LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER SHOW

LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER Interview

photo by Laura Mozes.
Photographer's page: CLICK HERE

The site for the interview: CLICK HERE
I’m so happy to introduce today’s LTYM:NYC cast member, writer Rebecca Land Soodak. I don’t know what I can possibly say about Rebecca that will do her justice. She is a powerhouse of a writer and a person; small on the outside, with a vast intellect and creative spark inside. We’re thrilled to have her in our cast.

THE INTERVIEW:

Q: HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN A WRITER?
Yes. But until rather recently, it didn’t occur to me to become a writer. And though my reasons are layered and specific— I think this is typical for many women. Ambition is a feminist issue.

Q: SO WHAT DID IT TAKE FOR YOU TO TAKE IT SERIOUSLY?
More than a room of my own and money, which was the second and less popular prerequisite Woolf mentioned. For me, it wasn’t until someone in the industry told me my writing had potential that I was able to commit in earnest. Actually, it took two people: first an agent, then an author.

For years I’d been writing essays—mostly about motherhood and NYC. One night, after perusing the Internet, I decided to query a bunch of agents and say I had a collection of edgy essays. When they asked to see it, I worked like a maniac and sent off about a hundred pages. I kept getting the same feedback: I had strong voice, but the pieces lacked a cohesive thread. (They were right.) They also said I didn’t have a large enough following or platform. (Right, again.) Many recommended I turn the material into a novel, which I interpreted as a polite brushoff. Besides, over the years I’d tried to write fiction and had never gotten very far.

Then, unexpectedly, one of the agents emailed again. She said she’d been thinking about my work and wanted to know if I’d considered her fiction suggestion. I was stunned. An industry insider was contacting me not because she was being polite—she actually thought I had potential. I’d been near a Borders when I received the email, so I went right in and bought some books on structuring a novel. I started working on HENNY ON THE COUCH that night.

The second source of inspiration came after I’d written about thirty pages. I ran into an author I knew, though not well. She had a reputation for being smart and straightforward. I told her I was trying to write a novel and she graciously offered to take a look. When she called with feedback, she quoted a sentence I’d written that had moved her. Hearing my words read back to me was unbelievably empowering. She also recommended I get rid of the first seven pages and change the point of view from third person to first. (I ended up using some of the pages in a later section, but she was right—my story began where she suggested.) I suspect her feedback about point-of-view saved me months of toil. (The take away—don’t be defensive or fragile.)

It’s tricky, though—looking to others for validation. I’ve learned that I must be my own source of encouragement. Still, at that time, their encouragement was a game changer.

Q: WHAT’S YOUR WRITING PROCESS?
With HENNY, I was extremely motivated and wrote every day—usually at four different intervals. Right after drop-off, I’d go to a diner and read over what I’d been working on the day before. (My husband works from home most mornings; I needed to stay out.) I would tip the wait staff as if the table had turned over several times. Considered it cheaper than renting an office.

Then I’d go home and write until pickup. In the afternoon, our full-time babysitter and I navigated the needs of my four kids, which usually meant I went with the ones who had activities where I could write— violin lessons, orthodontist appointments, Hebrew School, drop-off-playdates, etc. After the dinner-bath routine, I’d put my youngest kids to bed and be back to the page from 8-10:00. (I went to the neighborhood diner, because I didn’t want my older kids—or husband—to suck me into a drama.

Two things to notice: One, Woolf is right about the money. All of the above required a lot of it. Two, The reason I offer this much detail about my routine is because mother-writers need this information. The artist-as-recluse archetype does us a disservice. We need to make our process visible. Using a privileged, white, male model for writing, a Jonathan Franzen, cabin-in-the-woods, was never going to work for me. That said, what I’ve outlined is most definitely a privileged, white woman’s model. It’s likely my race, and not merely my purse, contributed to my ability to loiter in many UES cafes.

Also, consider my domestic context at the time. The whole time I was working on HENNY, there was no evidence I would actually write it. I didn’t study writing in college; I’d never taken a writing class. And even if I did produce a manuscript, I had no idea whether I’d get an agent. (That agent hadn’t guaranteed representation.) And even if I got an agent, who knew if she’d be able to sell it. For one thing, it was 2008 and I was writing about a wealthy New Yorker.

And yet … I took my writing seriously. I learned to guard my time by saying no. No to volunteering at schools, no to attending every function, no to having lunch with friends, no to watching TV with my husband, no to letting guests stay at my house … no. I’d say, I’m working. And I felt like I was working. Except work usually involves money.

My husband was almost always encouraging, in words and actions. But this was not his world. Not only wasn’t he familiar with the publishing industry— but he wasn’t a reader of fiction, either. I was deeply immersed in a goal that was outside of his expertise and known to be highly unlikely. Basically, for many months, I was the only person who truly believed I would write a novel. (Okay, except for my mother.) I frequently felt like Annette Bening in American Beauty— I will sell this house, today. I will sell this house, today. (Only guess what? She didn’t.)

I did love the actual process of writing. There were times when I’d close my eyes and type scenes as I imagined them. And when the work didn’t flow, I learned that if I persevered, if I continued to show up to the page, an answer would come. I never went online to crowd-source a solution. (In fact, I wasn’t yet on twitter or Facebook.) Related, I never talked about what a character might do, or what I planned to write. Speaking diminishes my urgency to write.

