Coulda, shoulda, woulda…
Writing about my life got me through Covid; kept me from going stir-crazy. Why isn’t that enough? Now my ambition has swelled like a tick, I want lots of people to actually read the book.
Sheer chutzpah! (Gall, or nerve, for non-members of the Tribe.)
Get a grip…
So, This book on Amazon has 5 stars from 17 readers. To put that in perspective, Liz Cheney’s memoir has 5 stars from 11,040 readers. Don’t be getting a big head over this, Judy.
I’m no Buddha…
When I was a young woman, I was told by a friend that I should learn to “just be…” not to be always doing something. I needed to learn to contemplate (nature, my navel, the meaning of life…it was never clear). What was obvious to that friend: I was doing my life all wrong.
The advice didn’t stick, except to make me feel bad about myself. Some friend.
What’s with Beige?
It seems like many Millennials I know live in homes of Beige. The rooms have walls, furniture, and carpeting, all subdued, bland; if not beige, it’s taupe or pale grey. That’s even the color of their bedroom. They seem to subscribe to the notion that the master bedroom should be “restful.” I think it should be a place for hot sex. If I say, “Paint Red!” they look at me mouths agape and shudder.
Did I really do that?
An old friend reminded me of something I said in my 20’s. I showed up at a neighborhood ladies tea, and announced I was pregnant. The women all clapped excitedly and asked, “How far along are you?” I looked at my watch and said, “About an hour.”
I have no memory of this episode, but it sounds plausible.
Insult or gift?
When my bi-monthly card group gets together, the hostess provides snacks—ranging from simple popcorn and peach tea to elaborate spreads featuring small sandwiches, home baked cookies and more. When I am the host, others offer to make food. Is it because they think I’m a lousy cook, or is it a kindness because of my age? Is it an insult or a gift?
My Maiden Voyage.
Last night was my first ride without training wheels.
In front of a hometown audience at Hebron’s Douglas Library, I read excerpts for 90 minutes from “Monkeyface: A Memoir.” To say that it was well-received, is to understate the affection and support I felt.
Buoyed by the reception, I relaxed and felt confident enough to pause, expand on some parts, tell jokes. People laughed, they clapped (!) and they lined up for autographs in their copies and bought more books. Imagine!
I had sketched out a tentative outline of what I thought to read, and decided that I should read at least one essay from each section of the book. That happened, but not as planned, as readers’ requested certain essays.
I don’t expect any other readings I do can eclipse that first experience.
That feeling will sustain me, and carry me forward as I address strangers, in other towns, other venues. Thank you, Hebron! You had my back yesterday—and it means the world to me.
Thank you, Douglas Library! Drusilla Carter, for welcoming me with open arms, and a great poster, and to Clare Betz, who choreographed the evening. I feel more confident, more ready to take on the next reading with a new audience, and hopefully, new fans.