Shy People and Powdermilk Biscuits

Full quote from A Prairie Home Companion:
“Powdermilk Biscuits
—they give a shy person the strength
to get up and do what needs to be done.”

I love reading, I love writing, and I love talking with good friends about books—my own, and others’ books. Unreservedly, forever and ever amen.

My feelings about public speaking are more mixed.

So when I am asked to talk about Two Over Easy All Day Long, I am (a) thrilled, (b) terrified, (c) proud, and (d) looking for the nearest exit.

(On that topic, if you get a chance, check out this speech by Fredrik Backman, author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, and other marvelous books.  A teaser: “I’m here because my agent said it would be good for my career.  . . . It will be fun, she said. So I told her that I write books. I spend eight hours every day locked inside a room with people I have made up. If I was comfortable talking to real people I would have a real job.”)

Because of the aforementioned shyness, it is with more than a little trepidation that I share my interview with Literary Titan.

Image by Marek Piwnicki @marekpiwnicki

In case you don’t feel like clicking on the link, here’s a mash-up: I refer to my background as an attorney, call into question my own sanity, throw in a little woowoo, celebrate the power of community, and make reference to my/our human penchant for making the same damn mistakes over and over and over, balanced against the possibility, always, of rising, phoenix-like, from the ashes.

Time for some powdermilk biscuits. While answering the questions was fun, seeing my answers in print, on the organization’s published website, made me the tiniest bit nauseous. Just a smidge.

But posting the interview—like Fredrik Backman’s speaking gig—is “good for my [writing] career,” or at least that’s the prevailing wisdom. So there, now I’ve done it. If you have any questions, contact my PR agency. (Hah, that was a little joke. It’s just me and my oh-so-wonderful publisher, no vast team of PR agents. If you have a question or comment, you can post it in the Comments section below, or email me at sharilaneauthor@gmail.com)  

And though I remain deeply uncomfortable blowing my own horn (see previous statements), I am also proud to share that Two Over Easy won Literary Titan’s Book Award this month.

Courtney Maum’s helpful (and funny!) book, Before and After the Book Deal: A Writer's Guide to Finishing, Publishing, Promoting, and Surviving Your First Book, points out it can get tiresome—for authors and for their readers—to always and only talk about their own book, and suggests reviewing others’ books. I’ve been doing that for years (because, as I said, I love reading and talking about books). But Maum goes on to note that most people have already heard about bestsellers, and suggests boosting the underdogs, so there will be lots of that (in addition to reviews of well-known books) in this and future newsletters.

Here's the first installment.

At the end of last year, friend and fellow author Gini Chin came out with her debut novel, The Beautiful Abyss. It’s got: a loveless (and sexless) marriage, an escape to Greece, a shape-shifter, passion, danger, and a criminal caper! A sampling of reader reviews: “A fast-paced thrilling read that will leave you wanting more,” “I didn't want it to end and when it did, I found myself wishing there was more. Night after night I found myself wondering what the main character might be up to now. Possibly a sequel?” “It’s the kind of story that’s hard to put down.” So do yourself a favor and check it out! It’s available on Amazon and Bookshop.org.

Last but not least, if you’d like to support Gini and any other writer you know, the very best thing you can do (after buying the book) is easy and takes very little time: talk about the book. Talk about it on social media, ask your library if they’d consider carrying it, order it from your local bookstore (and ask if they’d be willing to order another copy to have on their shelves), post a review on Amazon, and/or GoodReads, suggest it to your book group . . . . You get the idea. In this information-overload environment, it’s not so much about winning awards or being backed by a big publishing house, it is about word of mouth.

If you’ve read a book and genuinely liked it, spread the word!

Storytelling: Building Bridges

Image by Cody Hiscox @codyhiscox

I’m giving up on the ironic “so little to share” and will tell you plainly: there’s so much to share! Some of the news follows, but if you want to skip right to the heart of this particular newsletter, and the source of the title Storytelling: Building Bridges, scroll down to the bottom. Better yet, click right on through to this NPR Article.

Otherwise, hold onto your hats for news!

Two Over Easy All Day Long has received new reviews, available on the New Release page.  A few of my favorite comments:

• Readers’ Favorite gives it 5 Stars and calls it “a deeply moving and thought-provoking read” with themes of “resilience, adaptation, and the transformative power of compassion.”

• Reader Tammar Paynter says it is “a very well crafted book, finely plotted and beautifully written,” and says, “After finishing the book, I felt a sense of hope, feeling that growth and change are possible even after tragedy.”

• Midwest Book Review says, “Two Over Easy All Day Long is a fun read from start to finish, and an impressive work of literary excellence . . . .”

