heart with joy

For the past week I've been trying to compose a post that encompasses the depth of awesome that is my life right now. I'm using that word in its true meaning. As I said the other night during a Q&A, "I'm having a fantastic year." Just in the last week, I've met three people who have inspired me throughout my life: Patrick McDonnell (creator of the award-winning comic strip Mutts), David Newall (aka "Speedy Delivery" Mr. McFeely, from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood), and, perhaps most notably, Aaron Sorkin.

I could've blogged about every single one. And I wanted to, but the words didn't seem to come.

Instead, I wanted to blog about what was behind the manifestation of these fortunes: the intention. The things that have come to me this year have all been the result of an intention I set. I visualized (not fantasized--that's a completely different action) my book on bookshelves, being read and enjoyed by people not related to or friendly with me. I visualized shaking hands with Aaron Sorkin, exchanging pleasantries, seeing him not as a star or a hero, but as a writer who is every bit as terrified of the blank page as I am. And meeting Mr. McFeely was the closest I could ever come to meeting Fred Rogers--he was definitely present--and there wasn't an adult there who wasn't as giddy as I was (especially when he brought out the puppets!). Our inner children had been tapped, and we were reminded of how special we are because we are each unique.

This past Saturday, I filled in for Stacey Cochran as MC for the latest Write2Publish event at Quail Ridge Books & Music. I intereviewed award-winning author Steve Cushman, whose latest novel, Heart With Joy, is an endearing tale about connecting to our authentic selves through the things (and people) we love. I ended the event on a cheesy but seemingly appropriate question: "What fills your heart with joy?"

If someone had asked me that question, I would've told them about my friend Larry, who'd called me an hour before the event to tell me about a woman he'd met who lost her spouse, that he told her all about my novel Ordinary World. And he thanked me again for creating Andi.

I would've told them about sitting in It's a Grind or Crema Coffee, breaking off pieces of a chocolate chip muffin or sipping vanilla chai, sometimes hanging out with my friend Susan, working on my latest manuscript.

I would've told them about the 2-hr phone conversation with my sister that passed like 10 minutes. Or the texts from my twin brother that had me in stitches.

I would've told them about driving in my Volkswagon Beetle with the windows down, on a great hair day, Duran Duran blasting away.

I would've told them about seeing Daniel Striped Tiger up close, and waving to him.

I would've told them stories about my grandmother, about my siblings, about their music.

I would've told them about walking on the beach off season on the east end of Long Island, or down Main Street in Sag Harbor.

I would've told them to get The West Wing from Netflix. Or The Big Bang Theory. Or the old Marx Bros. movies.

I would've told them about my writing partner and our discussions about our novel.

I would've told them about the "friends I've never met" (you know who you are!).

I would've told them two words: pop tarts.

I would've told them, quite simply, writing. Even on the days when it's sucking.

I have my bad days, my struggles and insecurities, my wasted time and procrastination, my fears and lost opportunities like everyone else. But I also have gratitude for the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's a blessed life.

What intentions will you set for yourself today? I'm not talking word or calorie counts, to-do lists or goal-setting. I'm talking intention -- the vision of your life in its highest form. And what fills your heart with joy? How can or do you fill it on a daily basis?

good intention, poor execution

Here's an example of good intention, poor execution.

Of course, like most people, I always intend to eat better once the holidays are over. I also wanted to get back into cooking, since I seemed to have fallen back into my grad school habits since last summer (aka a lot of cheap food, little chopping or use of pans, and lots of carbs). I blame this loss of interest on cancelling my cable and missing the Food Network.

Anyhoo, one of my intentions was to not only get back into cooking, but take out my cookbooks and try some new recipes. Aside from a shrimp and broccoli stir-fry from Cooking Light magazine, I also wanted to try a raspberry pie recipe in Dr. Andrew Weil's book Eating Well for Optimum Health. It also includes an "Easy Bake Pie Crust" recipe.

When making my shopping list, I remembered that a couple of recipes called for sesame oil, so I jotted it down.

You can already see where this is going, can't you.

I decided to make pork chops with a maple-soy glaze instead of the stir-fry, and the raspberry pie for dessert since the easy-bake pie crust also called for maple syrup.

Turns out it also called for sesame tahini.

