In the surreal, dream-like weeks right after I had a baby this past September, I was contacted by someone interested in making The Sign for Drowning into a movie.  Novelists dream of this, and its the only way a novelist can get anywhere near making a living as a writer.  Or to put it another way, I wouldn’t be opposed to my book being made into a film.  Not at all.  So, this dialogue began in some pretty uncertain terms.  For one, I thought the woman getting in touch with me was a television producer looking for material for her network and interested in buying the rights to “Sign.”  Or to put it another way, I thought I met my perfect match.  Well, I was sort of right.  She is a producer of sorts, but that’s not what she was interested in.  You never know where opportunity will come from; I’m sure you’ll all agree, and I was more than happy to consider various ways a total stranger might help adapt my only novel into a screenplay and have it actually made into a movie.  But this proposal was hard to get a grasp on.  For one thing, I had a brand new baby, and only slept 2-3 hours at a stretch, for another the woman pursuing our collaboration was deaf and we started off by exchanging rather cryptic emails, which finally gave way to slightly clearer phone calls (she turned out to be hard of hearing and a good phone communicator.)  But the problem lay in our differing goals.  She wanted me to write the screenplay with her.  Oh, no problem, I thought, I just have to inform her I’m not a screenwriter.  No such easy exit.  She didn’t care, neither was she.  But still, she thought the two of us were the right team for the job.  The Sign for Drowning is about a girl, Anna, who embraces sign language as away to coomuniacte with her younger sister who drowned.  As an adult, Anna teaches deaf children and adopts a deaf little girl- helping her heal from the loss of her sister.  So my potential collaborator’s thinking was that a lifelong hearing aide wearer (she) and the author of  this novel were the most likely team to make a go of this project–even without the necessary experience.  To be fair, my husband, who is a screenwriter, thought she could be right.  He urged me not rule out the possibility of spending a year or so writing my first screenplay with someone I didn’t know, who had less experience than myself even.  Well in retrospect the way I handled the whole situation was a lot more post partum than I realized at the time.  I was communicating with this potential collaborator before I’d even left the house from bringing home our new baby, and in those first weeks, I got out maybe twice a week.  Everything outside the apartment, including wearing shoes, taking a subway, walking my dog, going out for a pint of beer seemed otherwordly.  So you can imagine how otherwordly I found this unknown woman dropping me notes about potential scenes, extended metaphors, and a mysterious financer seemed.  But what really tipped me off that I was operating from an altered state was that I very outrightly told her I’d be persuaded by money.  I found myself talking like some totally unknown Hollywood player, suggesting that we should both be paid at least $10,000 to even touch the thing.  My own book.  She seemed to like my new sundance kid way of thinking, and we made a clandestine plan to meet at Grand Central Station.  We picked a Starbucks, then a H&M, then another Starbucks.  She said if I couldn’t find her to just keep calling her cell phone, reminding me she was deaf and didn’t always hear it.  We met.  It was maybe the third time I’d left the baby.  We talked about him, and her children, and both our professional backgrounds.  We got along just fine.  If it were a sanity check- which was partially on my mind- we both passed.  We talked about meeting on her next trip to New York- Thanksgiving time.  We talked about working together for a year, every weekend, on Skype, or travelling together to a retreat to outline and write this screenplay.  “The reason she was on the planet,” she said on one phone call, my book as an example- not the literal reason.  We both said we needed to decide if we would take the plunge or not.  Would we go against the odds of our lack of proven ability, of our not knowing each other, of our limited time.  My own desire to finish my second novel while on maternity-leave weighed in heavily.  And then there was the fact that all I’m really doing with great commitment these days is caring for my boy.  Well, the decision went unmade.  We never spoke again.  Perhaps it was another 2010 dream, in a year full of unthinkable and dreamlike happenings.

I discovered a new book blog recently, because, as a treat (pun intended), this blogger discovered me.  A few times I’ve gotten a random email from a reader, often another writer, who wanted to say they enjoyed The Sign for Drowning.  This one intrigued me because he or she, wrote a rather cryptic email about not having time to make the chocolate souffle for bon voyage, but that I should check out their review on Food for Thought- their blog.  Well I did get around to checking out this blog, and I really like it.  The blogger, Jain, takes either a dish or recipe mentioned in a novel and makes it.  Then Jain posts a book review, and beautiful, inviting photos of the dishes she made.  Well The Sign for drowning contains a bon voyage party for Anna and Adrea, who are headed to france for a sumer intensive program for deaf children.  At the party, Maritza, the head teacher, serves up French food for the other children to experience.  There’s several quiches and a chocolate souffle.  Jain made some beautiful spinach and mushroom quiches, and photographed slices of them, with greens of course, on some decorative little French plates.  I like this blog a lot, it made me want to read and cook.