Despite loving the process, I was often in a foul mood. I was terrified. What if all this work was for nothing? What if I wrote the damned thing and it never sold? I didn’t care if I made a lot of money—but I wanted the validation of a publishing contract. I wanted an ISBN number. I wanted it on bookstore shelves. And mostly, I wanted people to read it. Preferably, ones I’d never met.

And … I didn’t want my kids to see me fail.

A few years earlier, I’d ended my professional life as a psychotherapist to pursue painting. Like writing, I’d taken it seriously. I’d had some success—my work had been in a few galleries and I’d sold paintings for thousands of dollars (to strangers). But I was far from being an established artist, and here I was pursuing a new endeavor. While a case can be made for my children watching me work toward a goal— I didn’t want to be perceived as always striving and never arriving.

Here’s an understatement: I am grateful it worked out.

Q: AND YOUR WRITING NOW? WHAT’S NEXT?
Now, when I say I’m working, people believe me. I have to be even more vigilant about my writing routine because I no longer have childcare. My youngest kids are ten, so my workday basically ends at 2:30. (I rarely write at night, now.) My daily solitude is crucial. Stories come to me when I’m alone. I have to be disciplined. I have to make myself show up to the page. My social circle is smaller than it used to be and there are many people I care about, and never see. Or people I’d like to get to know better, and never do.
Since HENNY, I’ve had many false starts with novels and screenplays. I’ve had better success with shorter projects—essays, short stories. It’s disheartening, but I believe what I’m supposed to write next will come to me as long as I stay in the writing habit. At least I hope so. I’ve never done this: write a second novel.
In the meantime, all of my writing takes much longer than it used to. Even emails or a simple author bio. (I’ve probably put ten hours into this interview, which seems excessive.) I belabor sentences. And yet, I persevere.

Q: FINALLY, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE UPCOMING LTYM SHOW?
I’m excited. I love the personal narrative form. And as soon as I heard about LTYM, I knew I wanted to be a part of it.

Telling the truth is a political act. It’s also spiritual—a way I connect with others by exposing my humanity.

I could easily focus on being nervous. Indulge in self-deprecation. But I’ve made a conscious decision to let that shit go. Instead, to behave like the kind of women I admire. The ones who recognize when they have something to contribute, and then they do so, without apology or feigned modesty, or trepidation.

I want listen to everyone’s experience. And witness everyone’s courage. And when my turn comes, I want to stand and speak with clarity. To be in the moment. To trust my story … and my ability to tell it.

I want to speak my truth. Standing. Both feet on the ground.

Listen to Your Mother Show!

I first heard about Listen to Your Mother Show (LTYM) on Twitter. The brainchild of Writer/Performer Ann Imig-- LTYM is a live reading series on motherhood. With it's first show in Madison, WI (in 2010) -- LTYM has grown to productions in *24* Cities--each show written, directed and produced by local talent!

And get this ...

I will be joining the New York City Cast on Sunday May 12th (Mother's Day) at 5:00 at Symphony Space

SOCCER SNACK: A Satire

From: Lois Langston

Subject: Red Dragons Snack

Dear Red Dragons,

Welcome to Upper East Side Soccer Squad’s (UESSS) spring season. I’m Lois Langston, your snack parent and I’m writing to set up a snack schedule. While there are no official UESSS rules regarding snack, it’s customary to provide fruit at half time (often sliced oranges) and a ‘sweet’ after the game. Doughnuts work nicely. Brownies, too! Be creative. Have fun with it.
Let me know ASAP which week you’d like to volunteer so I can put together a master list in plenty of time for the game.

Yours,

Lois

PS- Water or juice boxes are always appreciated, but no pressure!


Dear Lois.

Put me down for the third week. Would homemade chocolate chip cookies be good?

Val Montagne



Dragons,

Thanks, Val--you reminded me … Absolutely **no** peanuts in any snacks!! But to answer your question, chocolate chip cookies sound delicious. I’ll put you down for the third week.

Lois



Dear Lois,

Is it okay if I bring snack the last week? My husband’s in London for most of the season, leaving me with our three kids. :(

Harper



Lois, Did I say the third week, I meant the fourth.

Val



Val,
got you down for the fourth. Harper, you’re on for the last.

Yours,
Lois



Hi Red Dragons,

I propose that this season we skip snack altogether. Below is a useful link to a website that shows the latest research correlating sweet snacks to learning disabilities and ADD/ADHD. (Not to mention the obesity epidemic plaguing our kids today. Plus, we only eat organic citrus, so I’m concerned someone might bring in oranges (or grapes) dripping in pesticides which have been associated with Autism and/or conduct disorders in incarcerated youth.
It’s up to us to model healthy choices.

Best,

Cecile Randolph

www.modelhealthychoices.com



Dear Cecile,

I really like the camaraderie when teams break bread together. Perhaps we should take a vote? What do you think Lois?

Warm regards,

Selma Sacks



Red Dragons,

I’m with Selma re. the camaraderie thing. Not to mention, I love doughnuts.

Hannah Palmer



Girls,

I think a case can be made for both perspectives, but if we’re going to vote on this, shouldn’t each side have the opportunity to present their viewpoint in a venue more conducive to consensus building? I volunteer my apartment for a meeting. We’re on 82nd and Park.