• Literary Titan gives it 4 Stars and calls it “a compelling story” with “richly drawn characters,” “a thought-provoking and heartwarming read that explores themes of accountability, personal growth, and the power of community.”

• Reader Heather H says she “loved this well-written, quirky, and captivating book. A highly recommended read that speaks to the power of community, hope, resilience, and transformation.”

There was also a marvelous write-up in the Salish Current by talented writer Gretchen Wing: Lopez Author’s Debut Novel Rooted in People and Place (A quick plug for the Salish Current and for independent local media!)

The book launch party was fabulous! Over sixty wonderful friends and family came, many bringing delicious food to share (potlucks are a favorite tradition here on “my” island). The Friends of the Library introduced themselves and their amazing work in our community, and several library staff and volunteers gave up their Friday evening to share the celebration - “grateful” doesn’t begin to describe it! Last but definitely not least, if you haven’t already listened to the original music Adam Brock shared with us at the party, check it out (and if you have already heard it, well, it’s worth another listen or two or three hundred): At the Library

More readings are scheduled in Friday Harbor, Washington and Bend, Oregon, with others in the works. Keep an eye on the Home Page for advance notice.

There are more updates but for today I’m borrowing
the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons,
or the Monty Python skits (if you prefer): 
“And now for something completely different . . .”

Last week, NPR’s All Things Considered covered a story titled, “Abortion can be difficult to talk about. These 14 strangers took it on anyway,” by Maayan Silver (NPR 5/24/2024). Accessed 5/24/2024.

Why on earth would I focus on such a controversial topic in this newsletter?

Because the NPR article gets at the heart of what believe is the last best hope for humanity, and, coincidentally, the reason I write fiction. I believe what this world needs now (more than a refreshing carbonated beverage which shall remain nameless, maybe even more than “love, sweet love,”) is communication, people telling their stories to each other, and listening to each other’s stories, and deciding together that they don’t have to agree politically or religiously to recognize our shared humanity.  

I’ve said it before and will say it again, and again, and again: stories build bridges, bridges that span the metaphorical canyons currently dividing us.

The article points out the fourteen participants from wildly different political sides of the abortion issue forged lasting friendships, in spite of their differences, and ends with this paragraph:

“That's how this starts,” says Gardner Mishlove [one of the participants]. “A relationship develops, you get to see someone else's point of view. It challenges you.” She says maybe they only agree on the right color socks to wear, “but that’s a start, right?”

In this time of war (even as we honor those we’ve lost to war), and loss and grief (even as those losses and griefs continue, seemingly unabated), and divisions and broken bridges:

Here’s to Relationships. Here’s to Storytelling. Here’s to Building Bridges.

Tune in next time for more book reviews! Sneak Peek:

• “Stories are life lived backward.” The Book of Form and Emptiness, by Ruth Ozeki (Penguin Books 2022)

• “When we are paying attention, we see how much holds us invisibly. Love is a bench.” Somehow, by Anne Lamott (Riverhead Books 2024)

So Little to Share

Image by Jon Tyson @jontyson

So little to share, so much time . . .

Strike that, reverse it.

(Fans of the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, with Gene Wilder, will recognize a version of that quote. If you don’t recognize it, well, hie thee to a streaming service and watch the movie. Better yet, read the book.)

Image by Zach Ramelan @zachramelon

My wish for you today:

May your time be your own.

At least until

after that first cup of coffee or tea.

For this newsletter, I want to keep my promise to focus on book reviews and recommendations.
Because there’s nothing quite as wonderful as curling up with a good book
(as demonstrated
by our in-house model, here)!

I just finished Cloud Cuckoo Land, by Anthony Doerr (Scribner 2021).

I’m glad I got a heads-up from our bookstore – shout out to Lopez Bookshop! – that it’s a little confusing at first, and I’m oh so glad I persevered, because:

I. LOVE. THIS. BOOK.

Seemingly disparate stories are connected by a mostly illegible ancient manuscript about a man who seeks a city in the clouds and becomes, along the way, a donkey, a fish, and a crow. The characters who interact with the story in the manuscript include a girl living in the future after ecological apocalypse; a boy in the fifteenth century who suffers from prejudices related to his poverty and his cleft lip, and a resourceful girl living in the same era but on the opposite side of a war into which the boy has been conscripted; a disaffected teen who mourns the loss of wildlife to accommodate tourists in a tiny town in modern-day Idaho; and a man who, orphaned at a young age and misunderstood by everyone except the local librarians, is in love with a man he may never see again.

The marvel of this book is that each of the wildly different characters and their wildly different settings is completely credible. Some writers excel at creating sci-fi or fantasy landscapes, some craft beautiful historical fiction, or romance, or coming-of-age stories for young adults. Doerr does it all, in a single book, and made me love and care about every one of the characters.

