Quit your day job!

Do most readers of my blog read the comments left by other readers? I don’t know the answer to that question and I don’t really expect to find one. But I do wonder just how deep readers dig into these little nooks and crannies of my blog.

If you don’t read the comments, you’re missing out. Some are quite thought provoking. Others are humorous. Many are amazingly thoughtful.

I know most of those who’ve left comments. Even those using silly pseudonyms I’ve easily identified because their fictitious names carry some meaning between the authors of those comments and me.

It means a lot to me that these readers take some time out of their days to not only read what I have to say but also to leave their own thoughts. In most cases I try to respond in kind, either with a public comment or personal email.

At the end of “Stepping into my shoes,” you’ll find this comment – Okay, perhaps I am a sappy toddler mommy myself, but the last paragraph got me choked up. Quit your day job!

The author of the above comment is Shahna, and I’m sure she didn’t expect me to bring her comment to the front page. But it was such a wonderful comment that I felt compelled to answer it not just for her, but for all of those out there who’ve supported me along the way in my writing endeavors.

I don’t think that I could not write. There’s something in me that drives me to do it. Words that I could never speak seem to come out of my fingers when I’m sitting at a keyboard. Why this is, I do not know. But the words are in me, just clawing to get out.

It was not easy for me to share these words with others. As anyone who really knows me knows, I am, by nature, acutely shy.

My short-lived career as a newspaper reporter helped me to gain some confidence in my writing abilities. But the kind of writing that you do for newspapers is not at all like writing a novel or a web journal. As a journalist you’re taught to step away from your subjective thoughts and beliefs and to remain as objective as you can be. Certainly this is not always possible but still it is a writing that is, generally speaking, lacking in personality. There are literally thousands of newspaper reporters out there but probably only a handful that have been able to achieve a true individuality. Mike Royko was one of those. There was a stamp on his writings that said, “This is Mike Royko.” He was in many ways the essence of Chicago and he was the journalist that I aspired to be but never could be. But then nobody could be like Mike. If you want to read a great tribute to Royko, click here.

I gave up journalism not only because I could not make a living wage from it, but also because I think, deep down inside, I knew that I wanted to try other forms of writing. I wanted the kind of writing freedom that you don’t get from journalism. What I wanted, I guess, was to see the real me.

That led to writing Lost in the Ivy and ultimately to this web journal. But writing for myself is a different world than writing for public consumption. If I was beginning to see the real me in my writings, would I be able to open up the doors to that person that have been shut all these years to others? For me, this was not an easy thing to do. But it was made easier by the support and encouragement that I’ve gotten from others. I note this in the first sentence of the Acknowledgements in my book – This book could not have been written if I didn’t believe in myself, and I couldn’t believe in myself if I didn’t have friends and family who believed in me. I truly meant those words when I wrote them, and even more so today.

Shahna and all of the others who’ve encouraged me along the way know that I have a day job. I do dream about leaving it some day, but it’s no more than a dream. In many ways, my writings are an escape from that day job.

In the mail last week I received my first payment as a novelist – a $1.00 advance due me under my publishing contract. This was more of a symbolic payment than anything else, but there will have to be a lot more of those dollars if I’m ever going to leave my day job.

Certainly it’s a pleasant thought – leaving that day job. And how cool is it that others out there are thinking that same thought on my behalf. It might not be enough to make a down payment on that gingerbread mansion in Key West, but it's enough to make my dreams of it all the more vivid.

The "What's next?" syndrome

Once you've completed a first novel, there's an expectation of a second novel. This is known as the "What's next?" syndrome. I liken this to asking a marathon runner if he's going to run another 26 miles right after he's crossed the finish line.

But I suppose it's human nature to ask such a question. And I prefer that question to the other question that I get most often, which is, "When will your book be out?" At least I have some semblance of an answer for the "What's next?" question. There seems to be a general assumption that I should have an answer to the "When will your book be out?" question, but I don't.

Back to the "What's next?" question. When I say I prefer that question, it doesn't necessarily mean that I like it. Although it's a seemingly simple question, nothing in writing is as simple as it seems.