Just an idea,

Tessa



Tessa,

My husband is in London on business and it’s VERY difficult to attend any meetings, especially on weeknights.

Harper



Hi All,
Here’s some food for thought, no pun intended. A similar issue came up on my older son’s travel league. Instead of bonding over food they did a team-building exercise that involved relay races with eggs on a spoon. Or something like that. He’s at Harvard now. I’ll email him and see what they did.

BTW—Harper, I know an excellent sitter.
(Or skype?)

Sharon Fontana


Lois,

Are we going to table volunteering until after Tessa’s meeting? If not, I can do the fourth week. BTW I read Cecile’s link about conduct disorders and saturated fats. Scary stuff.
FYI, Fresh Direct has excellent organic produce.

Risa Raymor



Dragons,

After much thought, I think as snack parent, I should make an executive decision. I mean, if that’s okay with everyone. Let me know.

Lois

Ps. Fresh Direct has an organic department!? Who knew?



Lois,

Decide away!

-Tess



Good idea Lois. Go for it.

Best,
Val



So no meeting?

Harper



Guys stop pressing reply all, it’s jamming my in box.
Warm Regards,

Lauren Sherp

CEO- Equities Solutions



Risa,

The fourth is taken. Any other week? (Assuming we’re going ahead with snack …)


Red Dragons,

It’s not a problem. My children understand that our family values healthful living differently than most other families.

Cecile



Thanks, Cecile! The rest of you, please let me know ASAP which week you can do.
Lois


Hi Lois.
I can do the fifth week. For some reason my son will only eat clementines. Hope that’s cool. But if I can’t find organic, Harry will make do. (Or he’ll just have his own clementine, and I’ll bring everyone else oranges. Whatever.)

-Risa



Girls,

I got it all wrong. The egg on the spoon thing was for debate team, NOT travel soccer. Lois, put me down for week number 3.

Sharon



Red Dragons,

I just received the below email. Perhaps we can discuss further on Saturday morning. 8:00 (106th entrance, Riverside Park) Go team!

Attention all Upper East Side Soccer Squad players and their families:
Due to insurance constraints UESSS now has a strict NO SNACK policy, effective immediately. We recognize this may be an unwelcome change but we thank you in advance for your vigilant cooperation in the matter.

WHERE THE WILD THINGS GROW

Almost three years ago, my oldest son became a Bar Mitzvah. When I set out to write a toast, I realized none of my words felt relevant to the relationship I had with him at the time. Everything felt contrived. Too much telling--not enough showing. So I borrowed the words of a writer we both admired. Here is my 'toast'. (I found it tucked in the book this morning--and wept.) THE NIGHT RUBIN WORE HIS WOLF SUIT AND MADE MISCHIEF OF ONE KIND AND ANOTHER HIS MOTHER CALLED HIM 'WILD THING1' AND RUBIN SAID 'I'LL EAT YOU UP1' SO HE WAS SENT TO HIS ROOM WITHOUT EATING ANYTHING. THAT VERY NIGHT HE WENT ON FACEBOOK AND CHATTED AND CHATTED UNTIL FABRY, SUGARMAN AND YANG HAD TO DO THEIR HOMEWORD AND RUBIN SWITCHED TO FARMVILLE AND YOU TUBE. AND WASTED NIGHT AND DAY AND IN AND OUT OF WEEKS AND ALMOST OVER A YEAR TO WHERE THE WILD VIDEOS ARE AND WHEN HE CAME TO THE PLACE WHERE THE WILD VIDEOS ARE, THEY ROARED THEIR TERRIBLE 'MOTHER LOVER' ROARS AND GNASHED THEIR TERRIBLE 'I'M THE BOSS' RHYMES AND ROLLED THEIR TERRIBLE 'LAZY SUNDAY' RIFFS UNTIL RUBIN SAID, 'MY TURN!' AND POSTED HIS OWN MAGIC VIDEO. (LINKED TO SILLY VIDEO HE MADE OF HIMSELF." AND RUBIN GREW. AND GREW. AND GREW. AND LEARNED MANY THINGS AND HAD MANY ADVENTURES. AND MADE GREAT FRIENDS. AND EVEN GREAT MISTAKES. AND FOUND HIS WAY. THEN ALL AROUND FROM FAR ACROSS THE WORLD TO THE UPPER EAST SIDE, HE WANTED GOOD THINGS TO EAT SO HE CALLED HIS MOM. 'LET'S MEET,' HE SAID. 'AT E.A.T. ON MADISON.' AND SHE SAID, 'OH PLEASE LET'S GO, WE'LL PAY TOO MUCH, I LOVE YOU SO!' AND RUBIN SAID, 'I KNOW.' SO HE SAILED BACK OVER A YEAR AND IN AND OUT OF WEEKS AND THROUGH A DAY AND INTO A CORNER TABLE OF THE VERY TRENDY ROOM WHERE IS HIS VERY OWN MOM WAS WAITING FOR HIM. AND IT WAS MAD FUN. MAZEL TOV, RUBE. I LOVE YOU.

