Just found the Amazon page for my grad advisor John Parras and his novel. I'm embarrassed to say that I have not yet read it, but I will! He's working on book two and I've yet to get into book 1!! Yet another motivator.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
A Tale of Two Launches
I attended two launch parties during the first week of June, both wonderful and incredibly different.
The first launch party was for Joe Tavano’s children’s book A Dachshund’s Wish. I received an invitation from the publisher, Linda, at Traitor Dachshund. The party was at the loft room of Tribeca Grill. We headed out right after work, took the lower level of the bridge, and cruised down the West Side Highway, crossing our fingers that the forecasted rain would hold off until we got to the restaurant. When we arrived at the Canal Street exit, a cop was handling the turning traffic a few cars at a time, so we sat for a good while, testing each other on 80s song knowledge.
After we finally turned off, we parked across the street from the grill and then took some time to sit on a sidewalk bench and people watch. The bench was near a puppy-sitting place, so owners who came to collect their pets after a hard day’s work were walking around with a long leash at the end of one arm and a cell phone at the end of the other. We agreed that although we are not pug people, a skinny and curious pug pup was certainly the cutest one. I wish I had some interesting observations to report from this exercise, but alas, the 20 minutes were full of people of every race, age, and size who were just your basic city dwellers. Nothing new or inspiring.
At 6:30 we headed into the grill and were directed upstairs to the loft. The room had six or seven small round tables sitting against the walls and two long tables on the right side, one for drinks and one with appetizers. The floors were a warm wood, and the brick pillars glowed from a maroon cloth wrapped around the dim lights. Windows the full height of the tall back wall stretched to reveal a Tribeca scape under sheer curtains. Each table had three clear glass votives holding lit white candles.
We looked around, but never having met anyone before, we weren’t sure who to approach. So we got our cold white wine and plates full of cheeses and asparagus and crisp petite green beans and thick rounds of tomato and balsamic, and we sat at a corner table to relax. Linda quickly introduced herself, and I thanked her for inviting us. Such a nice woman!
We soon were escorted next door to the "screening room"—a small theater with the most comfortable, wide, plushy blue seats—for a welcome from Linda, a wonderful video introducing the book using the animal characters, and a greeting from the author. Linda was so nice to acknowledge my presence and thank me, and I was so glad to have gone and been able to meet her.
We went back to the loft for the rest of the evening, eating pasta and wonderful desserts with tea and coffee (R tells me it was excellent coffee!) and talking about DeNiro and Tribeca and publishing. Around 8 a lightning storm came over us, and bright white flashed constantly through the gossamer drapes. I watched the windows, entranced. The lighting, candles, and lightning came together to bring back something from when I was a girl, a feeling of being protected from the storm by the warm glow of candlelight, a hope that the lights might go out and bring me to a place where all I could do was read or write or just talk with my sister.
We left at 9 with a signed copy of the book and a hope that the driving rain had ended. We managed to get back across the bridge without driving through any highly flooded roadways, but the driving was slow going. Really nice launch party, so well executed and classy. The Tribeca Grill really impressed me, and I hope Traitor Dachshund has a long and successful future.
The next night K and I headed out to Hackettstown for our friend’s launch party as she celebrated publishing her first novel, The Richest Season. K and I met Maryann in grad school and read drafts as she got them together for this book. We followed our directions to Centenary College, winding west across the state, the land becoming more open and green. When we got off the highway, I started taking mental notes about the area. If it weren’t so far away ...
As we drove into Hackettstown, the houses became older and full of personality, with long porches and beautiful bright colors set back on perfect lawns. I missed the turn and drove the length of the town, turning around right after two large statues of Lady Liberty right at the border of Hackettstown and Independence. (Independence?! K and I exclaimed. We didn’t even know there was an Independence, NJ.) I caught the correct turn on the second pass and drove around to the college. The building jumped out at us, a large gold dome shining through the trees. We oggled again at the beautiful houses surrounding the campus, one with a full Victorian treatment, a wide colorful tile stripe around it, each color matching a part of the molding or shutters or roof. We parked by an adorable, tiny, yellow cape with green shutters and a deep green yard, like something out of a children’s book. As we walked to the campus in the falling dark and misty rain, K said "What are those? Birds?" And I turned my ears to the polyphonous music coming from all around us, out of the tree-lined streets and the lush grass, and I said, "No, they’re frogs!" We were quiet, walking slower and listening.
