Tag: tour

Born and Dying: My First Book’s First Year

cvrIt’s not like I had no idea what to expect. As a bookseller I assisted with author events both swanky and huge (Pat Conroy at a Connecticut yacht-club brunch) and tiny and spare (local writers at my used bookstore in Kingston, New York). As a book buyer for the wholesaler Baker & Taylor, I bought everything from small press titles to kids books to some of the largest adult trade lines (all of which have since folded into Random Penguin–yes, I know they prefer the names reversed.) Book promotion is an enormous challenge at every level. Even backed by a corporate publisher’s PR machine, many books struggle to attract interest. Every year, thousands of excellent books are published and ignored. It’s an honor to reach any readers. And if you hear from a few who loved your book and got what you were trying to say–well, let that wash over you, because that connection is everything. You get used to the non-responses from places you’d hoped to appear. You get used to leaving readings with unsold books. To empty seats in the audience. To other books getting more attention and praise. You stay grateful throughout.

So, to celebrate Not On Fire, Only Dying‘s first year, a multimedia look back. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: thank you for hearing me.

Pics or it didn’t happen: proof it wasn’t a strange, beautiful dream with too much public speaking:

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Original music composed by Naomi Hamby for Not On Fire, Only Dying:

“Marko’s Theme” was used for the book trailer. Here it is accompanied by the previously unreleased “Lola’s Theme.”

Speaking of the trailer:

Maybe you’d like another listen to Marko’s mixtape?

Select blog posts written through acceptance, publication, and promotion. Short and honest:

Thank you for hearing me. (12/31/14)
Cats get in the way. (1/23/15)
No big deal, but…MY BOOK HAS A COVER. *swoon* (3/26/15)
Blurbs and Preorders and THANK YOU. (5/4/15)
Presenting my book trailer! And insecurities… (7/3/15)
Brooklyn, beginning. (9/5/15)
Have I mentioned I have a new book out? (9/29/15)
But is it art? On book reviews. (10/18/15)
More than chocolate? (2/4/16)`
What do you want? (5/11/16)

Thank you to everyone who read this book (and to those who have a copy and might yet get around to reading it–no worries. Trust me, I know how that goes. Maybe once in a while something small and unrelated will remind you of Not On Fire, Only Dying.

Happens to me all the time:

Thanks, I failed better.

This July I participated in Camp NaNoWriMo, my first crack at this sort of writing “sprint.” I failed spectacularly.

The original NaNoWriMo, held every November, challenges writers to bang out a 50,000-word novel in thirty days. The “Camp” allows writers to set their own word count goal. The time was right: Finally, after countless outlines, isolated scenes, and false starts, I had a few thousand words of a new novel. I didn’t hate them. That weren’t completely wrong. I knew the story I wanted to tell. I knew the characters well enough to trust where they led me. I set a modest goal: 15,500 words, just 500 a day. I had a lot going on, personally, but I figured I’d work around it. I was determined to try.

I did try, and I failed. fail-better-red-5251

I did not come close. Life interfered, as I feared it might. In all the ways that feed and distract a writer. I wrote a fraction of what I’d hoped. I failed but I wrote 4,349 words. 4,349 new words building on those already written, pointing me more clearly in the direction this novel will take. 4,349 words that brought my characters to life and sent me into fits of deep planning. 4,349 words is not much. Not enough. But it’s a lot more than I wrote the month before.

If I want to finish this novel I’d better return to this manuscript every single day, give myself increasingly ambitious word count goals. I know I can do it. I’ve completed and revised (and revised) two novels and rewritten one word by word. That one, Not On Fire, Only Dying, was published last year.

I will return to it (what a relief!) when I appear at the Decatur Book Festival‘s Emerging Writers Stage at 2:20 PM on Sun Sept 4. I’ll give a very brief reading, followed by a signing. Not On Fire, Only Dying will be available for purchase throughout the festival.

Now I should get back to work. I’ve got lots more failing to do.

What do you want?