Jain also mentions in her review and blog entry how she goes about choosing the books to read.  And yes, it’s by their cover.  I think Jain doesn’t always judge a book by its cover.  But she mentioned periodic buying sprees on Amazon, where she’ll select a bunch of unknown titles, like a box of candies, and fire away an order of new books.  This reminded me that books really are about one cent on Amazon.  So, I decided to check on The Sign for Drowning, and see how cheaply it could be found there.  Indeed, there are two (hardcover!) copies for one penny.  A few for under three dollars.  And amusingly, two “collectibles” meaning a signed hardcover for $14 and $40.  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  You should grab up that $14 signed hardcover!

A few months ago, every few days I received a brown paper package in the mail from my agent.  The first one made sense, even though there was no note.  It was eight copies of my paperback.  I guess the publisher sent my allotted free copies to Joelle, and she was forwarding them to me.  Alright, I certainly don’t mind, even if I already received my copies in June.  But when the second and then third package arrived, each containing a random number of paperbacks, without a note, I wondered if Joelle was just cleaning her office of unwanted clutter.  Even so, what’s there to complain about?  I fairly filled a dresser drawer with paperbacks and went about my business. 

Then a few weeks ago, I spontaneously put out a notification on bookblogs.ning that I was giving away free copies to any literary book blogger that wanted to host a giveaway or do a review.  Have you ever done something and said to yourself- why didn’t I think of that before- why didn’t I do that sooner?  Well the response was super, and I found myself unloading a number of giveaway copies, and even inspiring Shambhala to send out additional review copies.  Thus in recent weeks, The Sign for Drowning has been reviewed in Taiwan, and a author interview is being arranged in a Taipei magazine.  I was interviewed by Stephanie, a self proclaimed bookworm, and reviewed on a few more websites.  Numerous copies of “Sign” were given away free (Stephanie’s giveaway closes December 4!), and lots of people tried to win them.  I also experienced a small rush of emails from strangers telling me why they were interested in reading a book about deaf characters or the loss of a child, and people telling me how the book had touched them.  All lovely.  There’s still some more paperbacks….

Last week I was in New Orleans.  As I have done on every trip there, I visited the Faulkner House.  The society is located in a house in the French Quarter on Pirate’s Alley, that William Faulkner lived in while writing Soldier’s Pay.  The ground floor hosts a hidden bookstore, of which the proprieter, Rosemary, likes to stock with almost all hardcovers.  It’s a great bookstore and one way I like to support redevelopment in New Orleans, by spending my money there.  But the Faulkner House is special to me beyond the house and store.

I credit Rosemary and the annual literary competition the Faulkner House sponsors with helping me publish The Sign for Drowning.  In 2005 I submitted the novel to their competition and was thrilled to find myself on the finalists list, and shortly thereafter named 2nd runner-up for best novel that year.  I was to attend the conference that November as an almost winner.  Katrina and the devastating flooding occured that September.   This was and continues to be a huge tragedy for the entire city and particularly the Lower 9th Ward.  It was with great pleasure that the Faulkner House’s conference, Words and Music got back on it’s feet a year later and hosted a couple hundred writers, including myself.   As I got ready to head to NO in November 06, I was in discussion with my now agent, Joelle Delbourgo- still waiting to hear if she would take me on as a new client.  Rosemary, in addition to organizing dozens of workshops, performances, panels, lunches, dinners, hotel arrangments, etc. actually gets editors and agents to schedule meetings with attending writers- and read their work in advance!  I, not so innocently, thought I should inform Joelle that I’d be meeting a few agents while in New Orleans, and it worked.  She offered me her representation and I accepted- and publication shortly followed.  

