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“Mamalita” book launch with Joyce Maynard, November 2010
Tomorrow my debut novel, “Mother Mother,” launches and I’m thinking about the teacher who influenced me most as a writer, Joyce Maynard. Although we’re around the same age, Joyce is famously precocious, and, as a girl from New Jersey, I grew up reading her essays in the New York Times. Decades later, relocated to California and wrestling with a memoir, I learned Joyce lived a few miles from me in Marin County and held writing workshops in her home. Not only that, she owns a place in Guatemala, the country that figures prominently in my writing and where my children were born.
So off I went to Joyce’s aptly named “One Day Intensive” and I say aptly named because when she’s in teacher mode, Joyce is intense. Before class, she may appear Zen-like in yoga pants as she sips coffee and nibbles poppy seed cake, but once Joyce grabs that dry erase marker and stands before her white board, she is all laser focus.
That day fifteen years ago, Joyce cut through my jumble of ideas to reveal a narrative arc and protagonist’s journey. I’d lived the story—it’s memoir!—but until Joyce laid out the elements and identified the beats, I hadn’t found a way to tell it.
Joyce’s instruction was specific. No platitudes from Joyce. Parsing every sentence, she said, “Can you draw a picture of this?” Evaluating each conflict, she said “What are the stakes?” As I listened to her speak, I realized good writing requires the proper tools and Joyce is a master carpenter. I drove home that night inspired and transformed. I knew I would finish my manuscript, and I did. My memoir, “Mamalita,” was published in 2010.
I’ve attended dozens of workshops since my first one with Joyce, with outstanding teachers who have dedicated themselves to helping me improve my craft. But when I sit down to write, every time I sit down to write, it’s Joyce’s voice I hear: “The curtain goes up; show us the scene. Find the rhythm of the paragraph, the sentence, the phrase, the word. No character is entirely good or entirely bad; locate the sympathy. Tell the reader once. Drive the narrative. Cut, cut, cut. End with the punch.”
In the years I’ve known Joyce, she’s been teacher, mentor, and friend–to me and countless other writing students.
So tonight, on the eve of the day my novel finds its place in the world, I say thank you, Joyce, thank you. I hope I’ve made you proud.
My book launches tomorrow. A surreal feeling after 7 years (!), and also a feeling like this: “Mother Mother is out in the world. I needed to tell this story and I told it.”
Some early readers have posted reviews on Goodreads, for which I am tremendously grateful. Here’s an excerpt from one I read today:
“This was a spellbinding story. I loved and hated the characters at different intervals. Written with so many complex emotions, this is not an easy read, and it’s not one of those fluffy ‘feel good’ reads either… Honestly, I finished this book weeks ago and have been trying to come to terms with how I feel about it. It’s gorgeous and I highly recommend it, but it can hardly be considered a light or fast read.”
Thank you to everyone who has posted/will post a review on Goodreads, Amazon, and anywhere else. Reviews are very helpful to writers.
Please celebrate my book launch with me! Thursday, October 1 at 6 pm Pacific time.
In other circumstances, we’d be throwing a huge party at our house and if you lived close enough, you’d be invited. But as we know, life is different these days. We plan to celebrate anyway!
Please share the joy by Zooming in to my livestream virtual book launch on Thursday, October 1 from 6 to 7 pm Pacific time. The event will be hosted by the wonderful Portland indie bookstore, Annie Bloom’s, and feature a conversation between me and another Apprentice House author, Katey Schultz.
Signed copies of our books will be available for purchase. Admission is free, but you must register via the Zoom link here.
Yesterday Olivia said, “I miss the world.” And I said, “Honey, I do, too.” So this afternoon, masked and armed with hand sanitizer, we drove over the bridge to Golden Gate Park–Olivia, Tim, and I–and met two friends from our circumscribed pod, Susan H. and her daughter, M.
We ambled through the Botanical Gardens–Where I’d never been! after 20 years in the Bay Area!–watched skate-boarders and street musicians, held our collective breath for a girl on a unicycle.
We miss the world, still. But today the air was clear. The sky was blue. We saw good friends. We’re ready for tomorrow.