While I was reading it, I made excuses to go to bed early so I could get back to the book, and when it was over, I heaved a bittersweet sigh because the ending was oh so satisfying but still, sadly, an end.

Favorite Quotes from Cloud Cuckoo Land

“Repository. You know this word? A resting place. A text—a book—is a resting place for the memories of people who have lived before. A way for the memory to stay fixed after the soul has traveled on.”

***

Seymore feels like he used to . . . as though he’s being allowed to glimpse an older and undiluted world, when every barn swallow, every sunset, every storm, pulsed with meaning.

By age seventeen he’d convinced himself that every human was a parasite, captive to the dictates of consumption. But . . . [then] he realizes that the truth is infinitely more complicated, that we are all beautiful even as we are all part of the problem, and that to be a part of the problem is to be human.

(Believe it or not, the photo was taken by my phone, from Watmough Bay.)

In other news . . .

For friends in the Pacific Northwest, the book launch party is coming up! Friday, May 17, 2024, 5:30 – 8:00 pm, at the Lopez Island Library. Bring an egg-dish to the potluck and join the fun!

If you can’t make it to the book launch, join me at the Griffin Bay Bookstore in Friday Harbor on Sunday, May 26, at 2:00. We’re thinking of making a party out of that, too! We’ll either sail over together, or caravan on the ferry, and spend the day in Friday Harbor having brunch, shopping, maybe even take in an evening movie. Email me if you’re interested in taking the trip with us sharilaneauthor@gmail.com.

And on Thursday, July 25, 2024, at 6:30 pm I’ll be at Roundabout Books in Bend, Oregon. Roundabout Books has a unique policy (which I applaud): entry is a $5 ticket or purchase of a book. It doesn’t have to be my book, by the way! The goal is to support independent bookstores, and I can definitely get behind that.

More information about these and other events can be found on the home page of the website www.sharilane.com

Last but not least, another novel I wrote, Jaysus, MooMoo, and the Immortal Woos, was longlisted in the international Stockholm Writers Festival First Five Pages contest. I am truly walking on sunshine…

Sunshine and wildflowers at Iceberg Point

Ode to Curmudgeons

Portrait of Walt Whitman
On the cover of The Illustrated American, April 19, 1890

Why do we love curmudgeons so?

Cantankerous characters are sprinkled liberally throughout literature. Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, Ove in A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (Atria Books 2015), Ernest in Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, by Helen Simonson (Random House 2011).

 . . . the two old Muppets who sit in the balcony and heckle everyone . . .

. . . the grieving old man in the movie Up . . .

 . . . Winston Churchill. Who can forget this famous exchange?

Bessie Braddock MP: “Winston, you are drunk, and what’s more
you are disgustingly drunk.”

Churchill: “Bessie, my dear, you are ugly, and what’s more, you are disgustingly ugly. But tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be disgustingly ugly.”

 As an aside, there is much to dislike about this, including, of course, the fact that the ultimate diss on a woman is (assumed to be) insulting her looks. That certainly didn’t start with Churchill and, alas, continues still.

The thing is, curmudgeonly quips and sarcasm can be wickedly amusing to hear or see or read about.

Living with them? Not so much.

I have a theory about curmudgeons. I think we admire them, in literature and in real life, because they say what we polite and sensitive folks are too . . . polite and sensitive to say.

When a neighbor invites herself in for coffee and all you want is to be left alone in your smelly sweatpants so you can finish off the package of Lorna Doone’s, the curmudgeon will shut the door, irritably, on the neighbor, with or without a growled, “I’m busy.”

But you will say Oh of course, come in, let me make another pot of coffee, I’m not doing anything right now.

Because you are a kind person who really doesn’t want to hurt your neighbor’s feelings.

An extremely unscientific poll reveals that the surly cook is most readers’ favorite Two Over Easy All Day Long character. Walt, who grows shallots in his garden and sneaks them into the diner, and writes poetry on the side. Walt, who is almost uniformly rude and irritable and announces to all and sundry: “I’m Walt and I don’t like chitchat.”

So why do readers like him? Is it because he dispenses with social niceties when talking to Tony, the wealthy company president who’s had enough social niceties to last several lifetimes but a dearth of opportunities to practice actually being nice?

Possibly.

I think another reason may be the idea, possibly mythical, that every curmudgeonly exterior hides a soft heart, the fuzzy underbelly of the porcupine.

Like many writers, I don’t so much create characters as transcribe them onto the page. They saunter or creep or march into my consciousness and instruct me, imperiously, “Take this down, scribe,” or whisper plaintively, hopefully, “Would you, perhaps, be willing to tell my tale?”