The party was on the first floor of the Seay Building. We walked up the wide, rounded steps and entered; many people were scattered throughout the two, large, front rooms. Mary was seated at a table at the end of a long line of people; she was set back in a round window area, with big white columns running up around her from floor to ceiling. A thin man with brown hair played light pop tunes on a large dark piano at the far end of the room. Two tables of drinks and food were in the adjoining room.
K and I bought our copies of The Richest Season from Maryann’s friends, then got to the back of the long line and waited for our autographs. When we got to the front and saw Maryann, it was like we were back in school! She jumped up and hugged us and introduced us to all as those who were there right at the start, in the classes when the book had just begun. We all smiled and talked, and she signed our books like the star she is! :) Then we stepped aside and let the rest of her adoring fans come forward.
K and I had a drink and sat for a bit, talking about writing and our goals and school memories, and then we said good-bye to Maryann and told her we’d be in touch. We made our way out back into the rain, across the campus, and back to the car, back across the state, back home. Now she’s off on her book tour to SC! Good for her.
Both launches have set my mind back toward the goal of getting my novel completed, and I have Maryann’s book here ready to read. I have been spending lots of time thinking out the plot of my book, scratching notes at 3 in the morning, developing the backgrounds of the characters and the scenes and the POVs whenever I have a moment. I can’t believe that half the year has passed and I have little to show. There’s nothing to do but do it. Priorities, priorities.
I attended two launch parties during the first week of June, both wonderful and incredibly different.
The first launch party was for Joe Tavano’s children’s book A Dachshund’s Wish. I received an invitation from the publisher, Linda, at Traitor Dachshund. The party was at the loft room of Tribeca Grill. We headed out right after work, took the lower level of the bridge, and cruised down the West Side Highway, crossing our fingers that the forecasted rain would hold off until we got to the restaurant. When we arrived at the Canal Street exit, a cop was handling the turning traffic a few cars at a time, so we sat for a good while, testing each other on 80s song knowledge.
After we finally turned off, we parked across the street from the grill and then took some time to sit on a sidewalk bench and people watch. The bench was near a puppy-sitting place, so owners who came to collect their pets after a hard day’s work were walking around with a long leash at the end of one arm and a cell phone at the end of the other. We agreed that although we are not pug people, a skinny and curious pug pup was certainly the cutest one. I wish I had some interesting observations to report from this exercise, but alas, the 20 minutes were full of people of every race, age, and size who were just your basic city dwellers. Nothing new or inspiring.
At 6:30 we headed into the grill and were directed upstairs to the loft. The room had six or seven small round tables sitting against the walls and two long tables on the right side, one for drinks and one with appetizers. The floors were a warm wood, and the brick pillars glowed from a maroon cloth wrapped around the dim lights. Windows the full height of the tall back wall stretched to reveal a Tribeca scape under sheer curtains. Each table had three clear glass votives holding lit white candles.
We looked around, but never having met anyone before, we weren’t sure who to approach. So we got our cold white wine and plates full of cheeses and asparagus and crisp petite green beans and thick rounds of tomato and balsamic, and we sat at a corner table to relax. Linda quickly introduced herself, and I thanked her for inviting us. Such a nice woman!
We soon were escorted next door to the "screening room"—a small theater with the most comfortable, wide, plushy blue seats—for a welcome from Linda, a wonderful video introducing the book using the animal characters, and a greeting from the author. Linda was so nice to acknowledge my presence and thank me, and I was so glad to have gone and been able to meet her.
We went back to the loft for the rest of the evening, eating pasta and wonderful desserts with tea and coffee (R tells me it was excellent coffee!) and talking about DeNiro and Tribeca and publishing. Around 8 a lightning storm came over us, and bright white flashed constantly through the gossamer drapes. I watched the windows, entranced. The lighting, candles, and lightning came together to bring back something from when I was a girl, a feeling of being protected from the storm by the warm glow of candlelight, a hope that the lights might go out and bring me to a place where all I could do was read or write or just talk with my sister.
We left at 9 with a signed copy of the book and a hope that the driving rain had ended. We managed to get back across the bridge without driving through any highly flooded roadways, but the driving was slow going. Really nice launch party, so well executed and classy. The Tribeca Grill really impressed me, and I hope Traitor Dachshund has a long and successful future.
The next night K and I headed out to Hackettstown for our friend’s launch party as she celebrated publishing her first novel, The Richest Season. K and I met Maryann in grad school and read drafts as she got them together for this book. We followed our directions to Centenary College, winding west across the state, the land becoming more open and green. When we got off the highway, I started taking mental notes about the area. If it weren’t so far away ...
