the pieces of my life

While it wouldn’t be quite accurate to say summer has arrived to New England, we do finally have a day decent enough to sit outside. I’d be happy if it were a tad warmer–lower 70s would be perfect–but it’s not raining at the moment and I’m happy to simply accept that. Our yard is finally in, and while the backyard is not-yet-suitable for walking upon, well, we’re walking upon it anyway. We put down grass seed in the back and all this rain has washed a third of it away and the birds have gotten the another third. So our backyard currently looks like a failed Chia Pet. Lovely. I do appreciate the fact that the wireless connects in the backyard so I can play on the computer while Pie plays with her friend. The front we used sod on, which kind of depresses me, because it is the ultimate in suburban lawns. However we’ve got a lovely planting plan that will transform it into something romantic and inviting–we just need to wait till the coffers are refilled enough to afford all those romantic and inviting plants.

But summer it apparently is, and we had a lovely 4th of July and now both kids are at camp. I had a hard time sending Doodles to camp, putting him on a bus to be carted off with all these children who were about twice his size to go off to swimming and boating and ropes and T-ball on his own. Pie is at her preschool camp and she, in her spunky way, “LOVES IT!” while Doodles in his typical more subdued way “kinda likes” camp, but definitely enjoys it more than he would staying home. And me? Me, I’ve got a three and a half hour stretch in front of me every day. And while I am doing a bit of puttering and cleaning–finally getting the clothes Pie has grown out of out of the house, doing the grocery shopping and baking cookies for friends with a new baby–I am also working on the novel. I’m getting in a good hour a day of decent writing time. It’s one of those things that I have a hard time starting, but once I get started, I have a hard time stopping. I find my thoughts frequently drift back to my characters and I’m trying to take notes at odd times so I don’t forget ideas. It feels good to get back into a writing routine again. I’ve got three more weeks of kids’ camp (maybe more!) so I hope to really get a solid portion under my belt. (I’d like to write “under my typewriter ribbon” but it’s been too long since I’ve used one of those… Maybe “under my web camera”? as that’s what’s atop my computer.) I make myself a pot of tea (because, yes, it’s been that chilly), sit at my computer, attempt to ignore Facebook and Twitter, and plug away. My novel readers are awesome and have been giving me great feedback, which I’m working hard to incorporate. Writing is a lot like exercise–when you’re not doing it, you can’t imagine doing so. But once you start, you simply can’t stop.

So yes, the blog posts may be a bit more infrequent. But that’s only because there’s other writing to be done. Because it’s summer time. And the writing is easy.

For the past few weeks, my life has been all about unpacking and preparing for Passover. Well, the seders have passed. The house is 97% unpacked. And I was looking forward to finally getting my office all in place and getting back to my writing! I’m jonesing for my computer. Eager to get back to my writing. Last week, Pie didn’t have school on both Wednesday and Friday for Passover. Doodles was out of school on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday because he was sick. Friday no school for him because it was Good Friday.

So this is my week! Except… Adam just reminded me that tomorrow we have to go to close the loan on our house refinance. So I won’t work tomorrow. And he’s leaving town tomorrow night for a couple of nights in NYC for work, so there’s no back up at night. And normally that’s rather fun for me because I can put together a girls’ night in, but with the kids being sick, I can’t count on them to reliably sleep through the night and I don’t want to leave guests for two hours while Pie has night terrors/trouble sleeping. And of course there’s no extra night of sushi ordering, because of Passover. Oh, and Wednesday Pie has no school for the last days of Passover. And Friday is a short day–Pie is only in school from 9 till noon, which means I can either get my office going or I can get a smidgen of writing done.

But the week after… Oh, wait. The week after is spring break. Right. Both kids have the entire week off. And Adam’s company, for all the things they do right, don’t see Patriot’s Day as a holiday.

My to-do list is growing: I have birthday gifts that are well over a month old waiting to be mailed. My office supplies are rustling loosely in a box, waiting for a home. I still don’t have a desk. I have a Torah portion to read at my bat mitzvah in, oh, about a month, and I haven’t even begun to try to decipher the Hebrew never mind the Torah trope. Nothing major, but as a Type-A label-making, superorganized person, the little things not being in their place make me crazy.

Enough whining. Time to go to bed. I’m got a closing to go to tomorrow. At least it’s close to a Container Store. Organized drawers, at the very least, here I come!

I feel so dirty. I mean downright nasty. My mom had all these extra Delta miles that were about to expire. So she called us up an offered us magazine subscriptions. Adam took one to Barron’s. I immediately claimed one to Martha. But then she tried to push more subscriptions on us. “I have to get rid of these!” she said. And that’s when I did it. My nasty deed. I told her to get me People.