9th birthday 1977Today I am the youngest I’ll ever be again. And I am older. Birthdays aren’t so exciting anymore, are they? Not like when you’re nine, the age I am in this picture. What a great age to be–a kid, not a child. A BIG kid. But not yet ten which is SO OLD, a DECADE!

We were in Jacksonville, Florida, with my dad who was there to give a speech. He gave speeches all the time, but this one was special because it was MY BIRTHDAY and some wonderful stranger made me this DOLL CAKE. I wish I could say I’m grinning because I’m taking a knife to the Patriarchy but that is genuine joy on my face because I LOVED DOLLS. They had everything to do with making me a writer. But on that day in 1977, it was just about that DRESS which I hope you realize is made of FROSTED CAKE.

And the doll really was beautiful, you can’t see that in this picture. With big blue eyes like I wished I had.

cvrOn my ninth birthday I knew what I wanted: that cake, that doll. Now? Well, my characters are my dolls. And I can eat cake whenever I want although I try not to because ugh carbs and sugar and but f*ck it–it’s my birthday. I’ll never be this young again. What do I want, this birthday? The best gift I could receive is support for my novel, Not On Fire, Only Dying, which came out last fall. NOFOD is the truest part of me, the most eloquent conversation I’ve ever managed. If you get it, you get me.

So tell me if you read it. Tell me what you liked about it (I will squirm with discomfort but I’ll love it and be grateful.) Ask me questions. Tell other people about it. Review it. Show it off in your hands. If you have a blog, invite me to contribute. Mention it to your book group or favorite bookstore. I’ll read from and discuss it, wherever I’m asked! You’ll make this birthday girl as happy as a DOLL CAKE once did. And that is VERY happy.

xSusan

5 WAYS HELP AUTHOR

 

 

Hudson Valley writers! Let’s read.

Writers: Is your work set in the Hudson Valley? Is it your home, present or past? I want to read there this fall and I could use some company. Maybe yours?

Not On Fire, Only Dying is set in the fictional town of Schendenkill, NY, on the west bank of the river in the mid-Hudson Valley. The search for a (possibly?) missing newborn also brings the characters down to NYC’s East Village. Not On Fire, Only Dying was inspired by the years I lived in Kingston, in Ulster County, NY, in an apartment above my tiny used bookshop. It’s where my son spent his first years. For now I live in the South, but my heart and this book belong to the Hudson Valley.

My book tour feels incomplete. It doesn’t feel right, with all the places I’ve gone to promote it, that I haven’t read from NOFOD in the place it began. (And I want an excuse to be there when those colors hit.)

Last fall, when NOFOD debuted, I think I failed to communicate how much this is a book of that region. Now, when I approach bookstores and libraries, I’ll include this wonderful review, which said, among other lovely things: “The author’s poetic, laser-focused empathy unmasks life on the urban edge of Ulster County as Steinbeck’s did Cannery Row, revealing ‘normal’ as a shoddy sham.”

Maybe I’ll also include a tiny excerpt like the one below.

If you’re interested, please get in touch. I want to know the connection between your work and this area. I want to know that our fiction makes sense together. Maybe we’ll meet in the Hudson Valley this fall, sell some books. Maybe we’ll hear each other’s words and swoon.
__________

Excerpt (from Chapter Three):

This week is the ecstatic pinnacle of autumn. The entire valley is aflame. The hills on both sides of the Hudson burn crimson and tangerine. In the weeks to come, the leaves will starve, then drop. Fall is about endings, Marko thinks. Death.

This isn’t the right attitude for a Schendenkill native. Schendenkill has long relied on seasonal visitors, or “leaf peepers.” This is the time of year to hike to the highest point you can: maybe Sam’s Point. From there the Shawangunk Ridge stretches endlessly, punctuated by glassy, sky-mirror lakes. The views are almost too much, too intense. Colors swim as with the onset of a hallucinogen.

His mother, always too sick to go herself, let him hike these trails so long as he was with his sisters, who were older. Hiking alone is discouraged. Someone must be nearby in case you swoon. Someone must remind you that the land you see is not on fire, only dying. Gently, as it’s meant to.