ARE YOU MY AUTHOR? Mothers on the Writing Life

ARE YOU MY AUTHOR? Mothers on the Writing Life Thursday, May 10 7:00 – 9:00pm THE STRAND BOOKSTORE 828 Broadway, New York City Join us for an evening of readings, discussion, book signings …and a champagne toast for Mothers Day! The Strand Bookstore has partnered with six talented authors for an honest look and discussion on motherhood, creativity and the writing process. Each author will read a piece about the intersection between motherhood and writing, followed by a Q&A and open discussion with the audience. A $10 gift card to The Strand must be purchased for entry to this event. FEATURING: SHERI HOLMAN – Sheri Holman has written four award-winning and bestselling novels published by Grove/Atlantic, including The Dress Lodger, a New York Times Notable Book and longlisted for the Dublin IMPAC Award; The Mammoth Cheese, named a Publisher's Weekly and San Francisco Chronicle Book of the Year and shortlisted for the UK's Orange Prize, and most recently, Witches on the Road Tonight, a NYTBR Editor's Choice, winner of the Independent Publisher's Gold Medal for Literary Fiction, and named a Book of the Year by The Boston Globe, The Toronto Globe and Mail, and PopMatters. Sheri is a founding member of The Moth. KAYLIE JONES - Kaylie Jones is the author of five novels, including A Soldier’s Daughter Never Cries, which was made into a Merchant-Ivory film, and the memoir Lies My Mother Never Told Me. She teaches in the MFA program at SUNY Stony Brook – Southampton, and in the Wilkes University low-residency MFA program in professional writing. REBECCA LAND SOODAK - Rebecca Land Soodak has contributed to Salon, Big Apple Parent, About Our Kids, and The Huffington Post. A former Psychotherapist, Land Soodak is also a painter. She lives with her husband and four children in Manhattan and Litchfield, CT. Henny on the Couch (Grand Central Publishing, March 2012) is Rebecca's debut novel. JILLIAN LAUREN - Jillian Lauren is the author of the memoir Some Girls: My Life in a Harem and the novel Pretty. Her writing has appeared in The Paris Review Daily, The New York Times, Los Angeles Magazine and Vanity Fair among others. She has performed at spoken word and storytelling events across the country and is co-host with comedian Melinda Hill of the new hit podcast Eat My Podcast. MARTHA SOUTHGATE - Martha Southgate is the author of four novels. Her newest, The Taste of Salt, was published in September 2011 and was named one of the best novels of the year by the San Francisco Chronicle and Boston Globe. She has received fellowships from the MacDowell Colony, the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and the Bread Loaf Writers Conference. Her essay “Writers Like Me,” published in the New York Times Book Review, appears in the anthology Best African-American Essays 2009. Previous non-fiction articles have appeared in The New York Times Magazine, O, Entertainment Weekly, and Essence. www.marthasouthgate.com; Twitter: mesouthgate RACHEL ZUCKER - Rachel Zucker is the author of three books of poetry including Museum of Accidents which was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. She co-edited Women Poets on Mentorship, an anthology of essays by younger women poets and co-wrote (with Arielle Greenberg) Home/Birth: a poemic, a non-fiction book about birth, friendship and feminism. She lives in New York City with her husband and three sons. She teaches poetry at NYU and is a certified labor doula. PRESS CONTACT: Jillian Sanders 212-364-1523 jillian.sanders@hbgusa.com

Huffington Post Picks up my Essay!

http://bit.ly/HcF3GW

When the student is ready ...

Just off the red-eye, the very smart (and beautiful) Joyce Maynard surprised me with an impromptu coffee invite. It's predictable that she leaves me with much to think about, and still my whirling feels unexpected--novel. This is the no brainer, she tells me as she gathers her things--get everyone who's read HENNY to comment on Amazon. It matters, she tells me as she exits. I collect my things. Head for the bathroom. Toss our garbage. Berate myself for my stupid outfit choice. I know she's heading west toward her day. I go east--home. I imagine her eyes on my city ... the construction on 79th will bug her; she'll enjoy the park. I'm glad I know her. She makes me want to write sixteen things at once.
Damn. It's New York City's turn for Joyce.

The Personal is Viral

As many of you know, I was quite taken with the KONY 2012 campaign. I was fascinated that with all the content available to viewers—this half hour video was observed by so many—especially teens and young adults. While solutions in Uganda may be complicated—the historical horror is rather simple—that is, wrong. I appreciated that the KONY campaign didn’t suggest they had one solution to a complicated problem (or that donations would FIX the region). Instead they maintained that large numbers of people (as evidenced by film viewership and/or visible posters) would communicate to our government that the public is aware of Kony’s atrocities and want him convicted. While some dismiss this plan as simplistic slacktivism, I am awed by it. Social media is creating social change, and if you don’t believe me, refer to Susan B. Komen foundation reinstating Planned Parenthood funding or the Rush Limbaugh advertisers pulling out following virtual-vocal dissent. In college we used to say, the personal is political. Thanks to social media, the personal is viral. Rather than dismissing these click-campaigns, join me in marveling at the mediasphere’s influence on real policy change.
Last week, the KONY 2012/Invisible Children foundation continued to unfold. Filmmaker, Jason Russell was caught on camera in his underwear disrupting traffic and behaving bizarrely. Major publications reported that he’s been arrested for public intoxication and masturbation. Fortunately, the NY Times got the story right. They quoted a San Diego police spokesperson as saying that if Russell had been intoxicated they'd have arrested him--instead they took him to a hospital for what was almost certainly a psychotic episode. The police also noted that of all the calls they received about an anonymous man’s behavior (i.e. Russell)—only one mentioned that Russell MAY have been masturbating, yet, many newspapers reported that Russell was arrested, intoxicated and masturbating.
Many people (some even brilliant and talented) are diagnosed with mental illness. Fortunately, medication enables many to lead lives reflective of their potential. It is my hope that Jason Russell receives medical treatment and gets back to work, first responding to the public’s criticism and then resuming artistic/activist pursuits. Better yet, let his next film project take on the pervasive stigma related to brain chemistry—a.k.a. mental illness.