Further turns out that I never put sesame tahini on my list, either forgetting to or confusing it with sesame oil.

I'm not exactly a bad cook, just an amateur one. Maybe one rung under "amateur" and one over "underpracticed". I've never used sesame oil nor tahini in anything. So the first thing to do was text my wombmate, who is a fabulous cook. When he didn't respond, I went to Google. This answer was the most helpful: "The difference between sesame tahini and sesame oil is like the difference between peanut butter and peanut oil."

Aw, crap.

My wombmate is a whiz at substitutions. Mine don't always go so well. In fact, my substitution blunders have become legendary, complete w/ my wombmate's parody: "I didn't have any ketchup, so I used battery acid instead."

This was supposed to be a healthy alternative pie crust and pie, so what would make a good substitution? Apparently sesame oil was out once I learned the difference between the two. I considered peanut butter, but I had no idea what that would do to texture (especially since I only eat crunchy peanut butter), and I couldn't afford to screw this up 'cause I was down to my last package of graham crackers.

I used butter. Good ol' artery-clogging butter.

Poor Dr. Weil was shaking his head, I just know it. Not to mention my wombmate, who finally got back to me and laughed, as usual. Turns out he had his own blunder after attempting to make caramel ice cream. "It didn't come out," was his only admission.

In my own defense, the pork chops came out marvelous. The pie wasn't so bad either, but I admit that the crust left something to be desired.

There's a reason why so many people use cooking as a metaphor for the writing process. There's a lot of trial and error, playing w/ combinations and substitutions and improvisations along the way, and there are also times when sticking to the recipe is crucial. It's also crucial to laugh at yourself along the way, to have good tools, good support, and to keep trying.

Thank goodness books don't require massive cleanup.

Got any cooking (or other) blunders you'd like to share? Post a comment!

it starts today

Most people can't stand the idea of making new year's resolutions. The problem is that most set goals so lofty a pole vaulter couldn't clear them. They wanna erase their 15,000-dollar debt, they wanna lose 40 pounds (when they only need to lose 10), they wanna quit smoking, red meat, and video games, all at the same time. They wanna find the man or woman of their dreams. They wanna write a hit play and direct it. And they wanna do it all before the end of January, June at the very latest.

I've always liked the idea, however. It's a bit of a ritual for me to make a list at the beginning of the year and then re-visit that list at the end of the year -- how did it go? Did I accomplish what I wanted to? Did I fall short? Did the failure of one thing make way for something even better or happily unexpected?

I call these things intentions rather than resolutions. "Intent" gets everyone in the universe in on the game, and why not make it a game? Why take yourself so seriously? Most of all, forget the damn deadline. Every day is another today, and every moment is another now. Begin when you're ready to begin.

There are some intentions that I refuse to share with anyone. These are very private, special intentions for the betterment of my life on every level. Others are more superficial, but no less important. These I don't mind letting you in on. So here are a few:

Post here at least once a day during the work week. This gets so hairy from mid-term on, so I should modify the intention to find the time to post at least once a day. More specific still, find the right time to post. I somehow had it in my head that I should post first thing in the morning, and tried to write the post the night before. Didn't work.

It's possible that my lack of routine also has to do with my still-questionable rhetorical purpose for the blog, despite the description underneath the blog's name. It has evolved quite a bit since conception, from face lifts to name changes to content, but I still wonder if anything I say here is worth a grain of salt, or whatever the metaphor is. I still wonder about my audience. Am I writing for my Faking It Fans? Am I writing for writers? For readers? For my buddies? For me? All of the above? If it's all of the above, can I accommodate all of the above? Hmmmm...


Finish *Why I Love Singlehood*. I promised you tales from my writing partner's and my cram session a couple of weeks ago, and I shall deliver. We still have a lot to do, but we're still excited about it. This will be my writing partner's first published book (I keep telling her that makes her an author, but it hasn't sunk in yet), and I think I'm more excited about watching her go through the experience of holding it in her hands, seeing her name on the cover, opening it up and smelling the pages (yes, we do that in my family), and saying out loud, "Holy crap, I wrote a novel!" than my own accomplishment. Besides, I have two more novel ideas waiting to be born. At least two. I need a time machine. I need a gazillion sales so I can quit my day job. Or I need to have a robot made in my image and send her into the classroom in my place. (The robot idea is way cooler.)