My first issue just arrived. And, oh, it was good. So very, very good. Just don’t tell anyone…

As I hear more and more about the decline of the Boston Globe and it’s possible demise, I become increasingly nostalgic for a time I never lived in. How can newspapers be disappearing? How is it the publishing world is in a state of decline?

On one hand, yes, I contribute by reading People magazine, getting my headlines off the NYT app on my iPhone, and watching Real Housewives of New York City. But on the other hand, I still subscribe to the Sunday papers (the Globe and NYT), even if I never get much farther than the Style section and Week in Review (okay, the Style section). And while, yes, I do subscribe to the aforementioned magazine and Real Simple and Running World, I also subscribe to The Sun, Creative Nonfiction, Brain, Child, and One Story. While I do make ample use of my library, I also try to buy books on a semi-regular basis, because I think it’s important to support authors you like.

I always wanted to be Dorothy Parker, but without the suicidal tendencies. To have lived in that era, when writers were glorified and the written word meant something. To be a glamorous, witty writer and sit around drinking martinis with other glamorous witty writers, turning out brilliant News About Town pieces or scathingly funny reviews (“She ran the gamut of emotions from A to B”).

I use my toys more than most–I update Facebook, I tweet, I’m a compulsive e-mail checker, my iPhone entertains me when I’m waiting for my kids, and while I’ve slacked on it lately, I’ve been a blogger since the wee days of blogging–but I really think that the Internet and computers has detracted from the quality of my life. I miss the days of being unconnected. I miss picking up a book because there was nothing on one of the four channels. I miss the feeling of having to hurry to get to a movie because soon it would be gone and that would be it, I’d never get to see it. Once upon a time, I read The New Yorker from front to back. Every week. I’m sad that I don’t even subscribe anymore.

But then things change. Things evolve. Newspapers died even then. Remember “Remember me to Herald Square”? The Herald was sucked up by the Times before I was even born. It’s not always for the worst. I know I’m not alone in nostalgically longing for a simpler time (and even as my life grows bigger, I become more obsessed with those go the voluntary simplicity route). But things change and it’s really not a bad thing.

I think it’s time to restart my subscription to The New Yorker. Right after I finish this week’s People….

Three readers in fewer than 24 hours! You guys rock. I think three readers is a great place to be and if anyone else wants to read, let me know and I’ll come begging to you when this first draft is complete and my current readers are so sick of my novel they hide when they see me coming.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, known as 2008, I said I’d have a completed draft of my novel done by January 31. Well, it here it is, February 4, and you haven’t heard anything about that completed novel, have you?

No, you haven’t. And there’s a reason for it.

It’s not done.

Are you shocked? I bet you are. But I will say that I’m plugging away at it steadily.

Last time I tried writing something, I plopped down the whole thing and then tried to have some friends read it. It was too overwhelming. For them. For me. Couldn’t go back and revise as it was this massive task that I didn’t know how to begin. So this time around, I’d like to do it as I go along. Have people read a few chapters at time. See if their interest is piqued. See if there are things they don’t like. Plot lines that should be halted in their tracks. Characters who are flat. Scenes that simply don’t add anything.

Which brings me to you. Yes, you. Oh, put down that coffee and hear me out. Would you care to be my critiquer? You must be brutally honest with me. You must wield a red pen (or red tracking marks) without remorse. You must have the time and inclination to get through a chapter or two each month until the bitter end. You should probably like fiction. Not chick lit, but women’s fiction (I mean, you can like chick lit, but this is not it). The book has strong Jewish themes so an interest there would be good.

Are you still with me? If you’re game, drop me an e-mail at jenny at jennyandadam[dot]com. And I’ll get you some chapters tout de suite.

My latest piece, a creative nonfiction essay entitled “In Bulgaria,” just came out in Sojourn, the literary journal of the University of Texas, Dallas.

See. You may not see me writing. But I’m still doing it. And yes, I did not complete Nanowrimo. But I’ll have a finished first draft of my novel in, I think, two months. Actually, if I commit to you guys, then I pretty much have to have it done, don’t I? So let’s say by January 31. You can call me on it.

Day 12 of Nanowrimo (and yes, I’m totally behind) (the challenge [modified] “And then she said to me, ‘I know Barack Obama is really talented. But don’t you think your expectations are a bit too high? Don’t you think it’s dangerous to put him on a pedestal?’):

Chaim jumped to my defense. “If she doesn’t like the word, don’t use the word! She’s a guest in our community. She doesn’t know our ways”

Lilach quickly agreed. “Yankel, use another word.”

“Fine, fine. But can you imagine…”

I jumped in. “And can you imagine the alternative? That hotheaded, arrogant, socially repressive McCain?” I sawed into the brisket until I realized that there was absolute silence.

