OUT OF BALANCE received the Editor’s Choice Award for literary excellence. Only 10% of the books published receive the designation, according to the publisher’s editorial board.
Here’s what the editors said:
“We congratulate you on all the efforts you have made to promote your book…It is wonderful to see a variety of people appreciating your book…Congratulations on your hard work. We wish you continued success with your book.”
As a result of receiving the award, OUT OF BALANCE may be submitted by the publisher for national book awards, shopped around to literary agents, or marketed to larger venues through print, online, and direct marketing, including a possible book review in the coveted NEW YORK TIMES.
“In the publishing world, everyone from literary agents to booksellers asks two key questions when considering the potential success of a book: Is it good? Will it sell? The Editor’s Choice designation answers that first question with a resounding yes,” according to the publisher.
Thanks also to my readers who have spread the news through word-of-mouth, blogging, and posting everywhere to let others know the book is something they highly-recommend.
I appreciate the feedback I’ve received, especially from new readers in the technology world who enjoyed the sub-plot. Although I wrote the book with the intention of it being labeled “chick-lit,” the sub-plot has expanded my readership to include computer experts, technology fans, and self-described “nerds and geeks.” Thanks also to my loyal following of readers who will read whatever I write. I owe my success to you.
Today I celebrated my fortieth birthday, the classic American “Over-the-Hill” milestone complete with a midlife crisis full of changed careers, changed spouses, changed vehicles, and changed lifestyles. I had been dreading this moment for a long time (too long, if you ask my husband). When I woke up at 6:21 AM to my teenage son kicking his dresser, I just wanted to roll over and fall asleep again. After all, I had taken the day off from work to avoid the hoopla and just wanted to be left alone for a while. But after the second round of kicks from my son, I reluctantly struggled out of bed and apologized to my now awake daughter that she could not make me breakfast in bed because I would be making breakfast for her brother.
That’s when my daughter rubbed her eyes and blinked several times while staring at the clock. “You woke up the same moment you were born,” she said.
True. But I didn’t think anything of the coincidence.
Later that day, I went out in the backyard to set my son’s wet shoes on a table to dry. A red dragonfly darted over to me and landed by my hand. I stood still, remembering the spirit of my Chinese grandfather who had visited my grandmother and my aunt as a blue dragonfly decades ago. The blue dragonfly came to answer my aunt’s question of whether or not she should marry the man who had proposed to her although he was not from the same Chinese community. My grandmother and aunt posed the question to my grandfather’s spirit who answered them with a visit from the blue dragonfly that landed on the windowsill with a resounding, “Yes!”
My aunt listened to the message from the blue dragonfly. She married the man and lived happily-ever-after.
But the dragonfly who visited me today was not blue, so I knew it was not my grandfather. My next thought was it must be Mah-Mah. My grandmother and I have always shared a special connection. When my grandmother was alive, she would either stay with us for a week in the summer or we would visit her at her apartment in San Francisco on the weekends. Although we did not speak the same language, a communication flowed between us. When she was in the hospital recovering from a massive stroke, she said my name while I was feeding her. She never said anything else. My father rejoiced when he heard her speak, and even at the age of thirteen, I knew the gesture was precious. Weeks later, during the Easter vigil Mass, I felt Mah-Mah’s spirit sweep through the church on her way to heaven.
Almost three decades later, I stood beside the red dragonfly and felt Mah-Mah’s presence once again. I ran inside and snatched my camera phone off the end table and tiptoed back outside, hoping the dragonfly was still on the glass tabletop. She was. I snapped a picture. She flitted up and darted around and settled beside me once again.
Chinese believe red is the color of happiness. Confucians believe dragonflies are the symbol of purity. Therefore, a visit from a red dragonfly brought a message of “pure happiness.”
What more could I wish for on my fortieth birthday?
I am half-way through reading Beth Harbison’s ALWAYS SOMETHING THERE TO REMIND ME about a woman who finally reconnects with her first love 23 years after they broke up over a misunderstanding. The narrative is told from two points of view: through the third-person voice of the teenage girl and the first-person voice of the 39 year old woman.
Harbison’s ability to capture the intensity and honesty of emotions of teenage love is incredible. Equally incredible is her ability to convey the hard-edge clarity and steely practicality that overshadows everything when one is a full-time, working mother with no time for games.