Best Place To Reach Me ...

I'm not saying I'll never blog here again. I'm not saying I am going to stop eating Coffee Ice-cream on a nightly basis, either.
(But I digress.)
If you want me, I'll be at twitter (@Rlsoo), Facebook etc. Also, my website will keep up to date on reviews and events.
rebeccalandsoodak.com
See you on the mediasphere ...

Amy Sohn blurbs HENNY

Thank you Amy Sohn for the great blurb!
“The protagonist of HENNY ON THE COUCH is a New York mother we can all identify with - bright, harried, striving, and hopeful. You want her to be your best friend. This is a book for any woman who's ever had dreams for herself or wondered what became of them.”



-Amy Sohn, author of PROSPECT PARK WEST

Cassie's Cam Jansen drawing

HENNY ON THE COUCH

“Rarely has there been a novel that has dealt quite so honestly with the issues that assail urban women today. Unflinchingly honest and devoid of self-indulgence, Henny on the Couch is a compelling, brave, and beautiful novel.”

-Kaylie Jones, author of Lies My Mother Never Told Me

From one son to another--on his Bar Mitzvah

Lies About My Brother
This poem is tricky
Like my brother, so spastic.
Everything I now say
Should be heard as sarcastic.

When he was born
My brother was skinny.
No roles of fat
On his chinny chin chin chinny.
When he grew up
All of that changed.
He’s gotten fat, he’s gained weight
He is oh so very strange.
He is always behaved
And he never says never.
He’s like Justin Bieber
Only one third as clever.
He gets horrible grades
In math, he doesn’t know factors.
And he has no friends,
All you people here are actors.
He sucks at all sports
And he’s slow as a snail.
His Chinese name should be “Shibai”
Google translates that to “Fail.”

He has never shown rage
And looks like Syd from Ice Age.
He’s the least impressive person I know
He gives devious a new low.
He gives new meaning to “don’t judge a book by its cover,”
Because he’s even worse inside than he is a brother.
Whenever he sees me he pretends to admire
But really he’s just wishing I were on fire.
Nobody likes my brother
Not even our mother!
You’ve all seen her yell at him
It’s like a story written by Brothers Grimm!
His head is so full of hot air.
He thinks kicking and screaming is the definition of “share.”
Worst of all: he’s chock full of sass
Whenever he sees me he smacks me in the……........stomach.

He’s the worst kind of guy
He tells everyone the truth
Except to me he does lie
And it’s ruined my youth.
So friends and family
Of Ellis-da-mellis
Please make sure you know
You don’t have to be jealous.

Okay here we go
Now the lies are through
For a short stanza
I’ll say things that are true.

He’s a cool guy
The best I’ve ever seen
He’s got more talent
Than that winner Charlie Sheen.
Ellis, you’re the best brother I have
This should make you all know
He’s the greatest friend I could asked for

MAZEL TOV BRO!!!!!