My general answer is that I have started writing a second novel. Now this general answer, I've found, tends to explode in my face because it works as a triggering device for a series of loaded follow-up questions that I don't have answers to. Questions like, "What's it about?" or "When will it be done?"

If nothing else my experience in writing my first novel has taught me that there are no simple answers when it comes to the novel-writing process. As I've noted before, the first draft of Lost in the Ivy (which at the time was called Ivy Dancer) bears little resemblance to the final draft. Still, the basic premise of the story remained the same from day one. Of course, seven years followed from day one before I reached the end of my little story. 

With that in mind, I enter into discussions of my next project with rather timid steps. But I will share the basic premise, which is a bit of a departure from my first novel.

My new project, at least as I've envisioned it, is a coming-of-age story whose foundation is loosely built upon an actual traumatic event from my past. I can't say I've ridden very far with her yet. Every time I've saddled up, I seem to get bucked off. But I'm determined to break this bronco. 

Much like my first project, it is the basic premise that keeps me riding. If you want a taste of that premise, you can read my opening to the first chapter. This is by no means necessarily how the final version will read, but it at least gives you an idea of where I'm starting from.  And before anyone asks, no, I don't have a title yet.

Because I will be refocusing my energies on this second novel, I might be curtailing ever so slightly on the number of journal entries that I write for this blog. Still, I will try my hardest to post at least one new journal entry a week. Also, this blog will continue to serve as my primary source of news surrounding the publication of Lost in the Ivy. So if you want to be the first on the block to know the answer to that dreaded "When will it be out?" question, this will be the place to look. Hopefully I'll also be able to answer the other questions that tend to follow as well, such as where you can buy it and where you can find me signing it.  

Stepping into my shoes

This blog, as anyone who regularly reads it knows, contains several of my musings on fatherhood after 40. When I write these anecdotes about The Toddler, I try, as best I can, to step into his boys' size 6 shoes. The problem is that a men's size 9 foot does not fit into a boys' size 6 shoe.

There are literally tons of books claiming to know what's best for our kids. But these so-called experts can't possibly know what's really going on in the mind of a toddler. And if you don't know what's going on in those little heads, how can you really know what's best for them?

Now we even have reality-based TV shows like Supernanny and Nanny 911 where desperate parents can go to tame their wild beasts. Jo Frost (aka Supernanny) even has a book out now in which she dispenses more of her child-rearing advice, for those, like The Toddler's Mommy, who just can't get enough of her on TV.

But are these reality nanny shows real? Almost certainly not. Anyone who claims to have all the answers almost certainly doesn't. And any story arc that always ends up happily is almost certainly Hollywood fiction. The show that I'd like to see is the one that goes back six months later and sees what these families look like after the Supernanny rides off in her little car into the sunset.

I'm not saying that there aren't lessons that can be learned from parenting how-to books or even from TV nannies; I'm just saying that life isn't as simple as they make it out to be.

The reality is that kids aren't that simple. So much is going on in those little heads, things that we as adults have no ability to grasp. We learn from them as they learn from us. It's not a one-way street. And it shouldn't be. It's not like we have all the answers.

No, the truth is, parents have few answers. And perhaps that's for the best. Because we don't want them just filling our shoes. We want them to grow into their own.

Son of like father, like son

My journal entry Like father, like son got me thinking more about how alike or how different I am from The Toddler. Not so much now, but when I was The Toddler. Did I act like he did when I was his age? Did I look like him when I was his age?

Of course my memories of toddlerdom were conveniently erased by my brain. I'm not really sure when I actually began to retain memories of my childhood, but it was probably somewhere around kindergarten. The pre-K period is pretty much a clean slate. 

A toddler's inability to retain memory gives parents what amounts to a four- to five-year pass in the history books. All the mistakes they made are wiped clean from the toddler's memory bank. (Perhaps this phenomenon might explain the last presidential election as well. It's as good a theory as any, I suppose.)