It’s fascinating to read a novel about the WHAT IFs people think about once they reach midlife and wonder how differently things might have turned out if they had made Choice A instead of Choice B, especially when those choices are choices of the heart.
I don’t have to worry about the one who got away. I married him. I already went through the WHAT IFs during the raising of my infant children. I think the whole topic of parenthood brings up more taboos because if you struggle with parenting there is no morally acceptable way to abandon your responsibilities and commitments like there is when you want to get rid of a spouse. But that’s another topic for another time.
Right now we’re discussing young love at midlife. Even if you married your first love, you still have questions. It’s only human. You can’t appreciate what you’ve chosen without wondering what your life would look like if you had chosen something different.
That’s why it’s normal to find yourself in the greeting card section searching for a thank you card for your spouse and thinking of what you would send that cute guy in the corner office to get his attention. That’s why it’s normal to send a sext message to your spouse and wonder if you should type a witty innuendo on someone’s Facebook wall. The duality is always there. We are humans who need the darkness as much as we need the light. We need reality as much as we need fantasy. We need to be rooted in our love for the one we are with while not forgetting there are hundreds of thousands of others out there who might be interested in us but who we cannot be available for because we’ve made our choice.
The hard part, the messy part, the difficult to forgive part is when you cross the boundary from reality to fantasy, when you blur the line between what you have and what you do not, when you dare to believe you can straddle the darkness with the light on.
Hopefully, by the time you reach midlife in young love you’re learned you can have your reality and your fantasy if that’s where they both remain, on opposite sides of the same plate. When you find yourself in the greeting card section thinking of the one you love and buying a card for the cute guy in the corner office, you’re crossed the line, blurred the boundaries, set the whole house on fire. When you sext the Facebook friend and leave a witty innuendo on your beloved’s Facebook wall, you’ve turned the whole puzzle upside down and your whole life inside out.
Sure, it looks different, feels different, and that might be exciting for the moment, but who wants to walk around like a fool with a diaper on his head instead of a hat? Honestly. We see it all the time. Especially during midlife crises.
So, my friends, keep your hats on your head, your clothes right-side on, but go ahead and dream about the life you did not lead, the things you have not chosen. The richness of the dark soil feeds the seed of your soul just as much as the light from the heavens.
During my book tour, I met a woman named D at a reading. She was a poet who studied at San Francisco State University in the MFA program. Although she had a degree and was published, she worked for AT&T rather than teach creative writing at a university. I wondered why.
“It’s easier to make a living,” she said. “I have bills to pay and writing and teaching won’t pay them. But I’m hoping to write more once I retire.”
“When will that be?” I asked.
“In two years,” she said. Her face beamed with anticipation.
I moved on to talk with other members of the audience, selling books from the tote I carried.
After several rounds of conversation, D returned.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” she said, nodding toward my half-empty tote.
Sure, I agreed making a living selling your words was tough, but it wasn’t any tougher than selling makeup or life insurance. The cost of doing business included permits, sales taxes, and a percentage of the gross sales to the coffee shop owner, but the perks—free coffee, hours of intellectual conversation, and a road trip that doubled as a tax write-off—were part of a literary adventure I could tell my grandchildren one day. I had even started filling a notebook full of ideas for what my husband joked was “that book I’m not writing.”
Obviously, D could not see the benefits, even after I tried to explain. She just leaned closer to confide in me. “I have a friend in New Mexico who only writes. He’s never studied with anyone and lives off the graces of friends and relatives. I keep telling him to get a job, go to school. Writing does not have to be your vocation.” She flipped open her cell phone and showed me a poem her friend had written. It sounded like the description of furniture in an IKEA catalogue.
“That’s prose,” I said.
“Yes, it’s narrative,” D said. “Not poetry. But he won’t listen to me. “
Not everyone can make a living as a writer. And not everyone can write full-time living off the bounty of others. But some people succeed as full-time writers, especially if they use their creative powers to fine-tune their business savvy.
And that’s what I aspire to be—one of those full-time writers who craft a creative, fulfilling life that I can share with whoever is willing to join me.
See you at the next coffee shop. The mocha’s on me…