Overlook Mountain Sunset

Every picture tells a story don’t it.

As I pause for the holidays I’m finally starting to absorb and appreciate these last couple of months, which had me hopping here and there to promote the release of Not On Fire, Only Dying. It was thrilling and humbling and daunting and SO MUCH FUN. I wanna do it again. And I will–details TBA. I’m hoping to come to Philadelphia and Denver and the Hudson Valley. Where else? Wherever. Let me just catch my breath a sec, put up the Christmas decorations and restock the menorah candles (so early this year!)

Then tell me where to go. Yeah, however you wanna take that. Tell me where I can find you and your small press fiction-loving friends. Are you a writer too? Let’s read.

In the meantime, check out some photos I assembled of NOT ON FIRE, ONLY DYING – THE BOOK TOUR (SO FAR) Every picture tells a story, don’t it.

This fall I didn’t need Thanksgiving to remind me to be grateful. Thank you to the bookstores and reading series and homes that opened their doors to me. Thank you to everyone who showed up to listen and cheer me on. Thank you to those who picked up a copy, at a reading or anywhere.

Hope to see you In Real Life soon. 

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Time has come today.

 

This week I finished up the events scheduled to promote the release of Not On Fire, Only Dying (more are in the works–TBA soon!) Finally, I’m home. But…

For the last 10 years, when I say “I’m home” it’s followed by an immediate hesitation, because while, yes, I’m with my husband and son and cats and dog in the house we own in the Atlanta burbs, it doesn’t really feel like Home. Especially when I’ve just returned from the Northeast, which is where my heart lives. I feel it most acutely when I’m the NYC Metro, where I grew up, and in the autumn, and when I’m thinking about or discussing NOFOD. It’s set in New York’s Hudson Valley and, in some ways, it’s a love letter to the region. Twisted, obsessive, and desperately hopeful–like any worthwhile love letter.

HiResI was in New Jersey most recently, at Labyrinth Books, across the street from Princeton University which I visited throughout my childhood, accompanying my father to his Class of ’54 Reunions, and then later, visiting my sister, Class of ’91. For 5 years I worked as a Book Buyer for the wholesaler Baker & Taylor in Bridgewater, NJ. My son attended a woodsy day care in Flemington where he fed goats and rabbits and came home exhausted and gloriously filthy every day. We bought tomatoes and corn at nearby farms, giggled through corn mazes and hay rides and took the train into Manhattan all the time.

In Princeton I was reminded that, to me, New Jersey looks like Home. It smells like Home. It sounds like Home (if you live in a place with an accent–or language–different from what you grew up with, you understand. Maybe you don’t miss the familiar sounds like I do, but you understand).

Still, this Southern suburb is my home for now, and where the people I love most reside. It’s also where I’m finding inspiration for my…deep breath…next novel. And it’s time to turn my attention to that, at last. This year has been a steep but thrilling learning curve for me as my book was edited and published and then I did everything I could think of to help connect it with likely readers and reviewers. I discovered that reading in front of a crowd, once something I dreaded, is actually something I kind of enjoy. I love talking to readers about what they see in the book, what questions it raises for them, how it frustrates or moves them. I love expanding the conversation to ideas in general or their own writing. And of course I loved meeting fellow authors and visiting these fabulous independent bookstores. But the truth is I haven’t written much since I hopped on the Debut Author Roller Coaster. I miss writing like I miss the flavor of a perfectly ripe Jersey tomato. Or a slice of New York pizza. Or a decent bagel.

I AM excited to be home, where I have a folder of scribbled notes for my next work-to-be, where I have roughly 70,000 words written–all of which will probably be scrapped, but for me that’s a part of the process. I have to write my way to the story. I’m on my way to that next novel, if not yet on my way Home.

From “Time Has Come Today” (the Ramones cover, natch–I played that Subterranean Jungle cassette until it broke). I think it’s time I got to it.

Now the time has come
There are things to realize
Time has come today.