In Anticipation

Dear Joyce,
There are many reasons I’m not making the deadline to submit a memoir piece for the upcoming workshop. Perhaps most importantly is … I don’t have one. I mean, I have a few old narrative essays—some even garnered agents’ attention some years back, but the consensus was they lacked a cohesive thread and an offer of representation was not forthcoming. They were right. (Unless you considered me a cohesive thread.) MOMoir was on its way out and since I didn’t have a substantial platform (shoes didn’t count) they weren’t confident my collection would sell. It was recommended I try to turn it into fiction.
At first I assumed they were being polite. Turn it into fiction sounded like agent code for don’t-call-us-we’ll-laugh-at-you-over-drinks. Besides, about a decade earlier I HAD tried fiction and while character—or more specifically voice, had landed on the page with somewhat ease, plot … not so much. Plot eluded me. I’d managed to create layered, vivid characters brimming with angst, but by page twenty or so I sensed something was missing and lost momentum. In hindsight, I see that I’d equated that which eluded me with that which was evidence of my inherent incompetence. The conclusion: I/m not a real writer.
And yet I continued to write. I figured fiction wasn’t my genre and stuck with true to life experiences. This was especially practical since my true to life experiences were busy being born. Four of them in six years. As you know, motherhood is (among many things) chock full of the necessary components that make a good story: compelling characters, conflicting needs, high stakes and endless obstacles and/or epiphanies. Additionally (don’t tell anyone) mothering young children could also be(at times) profoundly boring. And lonely. I mean juxtaposed between delicious burrito-baby snuggles and compelling conversations deconstructing Clifford the big red dog—one does a lot of wiping (noses, counters, backsides …), so in order not to lose my fucking mind to make sense of my world, I turned to the page.
Interestingly (perhaps only to me), during these years, I could no longer stomach reading fiction either. A lifelong lover of literary novels, I found I couldn’t bear to leave my reality for made-up worlds. I wanted truths. Not parenting-manual truths—those irked me. I yearned for the wise words of (m)others. I wanted to read some version of my story from another's telling. These musings were my mirrors. Echoes in reverse, if you will. And at the time, they were essential.
Years passed. My children got older. We all got older. I’d accumulated enough narrative pieces to query those aforementioned agents (and receive those aforementioned rejections).
And then a miracle happened.
Now if this was fiction, I’d set my miracle in Central Park. Or perhaps the scene could unfold in Lincoln Center as the main character arrives ten minutes into the first act. But this is not a novel (or a screenplay) and my miracle came via email. An agent who had already passed on my collection of essays wanted to know if I’d considered her suggestion and given a try at fiction. It occurred to me that if an agent suggests I attempt fiction—I should probably attempt fiction. I started my novel that day.
This time I went to the experts. Not only did I resume reading in the genre, I devoured books on plot and structure (and many more on the writing life). I learned that those nuanced characters swimming around in my unconscious needed to want something and it was my job to provide the obstacles until she either succeeded, or failed. This seemed manageable. This I could do.
So as I set out, here is what I knew: I wanted to write about an artist who wasn’t making art. I knew it should take place in New York City. I was determined to portray a long-term committed marriage that had a problem other than fidelity. Also, I wanted to illustrate the intricacies in women’s relationships with friends, mothers, nannies, mentors, bosses, colleagues, and daughters.
I also knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want this to be a story about a woman whose husband and kids were the main hindrance to her owning her artist self. I didn’t want the solution to be that she just needed to set boundaries or find a metaphorical room (and money) of her own.
I looked to my own experience. Something profound had happened when that agent contacted me. My sudden confidence could better be understood in the context of my life—and not just my current-day married-mothering life. I figured the same context should be true for my main character. If I wanted my novel to be rich with meaning, her story needed to unfold over pivotal time periods in her life. I believe an artist neither suppresses nor unleashes her creativity in a vacuum. And this context—these influences and obstacles—I continue to find compelling.
Fast forward three years. Henny on the Couch comes out this April. (Interestingly, I ended up signing with a different agent.)
Which brings me to now. Today—the day my workshop piece is due. I guess the truth is this: I don’t have a narrative piece that I’d like to spend your time (the group’s time) or my time working on because I don’t want to write one. I already have an agent and a publisher who want to read what comes next. Which leads to this … what comes next?
I have a novel percolating. I am also in the thick of turning Henny on the Couch into a screenplay. I’m aware unknown novelists are discouraged from doing this—but having written and sold my novel, I no longer diminish my goals before attempting them.
I’m not sure how to use the workshop time but with four kids (now ages 9-15), a husband, a Bar Mitzvah less than a month away, marketing demands for Henny … time is a precious and scarce commodity. I need to refuel my writer’s self. I hope to spend some of the weekend digging into my screenplay. I would also like to give some much needed attention to the currently faint characters I hope will people my next novel.
There’s also this: I’m a for-real fan of your work—both memoir and fiction. I wept during Labor Day and At Home in the World resonated long after I read the last page. I imagine spending the weekend in your orbit and surrounded by other writers—will be plenty. Who knows? It might even be one of those life altering, memoir inspiring true-to-life experiences.
And if not, it doesn’t matter. There’s always fiction.

JC Penney: Where is your judgment?

I’m too pretty to do my homework … so my brother has to do it for me
I think JC Penney showed terrible judgment removing their controversial T-Shirt. I mean what kind of message does it send girls that JC Penney doesn’t think American girls are pretty enough to manipulate the men in their lives? I, for one, think it’s important girls feel empowered by a finely crafted ditzy persona, and if using their sassy-ness frees them up for more important things than education, I say bring on the Justin Bieber albums, pronto!

Pros and Cons of Moving to Los Angeles

TEN REASONS NOT TO MOVE TO LOS ANGELES

10. ¾ of my kids are in schools that are perfect for them.

9. I'd have to pack.

8. I have a posse of NYC women who soothe my soul.

7. I swear too much for the west coast.

6. I don’t have ankles which rarely bothers me in NYC.

5. My kids would want to get driver’s licenses. Then they’d want to drive cars, probably.

4. The 405, the 101, the 10, Hollywood Blvd, Fairfax, Sunset …

3. What they call bagels are actually rolls with a hole in them.

2. Extended family wouldn’t be able to say “I’ll be right there” and vice versa.

1. I can’t handle the pressure (of remembering to bring my own bags to the grocery store).


TEN REASONS TO MOVE TO LOS ANGELES


10. Pulsing with inspiring, creative people.

9. Fact (no-one-knows-about-on-the-east-coast): You can wear jeans and sweaters in the summer.

8. We could get a dog.

7. And a house with a backyard—yet still be near art, restaurants and a creative industry.

6. Mitchell is more relaxed in L.A. (Interestingly, he is the least relaxed person in L.A.)

5. The kids would make new friends—then they’d be bi-coastal which is easier than being bi-lingual but still kind of cool.