Rosemary’s and the Faulkner House’s generous support didn’t stop there either.  Bret Lott was the judge of the novel category in 2005, and graciously consented to write a blurb for my novel.  (This is truly it’s own international story of unlikely connections that I’ll have to blog about later.)  I also met Julia Glass, a favorite writer of mine, whose novel Three Junes had been a Faulkner winner in previous years, at the conference in 2006.  A year later when my ARC was ready, she agreed to read it, and wrote a blurb which I am honored to have received.

If you are a writer of novels, novellas, short stroies, poems, or essays, I highly recommend submitting your work to the William Wisdom- William Faulkner Literary Competition.  And whether you do or not, visit New Orleans, visit Faulkner House, spend some money in this beautiful, historic American city, volunteer if you can, common ground, donate if you can, makeitright

You’ll be the richer for it.

Yesterday while looking for some old files, I found the letter I wrote to Alfred Publishing, asking for permission to use Joni Mitchell’s song lyrics from Both Sides Now in The Sign for Drowning.  Seeking permissions was one of the many steps of getting published that came as a surprise to me and that additionally gave me unexpected gratification.

In such a slim novel, I managed to quote four songs and I quoted numerous passages from The Little Prince.  During the editing and pre-publication process, Trumpeter informed me that it was the author’s responsibility to get permissions for credits.  I found myself revisiting the songs that I’d incorporated into the story.  

Anna and Megan performed Cole Porter’s, Let’s Do It, as children entertaining their parents.  My father and I sang that song as a duet many mornings as my entire family got ready for work and school in one bathroom- even though we had three!  Carolyn, Anna’s mother, teaches her granddaughter Adrea- who is deaf- how to play Both Sides Now on the piano.  I have a lifelong love for Joni Mitchell, starting with a casette tape that I sang along to in my car for hundreds of hours as a teenager.  I confess, I got some mishevious pleasure from not seeking permission for Scarborough Fair, but instead crediting it as a Celtic folk song- origins unknown, which it is.  I’d heard that Paul Simon does not give permissions.   Lastly, and most thrilling, was writing to Harcourt, and including in my letter the exact quotes of Antoine de Saint- Exupery I would be using from The Little Prince.  This book is so meaningful and beloved to me.  I wove pieces of the little prince’s journey to foreign planets, and particularly his love of an ephemeral flower into Anna and Adrea’s story of their own journey into the unknown and ephemeral world they built together.

It’s hard to explain the pride and satisfaction I felt receiving letters from Harcourt and from Alfred Publishing, who published both Joni Mtichell and Cole Porter, granting permission to use these meaningful lines in my own work.  It was like my novel and my words co-mingled with the thoughts and places that these artists had created.  I felt I was in great company, having been granted permission to place their words in my book.  I still do.

I’ve recently done two author interviews, which  both asked about my current writing project.  In each case I managed a three sentence response that included some plot and some theme and an accelerated heart rate.  I get nervous telling strangers what I’m working on.  Or anyone besides my writing group and boyfriend.  The novel is giving me the jitters.  A year ago I was fine telling people the title, now I have to get around a jolt of paranoia before I speak the words.  I think this is a case of writing impatience.  These novels take a long time to write.  I want to be writing everyday, but I have a full-time job and usually only eke out a couple half days of writing a week.  This will not do.  Also, I’ve been working on the new novel- no titles here- for over three years.  I’ve been referring to the draft I’m working on as a second draft.  But I recently had a paradigm shift that its actually the third and fourth draft.  Without boring you with the details, I can attest that the math works out.  So, if this is the 3rd and 4th draft underway, when I get to the end, again, it seems reasonable to show it to my agent.  I’m starting to brighten up.

Which leads us to Ganesh.  Yes, the new novel deals with a Hindu deity or two and Buddhism gets a lot of page time.  But, novel aside, I’ve come to receive comfort from many a Eastern tradition and from the mere sight of Ganesh.  I’ve been surrounded by Ganesh my whole life, starting with a red, wooden elephant on wheels, with a string, that I pulled behind me for years as a toddler.  I have many elephants, and although not all elephants are Ganesh…they are.  My new novel also contains a tribute to my grandma who died in 2001, but remains with me each day, intensified by her appearing as a character in this novel.  I’m quite certain my grandmother never heard of Ganesh.  When I moved back to New York at the age of twenty-three, I brought one or two elephants with me that had always been with me.  I immediately noticed something.  My 83 year-old grandmother’s apartment on the Lower East Side was full of elephants.  Her collection now lives with mine- quite a stampede.