Walt’s spirit was complex from the outset, and I have tried to be faithful to that. He is kind to Nareen, probably recognizing her as a kindred spirit, and to Nancy, who is already carrying the weight of the world in her “VW Bug of hearts.” So it’s not so much that he reveals a hidden softness as that he is a complicated man, sometimes practically heroic in his generosity of spirit, other times only and exactly what Nancy calls him: a cranky old fart.

Maybe we love curmudgeons because they give us grace for the moments we cannot muster the strength to be kind. And because, like you and me and everyone else I know, they are occasionally inspired by their better angels, but mostly they’re just muddling through.

A Good Book

On Reading and Writing and Pigs in Heaven

I’d like to talk to you about
Barbara Kingsolver’s Pigs in Heaven.

Yes, this is my brand new blog/newsletter on my brand new website launched to support my brand new book, Two Over Easy All Day Long.

But I’ll have plenty of time to talk about that in the coming months, maybe even (if I’m lucky) in the coming years.

I hope so.

For now, I just want to rave about one of my all-time favorite books, by one of my all-time favorite authors.

The quotes below, from Barbara Kingsolver’s Pigs in Heaven, encapsulate beautifully what is possible in a good book.

___________________________________________

Background: Annawake Fourkiller, a newly-minted lawyer, is trying to explain to her boss, Franklin, why she believes the Cherokee child Turtle should be returned to her people, even though Turtle’s white adoptive mother is the only family Turtle knows. Annawake describes how important a sense of belonging is.

“People thought my life was so bleak . . . But I dreamed about the water . . . . All those perch down there you could catch, any time, you know? A world of free breakfast to help get you into another day. I’ve never been without that, have you?”

“No,” he admits. Whether or not he knew it, he was always Cherokee. The fish were down there, for him as much as for Annawake.

“Who’s going to tell that little girl who she is?”

. . . Franklin wears a Seiko watch and looks as Cherokee as Will Rogers or Elvis Presley . . . yet he knows he isn’t white because he can’t think of a single generalization about white people that he knows to be true. He can think of half a dozen about Cherokees.

Later, Annawake tackles Turtle’s adoptive mother, Taylor, who is deeply upset and offended that anyone would try to take her child away.

“There’s a law that gives Tribes the final say over custody of our own children. It’s called the Indian Child Welfare Act. Congress passed it in 1978 because so many Indian kids were being separated from their families and put into non-Indian homes.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with me.” [Taylor says]

“It’s nothing against you personally, but the law is crucial. What we’ve been through is wholesale removal.”

“Well, that’s the past.”

“This is not General Custer. I’m talking about as recently as the seventies, when you and I were in high school. A third of all our kids were still being taken from their families and adopted into white homes. One out of three.”

. . . “My home doesn’t have anything to do with your tragedy.”

Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver (HarperCollins 1993)

___________________________________________

In a few short paragraphs, Kingsolver tackles identity, loss, and the desire for absolution from our ancestors’ sins. Her characters are morally and ethically imperfect, not fully “good” but—like Giles/Tony—“not bad,” and evolving into something better.

(See? I did get in a reference to Two Over Easy All Day Long after all.)

Kingsolver’s stories are full of grace, even when tackling the darkness we humans sometimes fling at each other. And humor, too, which is nothing short of miraculous; to look into the void and find, in addition to hatred and bias and hurt, an infinite well of laughter.

What does that have to do with me?

I’m a writer because I love to read, because ever since I was a child books have touched me, moved me, and, sometimes, changed my mind. I felt as if the authors were speaking directly to me, as if the characters were friends taking me along on their journey, whispering their revelations to me. I knew from the first time I opened a book and the symbols resolved themselves into words that this, this is what I wanted to do—speak through stories. Then and now, it often feels as though stories are my only meaningful form of communication. I often feel a Homer Simpson-ish ‘Doh! over every word I actually speak aloud, certain I’ve said the wrong thing, or failed to say the right thing.

Image by Elena Mozhvilo @miracleday

But when I write, I can test and weigh and sit with the words first, make sure that my words are honest, and sincere, and as often as possible, kind.

When I write, I can paint a verbal picture of how I see the world, and more importantly . . . how I imagine it could be.

The title of this, my inaugural newsletter, is A Good Book. I am, of course, hoping something I’ve written or something I write some day in the future will merit the label: A Good Book.

In the meantime, in the newsletters that follow, I’ll often share what I’m reading, in that elusive search for “A Good Book.”

Barbara Kingsolver’s Pigs in Heaven feels like a great place to start the conversation.

Got a good book to share? Thoughts on Pigs in Heaven?
Drop me a line here, in the Comments,
or send me an email.