4. The architecture and design are phenomenal.

3. The Pacific Ocean, Santa Monica Mts., near: Big Sur, SF, Seattle, Vegas, San Diego, Portland, etc.

2. A sense of adventure (meeting new people, discovering new places …).

1. This makes no sense. Totally stupid to even CONTEMPLATE! We’re NEW YORKERS. Stop this nonsense right now. Forgetaboutit.

What's all this talk about Twitter? ... Oh. Never Mind

Since many of the people who read my blog (Mom) are not on twitter, I thought I would cut and paste a bunch of my tweets for all of you (Mom) to get a feel for what this social media twitter thing is that all the kids have been talking about. (And by kids, I mean--for example--all those wacky Egyptian revolutionaries or those crazy jokesters who broke that Bin Laden tidbit a few days ago before any of the networks could say, we interrupt this episode of The Apprentice ...)
Please note, when words are preceded by this # it's sort of a symbol for a clever joke or sarcasm.
Now then, shall we?


I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that I enjoyed Lady Di's wedding. I'd be remiss if I didn't admit I just googled 'remiss, definition of'
Lucky 2 catch @RaeMeadows read novel MOTHERS&DAUGHTERS-Then I devoured 1st chapter over wonton soup #Gr8Nite @ElisabethWeed @Darinstrauss
Today I scootered w/ my girls to the orthodontist, yogurt shop & library. Yeah. I was that mom.
I give great bread #PassoverPorn
Talking to my girls about how much i love them Kid1-Some people don't even HAVE a mom or dad Kid2-Yeah, some people just hv a mom & a donor
Just heard vaguely upsetting news & now I'm trying to decide if I want to talk to a real friend, twitter or my mother.
HARD NIPPLES is what I used to call my Bubby! It's like her ghost is communicating via twitter trends-Which is totally NOT plausible. Right?
I need a vacation. That, or 25 people coming for Passover on Monday. #SayWhat? #Seder
I just deposited the last of my 'Advance' for HENNY ON THE COUCH Wonder if I'll ever feel as proud of the $ as I do of my agent's masthead
Loved Sheri Holman WITCHES on the ROAD Tea Obreht TIGERSWIFE RulaJebreal MIRAL& @AlisonEspach THE ADULTS last nite @KGBbar @Behind_the_Book
PaySuck, repeat #PassoverPorn
Hard(matzo)Balls #PassoverPorn
The theoretical--invite 25 people for Passover Seder--got real today. Excited.
The lost 14 yr old boy in NYC was found alive (but shaken) I don't know any other details

It's hard to plan a Seder while reading Good Squad every spare minute. Fuck the brisket. (At least that's what my Bubby always used to say.)
To fix a terrible haircut I went too short. Husband said he liked&then asked if I did. I told him I respected it He walked away laughing.
@KateAurthur That Rob Lowe cover grosses me out. An example of bad-naked, albeit an idealized male form. I prefer imperfection.
@syntactics spoiler alert-but my favorite life of Pi sentence (in the context of all the other sentences) ... The ship sank.
@fuggirls Oh dear God, Please *please* let's not diss THAT WOMAN. Donna Tripp-yes. ML, no
Twitter has taught me this: mothers who are famous cherish each moment with their delightful children. I'm happy for them.
i explained to kids why tgiFridays in an airport is fine- In union square-hells no
I release the filth of these sidewalks-dogshit/vomit/piss/butts/goobers &litter in favor of the heaven that is this William Fitzsommons song
My teen son has a mannish body. I paused uncertain what to add ... ... And now I'm weeping.
Un-solace-it-id-man-you-scripts-will-not-b-red
It's like I'm in a twilight zone. Just misread a massive billboard for vitamin water. Thought 'revive' was REWRITE
Is it me, or do #TheFooFighters sound like Rush?
RLSoo Rebecca Land Soodak
I think it's best for all involved if I wear my comfy jeans
Gonna shake things up this Passover & hide the QADAFFI-KOMMEN ... & when the kids try to sell it back we'll gang-rape em @SarahKSilverman
If one pays 100$/ticket 4 UNTREATED bipolar/addict/woman-abusing/unmedicated/narcissist-h/she might b part of the problem @Justin_Stangel
I just read NYT article on Cathie Black chancellor ousting-I can't BELIEVE they didnt mention her YouTube Friday vid. Fucking dinosaurs.
The Unbearable Lengthiness of Being in the Movie Theater#unnecessarysequels
A Tale of Two Sex in the Cities #unnecessarysequels
The Pursuit of Happy Gilmore #unnecessarysequels
Im pretty sure Epsom salt was my Bubby's aphrodisiac (And now I feel a sense of unresolved loss tinged with nausea.)
@Sirenland @mcnallyjackson Like a wise, aging caterpillar keeping his nose company. Nice, in these uncertain times.
Ass-Over #PassoverPorn &/or #sheenshow
Skank Bone #PassoverPorn
The laying of the first-born son #PassoverPorn
SExodus
Bitter Whores #PassoverPorn
Next Year In ... Jerlissa #PassoverPorn

The Parting of Her Red C #PassoverPorn
My Burning Bush #PassoverPorn
I'm concerned there might be a gefilte-fish smack-down involving my mother & Aunt. I'm not gonna lie-I'm frightened. #Passover