As we drove into Hackettstown, the houses became older and full of personality, with long porches and beautiful bright colors set back on perfect lawns. I missed the turn and drove the length of the town, turning around right after two large statues of Lady Liberty right at the border of Hackettstown and Independence. (Independence?! K and I exclaimed. We didn’t even know there was an Independence, NJ.) I caught the correct turn on the second pass and drove around to the college. The building jumped out at us, a large gold dome shining through the trees. We oggled again at the beautiful houses surrounding the campus, one with a full Victorian treatment, a wide colorful tile stripe around it, each color matching a part of the molding or shutters or roof. We parked by an adorable, tiny, yellow cape with green shutters and a deep green yard, like something out of a children’s book. As we walked to the campus in the falling dark and misty rain, K said "What are those? Birds?" And I turned my ears to the polyphonous music coming from all around us, out of the tree-lined streets and the lush grass, and I said, "No, they’re frogs!" We were quiet, walking slower and listening.
The party was on the first floor of the Seay Building. We walked up the wide, rounded steps and entered; many people were scattered throughout the two, large, front rooms. Mary was seated at a table at the end of a long line of people; she was set back in a round window area, with big white columns running up around her from floor to ceiling. A thin man with brown hair played light pop tunes on a large dark piano at the far end of the room. Two tables of drinks and food were in the adjoining room.
K and I bought our copies of The Richest Season from Maryann’s friends, then got to the back of the long line and waited for our autographs. When we got to the front and saw Maryann, it was like we were back in school! She jumped up and hugged us and introduced us to all as those who were there right at the start, in the classes when the book had just begun. We all smiled and talked, and she signed our books like the star she is! :) Then we stepped aside and let the rest of her adoring fans come forward.
K and I had a drink and sat for a bit, talking about writing and our goals and school memories, and then we said good-bye to Maryann and told her we’d be in touch. We made our way out back into the rain, across the campus, and back to the car, back across the state, back home. Now she’s off on her book tour to SC! Good for her.
Both launches have set my mind back toward the goal of getting my novel completed, and I have Maryann’s book here ready to read. I have been spending lots of time thinking out the plot of my book, scratching notes at 3 in the morning, developing the backgrounds of the characters and the scenes and the POVs whenever I have a moment. I can’t believe that half the year has passed and I have little to show. There’s nothing to do but do it. Priorities, priorities.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Okay, so I know I said I would not buy concert tickets, blah, blah, but my friend "talked" me into picking some up. The show is at a smaller venue, and it is Asia, so of course a geeky prog girl like me must go see them. The cost was not too bad, as concerts go. I am excited to see all these guys together, even though I have seen most of them apart. I stand by my rant about concerts, but I need a fix once in a while!
Monday, June 05, 2006
A quick post to say that I just had two poems accepted for a 2007 issue of the publication Wavelengths out of Kentucky. I am happy to be back in print again after a hiatus. One of the poems is a recent creation, and one is rather old, so it is a nice pairing for me.
When one of my newer poems is accepted for print, I feel that things have gone as they should. I write a poem, revise it until I feel satisfied, send it out to a few places, and put it to the test. If it is accepted in about 6 to 9 months, (a) I feel happy that I accurately pinpointed the best publications for its success and (b) I feel the boost of self-confidence that I knew when the poem was good enough to go out. When an older poem is accepted for print, I feel much more emotional about it, as Rudolph may have felt when maturing and finally proving his special red-nosed "worthiness." I am very happy (with a little swell of the heart) that the older poem found a place to stretch out and live on the printed page, that it will reach readers of poetry. I'm never sure why one poem is harder to place than another, but I find that if I keep trying the right kinds of publications, each poem finds a home, and that is one of the best feelings I have as a writer.
When one of my newer poems is accepted for print, I feel that things have gone as they should. I write a poem, revise it until I feel satisfied, send it out to a few places, and put it to the test. If it is accepted in about 6 to 9 months, (a) I feel happy that I accurately pinpointed the best publications for its success and (b) I feel the boost of self-confidence that I knew when the poem was good enough to go out. When an older poem is accepted for print, I feel much more emotional about it, as Rudolph may have felt when maturing and finally proving his special red-nosed "worthiness." I am very happy (with a little swell of the heart) that the older poem found a place to stretch out and live on the printed page, that it will reach readers of poetry. I'm never sure why one poem is harder to place than another, but I find that if I keep trying the right kinds of publications, each poem finds a home, and that is one of the best feelings I have as a writer.