“Perhaps we change the subject,” Tzippi said quickly.

“No, no. I’d like to hear this,” Yankel said, a little snidely. “I’d like to understand how this little one could think that a man with Muslim roots, a man who has publicly sided with the Palestinians, could possibly be a better choice than one who has fought America’s wars, who has come out on the side of Israel, who wants to return real values to our country.”

“Bush has done a truly—” I stopped myself quickly, censoring the “fucked up” out my speech as I saw the flash of fear cross Tzippi’s face—“messed up job with this country and this old man is going to change things? If there’s any hope of ending the war, if there’s any hope of getting health care back on track, if there’s any hope at all of the United States being able to hold our head up when we face other nations, then we’ve got to go with Obama.”

“I really don’t see how the Obama devotees can ever in future mock the Moonies, the Scientologists or people who claim to have been abducted in flying saucers. This is a cult like the one which grew up around Princess Diana, bereft of reason and hostile to facts. The man has no experience.”

Tzippi entered in the fray, clearly seeing that things had the potential of spinning out of control. “Don’t you think that, just possibly, your expectations are a bit too high? Don’t you think it’s dangerous to put him on a pedestal?”

“I don’t think I’m putting him on a pedestal. I’m just not pulling McCain out of the gutter.”

“Listen—” Yankel started, clearly getting hotter by the moment, but Lilach jumped up right then.

So, I am to some degree doing Nanowrimo this year. But let me come right out and admit this: I’m cheating. Yep, cheating. I’m a cheater, cheater, cheater. The FAQ clearly states, with no ambiguity:

Do I have to start my novel from scratch on November 1?

Yes.

This sounds like a dumb, arbitrary rule, we know. But bringing a half-finished manuscript into NaNoWriMo all but guarantees a miserable month. You’ll care about the characters and story too much to write with the gleeful, anything-goes approach that makes NaNoWriMo such a creative rush. Give yourself the gift of a clean slate, and you’ll tap into realms of imagination and intuition that are out-of-reach when working on pre-existing manuscripts.

I’m not starting from scratch. Not even close to scratch. The plain truth is I actually liked the novel I started last year, and I’m determined to finish it. I plan on writing 50,000 words–or really the completion–of this novel, however many words that takes. It goes against the rules. They’ll kick me out! They’ll publicly chastise me! They’ll, they’ll, they’ll… Okay, they won’t do a damn thing because it’s all on the honor system and there are no real prizes other than the satisfaction of writing. They don’t give a hoot what I do.

Just wanted to come clean with you guys. But I still need your help. I’ve got one line to work in tomorrow (and, Emily, I will be taking liberties with it, just because the action takes place pre-election), but I still need more props, lines, tidbits, etcetera to work in.

I’m a little behind. But I’ll catch up. That’s just the kind of slapdash, half-assed, writing-without-editing kind of person I am.

Day 9 of Nanowrimo (the challenge: “a french baguette”):

I hid my iPhone under the table, so I could surreptitiously text Gary what was going on. It was rude, I know, but it wasn’t breaking any rules. Luckily, I was very good at the one-handed text. He was having an early breakfast in Paris before his shoot began as I was having a dinner that wouldn’t rate many Michelin stars.
Just served something brown. Could be meat. Might be a basketball. Can’t tell. I texted while smiling across the table.

Gary texted me back immediately. Just served an absolutely delectable French baguette—crispy outside, buttery inside. Spreading on Nutella as I drink the most perfect café au lait I’ve ever experienced. I could practically see the taunting smirk on his face. A moment later he wrote, I’d share it with you if you were here.

I smiled as a blob of what looked like carrot slaw filled with dried out looking raisins was slapped onto my plate. “Can you have slaw with meat?” I whispered to Tzippi. “Isn’t the sauce dairy?”

She shook her head. “Mayonnaise is parve. No dairy in it.”

I texted back, I’d give you all my carrot slaw if you were here.
Tzippi saw me peering under the table cloth. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head ever so slightly.

Whoops, caught. I’ll text later. xxxooo

A bientot, he wrote back.

“Try this,” Tzippi said, watching to make sure I put my phone away. “You’ll love it.” I looked at the blackened noodles of a kugel on my plate and forced a smile. A bacon cheeseburger, I love, I thought, as I smiled widely at Lilach at the end of the table and forced a large bite down my throat.

“Delicious,” I choked out. I didn’t even have any excuses not to eat. One can’t plead lactose intolerance at a meat dinner.

I’m back to Nanowrimo, but, as usual, I’m stuck. Anyone got anything for me? A line, an object, an anything I can work into this thing? Look at that poor word counter in the right hand column. It’s hungry for more words! Feed it!