The Remover of Obstacles and Lord of Beginnings does help me fight the writing impatience and on some days, like today, he also trumpets- “Get on with it!”  

In recent weeks I’ve been on a very successful hunt.  Since taking a book promotion class on-line a few months ago, I’ve had the thought in the back of my mind that I need to tap into the blogosphere.  My first step was in March- with starting this blog.  Which I will say, was done hesitantly.  It took a bit of convincing for me to think I could make use of- and enjoy!- having an author website and blogging.  This is somewhat about being shy, and more so about timidly taking on a writer’s identity.  But I have found so much joy in embracing my identity as a writer and in building a stronger writing life in the last two years as The Sign for Drowning left my own computer.  It’s been all pleasure– except for the writing days that have been terrible.

So, a few weeks ago I discovered an amazing collection of on-line groups- which contain hundreds of members all of whom blog about books, do book reviews, or are authors, and all avid readers.  I’ve been crawling through the members and their blogs ever since and have found no shortage of totally interesting, entertaining, fun, and like-minded writers/bloggers/readers/people. 

One of the best relationships I’ve made so far is with Sheila DeChantal.  She has a chock-full blog that dazzles the eye and is hard to leave once you’re perusing.  She was so gracious as to interview me, review my book (upcoming) and give away two signed copies of my paperback in one her giveaway contests.  On top of all that- she takes care of business lickety-split.  The other great find was Book Club Queen.  Desiree at Book Club Queen reviews books and makes recommendations for book clubs.  She’s astute in her reviewing, and made me think about my writing style anew.  Thanks to both of them!

There is a pun in this blog entry title.  Coincidentally, when my parents took us as small children to England, my sister and I saw a streaker on the street in London and were inspired to streak in the halls of our hotel that night.  But here I am referring to a reading streak.

I recently went on a furious McEwan streak.  Last year, I enjoyed the great fortune of Bret Lott comparing my novel to The Child in Time by Ian McEwan.  When I first saw his blurb I was dismayed- embarrassed really.  I asked my publisher if it was allowed!  It was.  My British friend, Alan, calls me the American McEwan- very sarcastically.  Anyway- it was very kind of Lott- and I hadn’t read the book.  I’d read Atonement, Amsterdam and Enduring Love and loved them all, but I hadn’t actually heard of the much earlier- A Child in Time.  I ran out and read it and loved it as well and I admit- I could see how McEwan had grown.  This summer, I decided to finish off McEwan.  I began with The Cement Garden- a very slim and distubing novel- and excellent.  And then Saturday and On Chesil Beach.  Saturday is self-referential and drops a line about The Child in Time.  Which felt like McEwan was winking at me personally.  On Chesil Beach utterly surprised me when I assumed I knew what takes place in a post-nuptial hotel room.  McEwan is a master craftsman.

I hopped over to Ireland, like a Brit on holiday.  A lot of years ago I read Roddy Doyle’s, The Woman Who Walked Into Doors.  I thought he was little known and that I’d discovered a gem.  I kept my copy, but didn’t need to.  The book was totally unforgettable for me, but I failed to keep reading Doyle.  A week ago I read Paula Spencer, the woman (who walked into doors) and the sequel.  Even though perhaps a decade has passed, the first book leapt up in my mind and I couldn’t get enough of seeing what happened to Paula and her children.  I feel I could read a serial a day about the family for the rest of my life. 

But one thing got me.  The Irish critics on the back of the book said the book was hysterical, so much fun, a great laugh.  Now, I’m not Irish but I thought myself capable of catching tone.  This book about a physically abused alcoholic woman and her alcoholic child wasn’t “so much fun.”  Maybe in retrospect it had a lot of humor.  

But who could say, when two nights ago I finished The Snapper- and was laughing out loud all the way through.

As everybody already knows, Roddy Doyle can friggin write.

Last night I sat in my car for twenty minutes and listened to Frank McCourt on NPR taped in 2005.  He re-framed the memoir with Angela’s Ashes, giving it the credibility and linguistic beauty of any prose, and raising the bar for all memoirists I think.  And he’s more than lovely to listen to on the air as well, as his many NYC students could attest.  As Roddy Doyle would say, he’s grand.

I don’t think I’ll be leaving the United Kingdom just yet.