Pick up my guitar again. And play it, too. I don't know what got into my head or what triggered it, but I haven't played since the summer. I'm hearing the same voices that I heard when I was ten, how it doesn't come as easily to me as it does my sibs, how I have to work twice as hard at it, how I need lessons and want to spend the money on other things (like shoes, or a Volkswagon Beetle), and so on.

And yet, I know that I have musical ability, if not talent. I have the aptitude to play for fun if I just practiced and committed myself and told the damn voices to go to hell. I mean geez, I at least know enough chords to play in a punk rock band.

But this is what connects me to my students when they tell me how much they struggle with writing, when it doesn't come easily to them, when they can't quash their own voices. I understand.


Have fun, and be awake. This intention applies to every aspect of my life. It frightens me how quickly these last ten years flew by. I don't want to be unconscious for the next ten. Obviously I don't mean consuming large quantities of Red Bull just so I can catch another three hours of Law&Order CI re-runs. I mean being mindful of the things I do in my life, appreciating the little things, and following my bliss, which is not just an expression used for commencement speeches, but something that requires consciousness. I always too Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield's slogan "If it's not fun, why do it?" to heart, but it seems that lately I've been making too many excuses. No mas.


What are your intentions for 2010? Where in your life can you be more mindful? What projects await your completion (or your beginning)? Are there voices in your head stopping you from greatness? Are you having fun?

Happy New Year, friends.
Namaste.

walk the talk

I noticed that I've not exactly been walking the talk. So many times I've said, "You've got to treat your writing as if you're getting paid for it." "You've got to put on a business hat when you either query agents or self-publish." "You've got to be a marketer, a promoter, a salesperson, etc."

Those things can all get overwhelming for the writer. After all, the reason why we're writers is because we suck at left-brained activities! And some of the things I'm describing above are left-brained.

Most creative writers don't like to think of writing as a business, and they sure as hell don't like to think of their novels as "product". (They'll call them "children" before they call them "product"!) We make art. We tell stories. We tell a truth. And yet, the moment we put our books into the marketplace, the market takes over. If our intention is to sell books, then we've got to think like a salesperson. When we query an agent, we're trying to sell our book and ourselves. Why treat the marketplace any different?

The single greatest mistake I've made so far as a published author is being disorganized. I'm embarrassed to say that I've not kept adequate records, not kept track of money, not treated this like a business. I've playfully blamed my frazzled state of affairs on my Italian heritage, but really, that little cutism can only go so far. There's no good excuse. But there is hope. I'm well-intentioned, of course. It's my passion that's taken me this far, my drive to follow my desire, and to stand up to those who say "you can't do that". I've just got to stop being so impulsive about it.

There's nothing wrong with an author whose intent is to make money from the sale of his/her books. I grow increasingly dismayed at those who say "if you're in it to make money, then you're in it for the wrong reason," or "you're never going to get rich from it." Why not? Don't get me wrong -- I'm not talking about making product here. I think we've all seen in the music business, for example, those performers with a formula and an image and a record that they had nothing to do with except come in and sing the lead vocal track (to which the savvy engineer modified with auto-tune to make her sound good). And then there are artists, composers, and musicians like John Mayer, for instance. They make music, not product. But John Mayer sells a helluva lot of records. Why? 'Cause he's freakin' good. And I'm willing to bet that even if he never caught the break, he would've found a way to make a living making music. Why? 'Cause he's a musician.

My point is, if writing is what you love, if books are what you love, and you want people to buy your books, then why not put in the same hours of study that you would any other career to make it happen? Learn craft. First and foremost, you've got to learn craft. And you've got to tell a good story. But learn the business as well. Learn selling. Learn finance. Learn the market.

I hear it already: I'm an artist! So am I. If you think some of this doesn't frighten me a little, think again. But I'm also "a closet capitalist," as my brother calls me. Remember the post in which I asked what you would do if you had a million dollars, and what's stopping you? Well, here's mine: Be a full-time, published author. Why wait for the million bucks to do it? Why not make a living at it now? And the only thing that's really stopping me from this greatness is that aforementioned fear.

So, first step: get organized. And keep working on the story.