In celebration of National Romance Day, I signed books with other members of the San Francisco Chapter of Romance Writers of America at Books on B in Hayward, California.
Thanks to Renee for hosting the event and all the readers who stopped by to shop, sip fake peach martinis, and discuss love!
At the end of this month, I leave for a week long retreat to study with the author Natalie Goldberg.
I met Natalie when I was a creative writing student at Sonoma State University in the early 1990’s. She appeared at Copperfield’s Bookstore in Sebastopol, California, to discuss her latest book, Long Quiet Highway: Waking up in America. Sitting with Ed, who always attended every poetry reading, lecture, book signing, and festival with me, I listened to Natalie speak from the heart about her life, her book, and her writing practice.
Years later, while completing my five mile morning run, I received a call from the Santa Fe Writer’s Lab. I had been invited to attend Natalie’s last 2018 retreat. I had read Natalie’s latest memoir, Let the Whole Thundering World Come Home, about her surviving cancer and knew her time teaching was limited. The invitation arrived after several misadventures left me questioning my decision to pursue writing full-time as a career. To be invited to practice beginner’s mind and explore the world through writing practice infused me with hope.
As soon as I arrived home, I told my husband, Kevin. “Sounds like an opportunity.” He quickly checked the calendar. “We have no plans. You should go.”
Next, I called my ex-husband, Ed. I would need to rearrange our childcare schedule in order to attend the retreat.
“Of course,” he said.
An hour later, after speaking with the retreat coordinator, I called Ed again. “I don’t think I’m going to attend. Everything is more complicated than I first envisioned.”
“When are you going to go?” Ed asked.
“I’m not going,” I said.
“When are you going to go?” he patiently repeated.
When would I go? Tears stung my eyes. The invitation was not for next year. Who even knew if Natalie would be alive and teaching? I had watched my father pass quickly after his lymphoma diagnosis. Within less than two weeks, he was gone.
“You may never get this opportunity again,” Ed said. He had rescued my first novel from a broken hard drive when I was seventeen. He had met Natalie when I was a college student. For thirty years, he witnessed my writing practice. “You need to go.”
Strengthened with resolve, I straightened my spine. “Okay, I’ll go.”
Within the next two hours, I found a flight, booked a room, and confirmed my schedule with the retreat coordinator.
Remember to listen when the Universe calls—not only to the opportunity being presented but to those who believe in you.
I’m in the middle of the first draft of my anti-romance novel and have hit the wall. I know how the story begins and how the story ends, but the middle is where I am fumbling.
Much like life imitating art, I often know what I want but do not know how to go about getting it.
And I know from experience the only thing I have going for me is the combination of patience and time and writing my way through it.
Many authors feel the same way about the muddling middle. Forty-thousand words into the story and the complications get so intense and the stakes get so high no one in their right mind would ever want to live through it if it was real life. So why do I willing sit and stare through tears at the screen as each painful letter is pounded out?
Because I want to get to the end where the conflict is resolved and everyone lives somewhat better even if it is an anti-romance. Maybe there is a funeral or a wedding or a showdown in the back alley of a bar where both parties realize they’ve drawn blanks, but whichever way the story ends, the puzzling middle is long gone.
In the midst of sleepless nights, I struggle to write through those 40,000 words to crest the summit and head toward those last 40,000 words to finish.
But until I start coasting toward THE END, I’m a miserable person to work with, live with, and love….
I’m sorry for disappearing.
I should have told you the truth sooner. Maybe you would have understood. I wasn’t trying to avoid you. I was just unable to write.
For over the last year, I’ve been embroiled in the process of ending 23 years of marriage to my biggest fan.
I pushed through the first six months, propelled by the sales and marketing campaign for my memoir, Red Eggs and Good Luck, and the resulting nationwide book tour. But when I returned to California last November, I stopped writing. I would pick up a pen, but I could not find the words to express what was going on or what I felt or needed to say. I could not tell a story, write a poem, or compose a letter. I thought my writing days were over, that I had done what I needed to do, and that my career was finished.
But once my ex-husband signed the final marital settlement agreement, I felt my spirit lighter and my attitude brighter. The first half of my adult life was over. I was free to start again.
Instantly, the words returned.
The first thing I wrote was an apology to you, my fans, my community of readers, my extended family.
I want to thank my ex-husband for the gifts he gave me. For 25 years he protected me, cared for me, guided me, and partnered with me. He helped me grow up and into the woman I am today. He read every story I handed to him, encouraged me to continue on the writing journey despite rejection letters and other setbacks. He never said, “Quit. Get a real job.” I will always cherish those memories of unconditional love and support.
I admit I failed him. I broke his trust and his heart. I didn’t give in and I eventually gave up.
It’s always been difficult for me to write a good ending. That was my ex-husband’s specialty. Getting those last few words right. He isn’t here to do that anymore. It’s one of the many skills I am going to have to learn going forward.
And that’s alright because you’re here with me. We’ll help each other, one word at a time.