 

It is necessary.

iStock_000009325754_LargeThis morning, Facebook — keeper of our collective if incomplete memories — informed me that exactly one year ago today I officially took the reins as Reviews Editor for Necessary Fiction. Back in 2012 they published my story The Worst Girl’s Best Day, followed by two book reviews. Editor Steve Himmer helped me sculpt my story into what I’d intended from the beginning. When Michelle Bailat-Jones decided to move from Reviews Editor to her current position as Translations Editor, I came on board. I’d enjoyed working with both of them and knew them to be nice people and excellent editors. I was thrilled and honored to join them.

Each Monday we publish a review of a recent book from an independent press. There are outstanding works of fiction included here: novels and novellas and collections and forms that defy easy categorization by authors from all over the world. They are inventive, risky, ambitious. They are obsessed with language or big questions or both. Every week of this past year I heard from publishers, publicists, and authors with news of books forthcoming. My own debut novel was published last month by a small press: Twisted Road Publications. It was a remarkable experience, preparing for my book’s publication (for the first time, seeing it from the inside), while editing reviews to help introduce other small press books. As someone who was once mostly concerned with “big pubs” and high-profile titles backed by national media campaigns (as a Book Buyer for the wholesaler Baker & Taylor), what I saw and learned this year was enlightening and empowering.

If you’re like me, you try to be a good “literary citizen” but it never feels like enough. Sure, I give time to Necessary Fiction and the journal escarp. I buy small press books from the publisher (usually). I live way out in the Atlanta ‘burbs but I go into town for (some) readings. I’ve written reviews, not nearly enough. I try to share other writers’ good news on social media. But so much is missed. So much isn’t done. We have our own writing to nurture, after all, not to mention careers and families.

This morning, after the latest review went live at Necessary Fiction, I listened to Episode 3 of the Citizen Lit podcast, which states an intention to explore “what it means to be an active member of the writing world.” This week’s episode features poet and Sundress Academy for the Arts (SAFTA) founder Erin Elizabeth Smith. Host Jim Warner describes her as someone who “is a builder of community and epitomizes the term literary citizen.” A lot of you probably already know Erin but I just met her last month, when I read from Not On Fire, Only Dying as part of the SAFTA Reading Series. I knew of her involvement with Sundress and Firefly Farms but did not fully understand the number of irons she has in the literary fire. I enjoyed listening to her discuss, among other things, how she creates opportunities and spaces where writers can learn, get work done alone, or share it with others. Give the episode a listen and then subscribe to the Citizen Lit podcast. (In Episode 1, you’ll hear me read a small excerpt from my novel.) Consider donating to SAFTA’s “Jayne for President” campaign, raising funds needed for a barn at Firefly Farms.

As I celebrate one year as a slightly more active literary citizen, I’m reminded that there is always more we can do to support this community of upstarts and artists and writers who are readers. It’s not just the right thing to do, it is necessary.

Have I mentioned I have a new book out?

Book SoupSeptember 2015 is just about through and I was lucky enough to spend some of it promoting my debut novel at events in Brooklyn, Knoxville (hear an excerpt from my reading at The Birdhouse courtesy of Citizen Lit), and Los Angeles. I just returned from LA, where I read at Book Soup (!) and celebrated with family and friends at what was essentially my launch party. I’m riding an adrenaline roller coaster, trying to fully experience every moment of this dream come true. I’m learning as much as I can, pushing myself far beyond my comfort zone. I’m overwhelmed by the love and support. I am exhausted.

(I’d better get it together. I only have a short break before I’m back on the road. First up: Maplewood NJ’s [words] Bookstore on Oct. 10–RSVP here.)

LA partyI’m not writing much right now. I’m starting to get that itch–you know? I really want to get these new thoughts down, I want to see this new thing take shape. I’m carrying around scraps of paper scribbled with ideas. But my focus and energy must remain on the baby just out in the world: Not On Fire, Only Dying. I owe that to my wonderful publisher, Twisted Road Publications, and to myself. For all that time I spent writing, rewriting, and revising, all that love and attention I gave this book long before I knew it would be published.