Wait, did CathieBlack get canned because of that Friday song?
Damn-I hate being wrong.
I would really like to see Sheldon and Blossom do the nah-nah. Like on one of those adult channels. #TheBiggestBang#CantTakeItMuchLonger
I am dubious that these brownies will do much for Japan, but I'm a team player.
Two Independent bookstores on UES are out of Bossypants and admit to only buying a few copies. This reflects a disconnect, I think.
@GCPeditor @mitch_hoffman @grandcentralpub Good. Because ALL editors need and deserve an assistant! (Seriously)
@bnreviewer Yeah, that's 2012.
@bnreviewer Mine's coming! Henny On the Couch-Spring 2013 GrandCentral It's Bright LightsBig City from an UES feminist/artist's persp. kinda
the norm for acceptable table switching varies In LA-once, maybe-and only if you have a penis. In NYC? Who gives a shit?
After sitting a table away from Duchovny I'm left w/ this: our not fucking might be due to more than proximity. Possibly.

My Next Project

Confession: I have not started my next project.
I want to start my next project. I am trying to start my next project. I am confident I will at some point start my next project ... but, alas, I have not started my next project.
Some would say this is a time of grappling and inquiry and in fact it is this act of not yet knowing that marks the beginning of the process. I agree with this sentiment—that a period of uncertainty tinged with yearning is part of the process; however, it is not what I mean when referring to my next project. I don’t want to be wrestling; I want to be writing.
For one thing, writing fiction is a terrific escape and though I have a fantastic life (and for the most part, have always had a fantastic life) I’ve also always been keen on escaping reality and what better way to alter one’s mood than to create a world of others? All I have to do is create compelling characters and give them something to long for, throw in an obstacle or two and voila: hours, days, months go by where I’m (checked out) writing.
I don’t mean to suggest that writing is my crack. It’s more that (at the risk of sounding new-agey) in order to feel like myself (dare I say—my best self?) I need to be immersed in a creative endeavor. Like, daily. And when that creative endeavor is flowing—the feeling is …

Actually, what is the feeling? I struggle to find the word. Sated. Resolute. Relieved. Proud. Thankful.
Damn. No wonder (writing is my crack) I can’t wait to get back to work in earnest.
I mean, I loved writing Henny on the Couch. Except when I fucking hated it. But for now, I only want to think about the good ol’ days. The days when any responsibility other than writing felt like an imposition instead of relief. The days when I closed my eyes and asked myself, what should happen next, and the answer materialized: an autumn walk in Central Park, or chocolate pudding at Ponderosa, or crisp chips in green bowls, or Balduccis in the 80s or Amway in the 70s or the night Andy Warhol died … and before I knew it, I’d written a book.
A book.
So yes, I want to recreate that love affair that is creative-orderly-direction.
The thing is, unlike with Henny on the Couch, I’m not sure of the story I want to tell. Or the characters, let alone other details like tense or point of view.
So, in the meantime, I keep busy. I read—devouring the art of other (poor bastards) writers who managed to put pen to paper. Exercise helps too. Besides, it’s an opportunity to reconnect with family—I’m trying to be a better parent (more patient, attentive) and wife (more patient, attentive).
And I’m sure this is part of the writing process. Certainly if I wrote one novel, I’ll be able to do it again. (Maybe not. What if I can’t? I knew it was beginner’s luck.) Yes. I’m sure in no time, a character will present herself and I’ll be back on the literary beam.
And if not—well, there’s always twitter.

We Love Charlie Sheen

I am concerned about Charlie Sheen. Sure, there are other things going on in the world—a revolution in Egypt, stonings in Afghanistan, narcissistic judges who want to do away with healthcare reform. But it is Charlie Sheen that keeps me up a night.
For those of you off-the-grid-anti-tech-neophytes: here are some Charlie Sheen tidbits.
He stars on CBS’s Two and a Half Men.
He’s the highest paid actor on TV.
He has a drug and alcohol problem.
Oh, and he assaults women. (More than once.) (Weapons have been involved.)
I’m not sure if Mr. Sheen has been under-the-influence every time he’s been violent, but I think it’s safe to say—the drugs and booze don’t help.
Which is why I would like to assist Charlie. But since Mr. Sheen is a famous addict—I’ve taken a few liberties with the Twelve Steps. I hope he finds solace in the recovery process.

The Twelve Steps (for Charlie Sheen)
Step 1: Admitted he was powerless over his erection & his wife had become unmanageable

Step 2: Came to believe there was NO power greater than himself.

Step 3: Made a decision to turn his will and his life over to the care of CBS network

Step 4: Made a searching and fearless more-whore inventory of himself

Step 5: Admitted to God, to himself and another human being the exact nature of his wrongs & then paid to destroy the evidence

Step 6: Entirely ready to have God remove mandatory sentencing.

Step 7: Humbly asked her not to press charges

Step 8: Made a list of all persons he'd harmed—except for the ones with vaginas, ‘cause those bitches don't count

Step 9: Made direct amends to such people whenever possible except when to do so required admission of any wrong doing

Step 10: Continued to take anything he wanted & when wrong promptly pummeled her

Step 11: Sought through prayer and self-prescribed medication to improve next year’s contract

Step12: Having had habitual rapening as result of these steps—he carried the message that bad-boy Actors can get away with anything

We love you, Charlie. Keep coming back.