How much do you talk? Because, oh my stars, I talk SO MUCH. Sometimes with verbal expressions I imagine a Southerner might use, y'all. I don't even always mean to talk so much. Do you know what I'm talking about? This unceasing chatter that some of us spout to restrain our general awkwardness to arms' length. Or—wait—perhaps exacerbate our general awkwardness? Hmmm... Oh, dagnabbit...
(Is it awkward to have brought all of this this up?)
There are times when I do mean to talk a lot and that is often with my sister. I mention her not for the sake of making idle chatter to keep my awkwardness at bay, but because our relationship inspired my new novel, Talking Underwater, which is OUT! (Awkward segue? Sure, why not! Might as well.) Here it can be found on Amazon and here on Barnes and Noble and never forget your local independent bookstore.
This past Sunday I celebrated the official launch of Talking Underwater with some dear old friends and family, some recent friends and some brand new friends at Partners Village Store in Westport, Massachusetts—the often, though unnamed explicitly, setting for much of my fiction. Partners provided a beautiful backdrop on a gorgeous September day. Many thanks to all at Partners, especially Lisa and Laura, and to everyone who came out!
You may have noticed that my glasses are perched on my head. (Or not, that’s okay—no pressure.) In 7th grade it was discovered that I was nearsighted. I probably was for a lot longer than that, but you grow accustomed to being semi-blind—the human body is beautiful and mysterious. I used to wear my glasses all the time—to be able to see distances (I mean 12" away from my face), when I was reading, to recognize people across parking lots, etc. Funny story, and not even unrelated, which is not always the case with me—I just said that I used to wear my glasses all the time, but that's not entirely true. In high school I was too vain to wear my glasses unless I absolutely had no other choice. That did not include walking in the halls inadvertently ignoring my friends, or geometry class (I was never gonna understand that shit anyway), or collecting shopping carriages at my job at the grocery store. I could conduct entire conversations with people who seemed to know me from several rows of parking spaces away without being able to identify them. Or driving. My wonderful sister used to navigate as my seeing-co-pilot. "Stop sign!" "Pedestrians!" "Tree!" I’ve outgrown vanity and now, truly, wear my glasses all the time. But I’m getting old and my eyes won’t focus close-up if I’m wearing my glasses, so I need to remove them in order to read. Also, I am somewhat terrified—I mean entirely terrified—of public-speaking and when I’m not wearing my glasses, everyone is all nice and blurry. It calms me. People tell me I should get laser surgery on my eyes, but I say NO. I say it loud and proud and in bold typeface. I count on having the option of my world being fuzzy and soft and nonthreatening. It’s so much nicer than those with 20/20 vision could ever imagine. I’ll keep my shitty eyesight, and I thank you very much ( à la Scarlett O’Hara. Or Elvis. Both qualify as Southern).
And so comes to an end my most recent blog post. It’s been awkward. You know what else is awkward besides my general demeanor? Writing a blog post when you haven't in some time. Apparently. Yeah. I'm so very sorry about that...
Find my novels, THE MOSQUITO HOURS and TALKING UNDERWATER, on Amazon, BarnesAndNoble.com or order it directly from the publisher. And don’t forget your local independent bookstore! I’m curious about something: would you like to stay up-to-date on news about my books as well as have my latest blog posts conveniently delivered to your inbox? Then subscribe to my newsletter! Click on that little box right over there on the right. See how easy I made that for you? (You’re welcome.)