(It irks me when small-press authors are disdainful of self-promotion or overly modest about their own work. Who else, if not us? Isn’t that the point, being heard? What do you owe the small press that rolls the dice on your work?)

KnoxvilleThankfully, writing waits. It waited for me for years, when I couldn’t write, or wouldn’t. The words never left. The compulsion to tell stories and dive into language never left. They waited until I was ready for them again. Soon enough, and sadly, this will all be over. I’ll return to the writing, which always waits.

Until then…have I mentioned I have a new book out? It’s called Not On Fire, Only Dying. You can find all kinds of info about it and links to recent reviews right HERE. If you’ve read it and are so moved, please don’t hesitate to post a review to Amazon or Goodreads.

Forgive this self-promotion and my utter lack of modesty. But to be heard–that was always the point for me. I’m so grateful that some of you are listening.

Brooklyn, beginning.

IMG_0418-2015-09-03 18.51.34

“It’s all happening.” That’s what I thought this past Thursday as I sat in the funky, cozy reading space beneath WORD in Brooklyn, about to read for the first time from my first novel Not On Fire, Only Dying. I read with two tremendously talented writers who, it turns out, are also very nice people: Helen McClory and Tobias Carroll. Molly Templeton, WORD’s Events Director, made us feel welcome and appreciated.

I arrived in Brooklyn the night before and strolled the blocks surrounding my hotel, breathing in the beautiful filth, the shockingly humid air. I grew up outside New York City and can’t quite describe the longing I feel when I return. It is not my home but it IS. 20150903_184317-alt

“It’s all finally happening,” I thought, as the space filled with people who had come to hear us read. Not On Fire, Only Dying was a long time coming. Several peers published their first books as I sat on the sidelines, clutching this manuscript, believing this story deserved to be heard, that my characters Marko and Lola deserved to be known. I heard NO in every way imaginable. (Really, one day I will make a cut-up poem of my rejections. I want to count how many times “unfortunately” appears.) The encouraging rejections were the best and worst. I tucked my chin into my chest and charged forward, again and again, until I found the perfect publisher for this book. That’s how life works, I’ve come to see: It will not be rushed. Nothing makes sense except in retrospect.

As you may have heard me mention, I don’t love public speaking. But I always knew that if I was given the chance, I wouldn’t squander it. I would do right by my publisher and myself. I’d promote Not On Fire, Only Dying however I could.

(Up to a point, of course. I know there’s a thin line between enthusiastic and obnoxious. Very thin.)

Last Thursday I remembered that anticipation is the worst part. When you believe in something, when you’ve loved it for years, humble and hopeful: You’re ready. You step up, you speak up. You have fun, even. Late as it is, it’s time.

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Bye for now/Book tour (so far)


Q: When is the perfect time to take a week-long break in the woods without internet or phone?

A: Never. Not these days, when you’re expected to be reachable at all times. Not one month before your debut novel is published, while you’re in the midst of submitting it for review and scheduling readings and generally shouting from rooftops about it on a regular, excruciating basis.

Or maybe this is the perfect time. For one blissful week I’ll be in the Michigan woods celebrating the 40th and, alas, final Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. I will slow down, b-r-e-a-t-h-e, listen, speak, be silent—did I mention breathe? With any luck I’ll do some dancing, too, and chances are good I’ll cry the best kind of tears and recharge my strength and laugh my ass off.

On Aug 11th I’ll return renewed, refreshed, and way behind on emails. If you contact me, be patient. I will get back to you, I promise, as quickly as I can. Be kind to each other while I’m gone. Listen. Read books. Breathe! And why not take a look at the stops I have confirmed so far on my BOOK TOUR—so far I know I’ll be in Brooklyn, Knoxville, Los Angeles, Maplewood, NJ, and St. Louis! Will I see you? I hope so.

When is the perfect time to disappear and reclaim yourself before embarking on the most exhilarating, gratifying, and absolutely terrifying phase of your writing life? RIGHT NOW.

Really, when else is there?