on an already scrumptious cake.

The view from here

Herman Melville's writing view

 I’m contemplating moving very soon to the Texas hill country. It’s been a long-held dream, and I’m excited about it but also a bit apprehensive. While moving is a big adventure, it also means change, and that’s something I’m not fond of, or I should say the part of me that craves the routine, the ordinary and everyday isn’t fond of confronting something new. On the one hand moving is all about what you leave behind, close friends, critique partners, good and kind neighbors, in my case, but on the other hand, moving means going forward into the unknown and I love the idea of that even as I resist it.

I’ve moved around a lot, more in my early life than recently, but enough to know it’s cathartic. It’s mind shaking and life altering. It’s an experience through which you can grow. I’ve done it enough to know it can be very good for your soul. Maybe because you get rid of a lot of stuff, or I do, when I move. I weigh the things I put into the boxes, their worthiness to be carefully wrapped and transported. And after days of packing, more winds up in the giveaway pile. I’m exhausted by then, but I feel lighter than air. See, cathartic, like I said!

Anyway, recently, I received the monthly newsletter from the Irene Goodman Literary Agency where

My writing view in the morning

my agent Barbara Poelle works, and at the top of the page Irene posted a beautiful photograph she took of the view Herman Melville had of the Berkshire Hills from his home, specifically what he looked out on when he wrote, and I was kind of amazed, because it resembles in a small way what my view will be from my new writing nest in the hill country. You can see the differences from the pictures, that the view from Melville’s home is much more lush, while the photo of my homestead, taken this past December in the dead of winter, shows significant signs of the drought that is persistent here. Still, the hills, in both photos, it is that distant perspective that just takes my imagination to such faraway places, and I am lost to it. The view is, in part, what fires my desire to live there, that and some effervescence in the quality of the air, plus the cool mornings and evenings that provide a respite from the brutal heat of a Texas summer day. And unlike where I am now in south Texas, there will be less humidity, fewer cockroaches and mosquitos, and less worry over damage from a hurricane (and we won’t talk about the scorpions, rattlesnakes and wild hogs that live out there, okay?)

Looking west

But back to the photo of Melville’s view, according to what Irene wrote about it, Melville looked out at the hills and saw his whale. “…but to Melville the configuration of the hills from his study window looked exactly like a whale hunching its back after being struck--a sure sign to a whaler that success was near,” Irene wrote in her remarks about the picture. She goes on the say, “Wherever you choose to write, it has an effect on you. Melville had an environment that greatly enhanced his spirit and his work. Whether you work at a beautiful desk with a glorious view or a windowless basement alcove, you can adjust it to suit your needs.”

She’s right, because you could, in a

windowless alcove, hang a painting that would inspire you. But I am so looking forward to having the real thing, not to mention the peace that radiates from these images to soak up every day. In fact, as much as I will probably be homesick for my nest here, I can’t wait to begin a new adventure out there! Thank you, Irene, for sharing this. I am inspired by the photo and by what you wrote about it. Now all I need are house plans!

The great work of your life and where you do it

I’m interested in where people work and how they do their best work, and if they could have a workplace that was tailored perfectly to their needs and dreams, what would that place look like. To that end, I planned to make this post solely about my workplace, and essentially, it is. Especially, I wanted to make the point that in the last several years, I’ve figured out that beauty in one’s surroundings, and in particular where one creates, is as important, if not more important, than utility. Even the most austere studio with bare walls, say, the addition of a table, perhaps a chair, can be beautiful, depending on the quality of the light or what is brought to the table, or to dress the floor. Beauty to me happens whenever you walk into a place, a room, a space, and your heart unfolds. It is where there is a simultaneous easing of the soul even as the energy to make something happen is ignited.

My office is a nurturing space. It has everything I need. There are things I would add, like a big No. I keep a small pebble on my desk with the word, Yes, engraved on it to counteract all the countless ways and times I hear no from outside but mainly from inside my own head.

whiteboard and an oversize (preferably scruffy & antique) worktable, and other things, like the wall-to-wall carpet and window dressings, I would take away. When I move, which I plan to do, I’m going to incorporate these changes. I’d like a way to walk outside from my workplace, too, into a garden, rather than having to go downstairs to go out. Small things, inconsequential, really. I think what’s important is that you make this commitment to beauty for yourself, to honor the thing you are trying to bring forth, whether book, or painting, or child, or tonight’s dinner, or peace of mind, or what have you. People talk so much today about the needless consumption of things, and I, too, despair, even to myself, bringing yet one more item into this house that ends up in a drawer. But I think we need to take care that in all the paring down and scaling back and trying to use less, we don’t whittle away our desire even our need for beauty. In order to flourish, I think, our self-expression requires that we honor and respect it. Otherwise, it leaves. That spontaneity, that joyful abandon caves to worry, to guilt, to the punishment of the word,

When you think about it, all of this window dressing, if you will, the garb of our desire, our will to create, is inextricably woven in with the work itself. In fact, the work itself very often produces a thing that is then offered for consumption. And it’s this that got me thinking when I set out to write this post about where I create, because something that has occurred to me recently, is that perhaps the key to all of this lies in whether or not we can ever actually find our work, that thing we should do, the one occupation that will bring to life our greatest joy and delight. I know a lot of folks will say that even if they knew their right and true work, it’s impossible to do it, they have bills to pay, kids to feed, etc. And I’m not saying it’s easy. It certainly wasn’t for me, plus it was and still is, at times, scary. But what’s intriguing is to imagine that you could, to imagine a world where everyone was employed in a way that awakened their joy. Somehow, I can’t believe we would then have a problem with conspicuous consumption or its dark companion, the sense of entitlement. Or greed to put it in its most basic term.

I don’t know why for some of us, finding our life’s work is so arduous and alarming and painful. But I did read an absolutely riveting book just recently, THE GREAT WORK OF YOUR LIFE, by Stephen

Cope, in which I learned that the likes of Jane Goodall, Susan B. Anthony, John Keats and Ludwig Von Beethoven also struggled to find the way to do the one thing that made their heart sing. It wasn’t easy for them either. They were surrounded by lack, by naysayers; they were heckled and humiliated. They were ranted at by the devils in their own heads and riddled with doubt. But they kept on and look, just look, at the gifts the world continues to receive because of their persistence! I don’t think that finding and doing one’s life work is necessarily joyful every moment. In my own experience the opposite is true. I don’t think it’s glamorous or necessarily lucrative, but somehow, if you can find that purpose and the internal grit to stick with it, the rewards, while not conventional in the sense we’ve been educated to expect, are enormous. Maybe I knew all this, but regardless, it is abundantly clear from Stephen Cope’s book and the examples of the lives of the people he writes about that struggle is part of the equation, a big part, maybe the major part.

I was so inspired, even spellbound, while reading The Great Work of Your Life. I wrote in the margins, underlined passages, made notes on every blank page. And I realized I couldn’t write today about my work space without mentioning it, because the place where I work is so tied to the process, and because it took me such a long time to come by the courage to cast caution aside and to pursue my heart’s desire, regardless of how foolish it seemed or continues to seem. And I’m finding that simply by taking the first tiny and tentative steps, honoring this impulse, nurturing it, surrounding it with my interpretation of beauty, that it’s true what Joseph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.”

If you are the least inclined to explore the mystery of this process yourself, if you wonder how it can be done, I highly recommend Stephen Cope’s book. The stories he relates are fascinating, and the clarity and beauty of the message, and the way it’s rendered with such love and compassion, and practicality, is as lovely as it is compelling. The book is a gift, and I’m happy I can share its existence with anyone who cares to know.