I never met a book by Ruth Reichl I haven’t loved, and my adoration continued with this book.
Where others were hearty meals, Not Becoming My Mother was a deceptively simple snack. (I’m certain that Ms. Reichl, former editor of Gourmet Magazine, would find a more elegant food analogy, but I, alas, am but a quick and dirty cook, though one who loves reading the work of educated ones—like Ruth Reichl)
A few days ago, at an event at the incredibly wonderful Reading Public Library (in Reading Massachusetts) one of the librarians bought my book for her mother. For Mother’s Day. Using a large amount of not-usually-available-to-me control, I didn’t say any of the following:
“Nothing says Mother’s Day like cheating, anger, and hating-being–a-mother for Mother’s Day!”
In fact, that’s true. Who the heck wants to get Little Women on Mother’s Day? Not me. Does anyone want to psychically compete with Marmee?
No. I. Don’t.
I want to be feted with a pile of books that say:
I tried to think of a, um, sexier title for this post, but they all sounded, um, icky, and the last thing I want when I’m writing about sex is an ick factor. Writing about icky sex: terrific. Writing icky about sex: terrible.
When my first novel released, Pia Lindstrom, an interviewer from Sirius Radio, shocked me out of my I-can-handle-any-question mood when she asked something to the effect of:
So, I was surprised by how much sex is in your book. You did it so well. People say it’s hard to write about sex. How did you do it?
When I was a reader, I spoke as a reader, I understood as a reader.
When I became a writer, I read as a writer, I understood as a writer.
I just finished “Readers Don’t Owe Authors S**t” on the online site Book Riot. The credo of the post is basically this: writers and independent bookstores shouldn’t nag readers (into shopping Indie, posting reviews, asking for shout-outs, etc.). Much of it resonated in me. I’ve been asked to spread the word many times—and though most of the time I’m happy to help, I don’t like to feel I’ll be ostracized for non-compliance.
Time for a 2013 update!
Originally, I tried to resist writing this—especially after my plea against categorizing authors. Plus, so many of us hide our age in this world of never-get-old, unearthing this information, even in our Googlized world, was difficult.
But when , along with the plethora of lists of writers under 40, I was faced with the declaration that, as headlined in a Guardian UK article about writers, ‘Let’s Face It, After 40 You’re Past It.”
“The perfect book to curl up with on a rainy day.” Marie Claire Magazine
“Fans of Jennifer Weiner and Emily Giffin will strongly appreciate this rising star in women’s fiction.” Library Journal
“A deeply enjoyable page-turner.” Publishers Weekly STARRED review.
Q: Do you have a writing process?
Who remembers shaking in bed while Mom and Dad fought?
“Damn it, Harriet, we can’t go on like this! You’re spending money like a drunken sailor, but I’m not seeing a dime!”
“For goodness sake, Ozzie. Spending money where? Tell me! Where?”
“Fine! How about those fancy dresses you wear to work? How much do you pay those designers, huh? Everyone but me seems to get the benefit.”
“Don’t you want me to look good?”
March is my birthday month. April is the cruelest month. What better time to offer The Comfort of Food?
Any book club choosing The Comfort of Lies as book club choice, (to be read anytime during 2013) will receive one copy of my limited edition cookbook, featuring recipes such as the French Lace Cookies below (complete with the story behind each dish and family pictures.)
Easy as pie to enter:
1. Choose The Comfort of Lies as your book club choice
2. Go to the book club page on my website, randysusanmeyers.com and fill out the form
Collective Guilt vs Collective Fear
The Internet is a tricky beast. Sitting alone, cozy in ragged sweatpants, writing while curled on the couch, it’s easy to believe that you’re cloaked in isolation, even as you spill on that most public of forums. Thus, I hesitate before committing words online. After reading a recent well-intentioned post—about an SS officer—a piece written by a friend of a dear friend, an article meant in good will, I wrestled more than usual.
Read full post »