So when we reach adulthood, where do we go to bring back those lost memories? We go, of course, to pictures. Now this is where parents today are making a huge mistake. Everything that kids do today is recorded, either by photographs, videotape or digital imagery. Our kids eventually will grow up and review these recorded histories and, inevitably, will come to resent if not vilify us for doing the things that parents do to kids, like dressing them up in bumblebee outfits.

Most of our parents were cunning enough to not leave many clues from our toddler years behind. My parents left one photo album of my lost years. It is filled with fading, mostly black-and-white images of these early formative years. I'm fortunate to even have that. My parents didn't make the same mistake twice. My younger sister's album is empty. Really, it is.

So it was into this photo album that I began to dig for answers. Were there pieces of me at that early age that I can now see in my son? Below are some answers, in photographic form. I'll let you be the judge. The black-and-white photos are obviously me.

     

Cover Story

When I got the news that I'd waited so long to hear -- my book was going to be published -- it was one of the all-time highs of my life. I'd rank it just below the day I was married and the day my son was born, and just above the day my Mom handed me a baseball autographed by Henry Aaron.

Most people probably think that once a book has been accepted for publication, the author's work is done. Those people -- and I am one of them -- would be wrong.

I guess I assumed that the seven years of blood, sweat and tears that had gone into writing my book and finding a publisher for it would be washed away the day when I finally got the news that my book was indeed going to be published. That assumption, however, is what was washed away over the last month.

Instead of rinsing myself clean of Lost in the Ivy, I found myself entangled all over again in those stringy vines. Not only did I end up editing it for the umpteenth time, I also wrote a synopsis and bio for the back cover, and a dedication, acknowledgements and foreword for inside the book.

Writing is something I obviously enjoy, or I wouldn't have written a book in the first place. Writing takes me to places I have never seen before. When I put my fingers to a keypad, I never know where they will take me. For me, writing is the ultimate adventure.

So even though I'd spent one-sixth of my life writing Lost in the Ivy, I didn't mind going back there again. I saw things I'd never seen before and lived things I'd never done before.

The difficult part of the last month then, for me, has not been the writing. The real challenge has been two tasks that I really did not have to put a great deal of my own effort into.

The first challenge was one I noted in my previous journal entry, and that was the back cover photo. Fortunately I found Evanston photographer Chad Husar who made this a much less painful process than I thought it would be.

The second challenge was the book cover. Now I could have taken the easy route and just let my publisher design a cover for me. But of course when there is a clear, smooth path or uncut, rugged terrain to choose from, I always seem to opt for the uncut, rugged terrain.

Most publishers do not even offer the author a chance to design his or her own book cover, and it seemed to me that it was an opportunity that I couldn't afford to pass on. After all, everything inside the book was my blood, sweat and tears. Why, I thought, should my blood, sweat and tears be wrapped like a last-minute Christmas gift?

So I took a leap of faith, and asked a good friend, Cindy Anderson, if she would be willing to design a cover for me. Cindy, a graphic designer and ex-Chicagoan transplanted to Portland, had never before designed a book cover but agreed to give it a shot.

Over the course of the last month I have reviewed about a dozen cover designs that came out of Cindy's creative mind. The last one of these is the one that seemed to combine the best elements of all of those designs.

Since Cindy is the artist, I'll let her words, which came via an email a few short days ago, describe the final design:

I think I've got it!
The first cover has the same space above, but I filled it
in with a close-up of the ivy, so maybe the blankness of the space won't
be so bothersome above. This would be a little more in focus and
"prettier" than the ivy beneath -- which turns dark and scary. Like
muurrrrddeerr.... The bottom image would be darker and grainier -- more
like a newspaper too.

I think she got it, too. So many thanks to her for all of the creative energy she put into this project. She certainly made that leap of faith one worth taking. Hopefully my publisher will think so, too.  For an actual size glimpse of the front cover click here, and for the back cover click here.

I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge one other person who helped to make Cindy's cover art shine -- and that is Akiko Ikenoue, my sister-in-law, whose photo of the ivy that grows in her mother's backyard now adorns the cover design that today I submitted to my publisher, along with Chad Husar's author photos and my final manuscript for Lost in the Ivy. 

Woohoo! Now the fun part begins.  Lost in the Ivy finally enters the production phase.