We’re Not Stupid!

We’re Not Stupid!

 

The Harlem River Bridge was open and stuck. The Metro-North train I was taking to Grand Central for the shuttle to JFK and my flight back to Portugal was, according to announcements, delayed “indefinitely” while waiting for “the Army Corps of Engineers to figure out how to close it.” Minutes ticked by. The hour of cushion I had given myself dissolved.

We weren’t parked completely between stops. The last car sat beside the Fordham station platform. One by one, and then in droves, people left in search of options.

While discussing my own choices with a conductor – a taxi, but taxis rarely stop there; Uber, but my Portugal phone had already refused to call Uber; the subway with a stop two blocks west, but I’m unfamiliar with the Bronx, had luggage, hours and hours of travel ahead, and rarely took the subway even when I lived in New York — I said, “I won’t be doing subways.” A nearby woman pounced, eyes flashing, her voice a bark: “We’re not stupid!” she told me. “It’s two blocks.”

Perhaps I’d once been accosted in a subway, or had been trapped, or fallen asleep to find myself in Brooklyn instead of Broadway and Lafayette. Perhaps a medical condition precluded my walking any blocks or descending and ascending stairs with two carry-ons. I travel lightly, but not empty-handed.

But no. No thought to any other possibility other than, “We’re not stupid!” implying that while she wasn’t, I was.

I left the train to take a look at the street – a stray taxi perhaps? A flash of inspiration? – hoping it didn’t leave without me before I’d figured something out.

Three women stood just outside the station door, one twenty-something, one thirty-something, one eighty-something. I overheard the thirty-something say “Grand Central.”

“Grand Central?” I said. “You’re headed to Grand Central?”

“Yes. Uber. Want to join us?”

“Yes!”

So, the four of us, capable and competent and resourceful, climbed into an Uber car so small there weren’t enough seat belts to head into Manhattan. The older woman was joining friends for a play. The two younger ones had meetings with clients. And I, of course, was travelling,

Not one of us stupid.

Perhaps the woman on the train believes she’s empowered, and that it’s her job to empower me and any woman she encounters who isn’t exhibiting her, ah, strength. Perhaps she thinks she represents a proper sort of feminism.

Whatever her reasoning, I reject it. And happily embrace women who join forces.

 

 

 

 

The Spoken Word

The Spoken Word

I’ve never opened a book without a pen. Audio books? Never! What would I do with my hands? My annotations are an elaborate system that fill most pages. My son calls them the rantings of a mad women. Maybe so. I don’t care. I am madly in love with my books.

But I’m suddenly in love with audio books, too. Having given myself time and permission to listen, I’m hearing so much more.

The change came while working with Talece Brown on Vanishing Point. We spent hours (with her on the West Coast and me in Connecticut, these hours were often in the middle of my night) deciding on characters’ voices and how to convey the novel’s core. Talece brought new dimensions to the characters I thought I knew so well, not only through dialogue but with a beautiful portrayal of the scenery of their inner and outer lives. She saw my story as a movie, and her vision shines through.

As we approached the release date, I finally heard friends singing the praises of audio books, how they enable them to make use of what could feel like lost time, commuting or doing chores. A few even say they’d never ‘read’ if it weren’t for audio books on their smartphones.

In a recent Facebook post, George Saunders recognized some readers, unable to figure out Lincoln in the Bardo’s format, had given up. I hadn’t given up, but intrigued by its 150-plus voices, his was my first purchase. I was rewarded. People came alive. Descriptions sung. Tough passages became crystal clear.

At the end of long reading and writing days, I don’t want to pick up another book but neither do I want to stop working. I’d been wanting to revisit classics, but who has the time with such steep stacks of new books? Enter audio books. Wharton, Woolf (Nicole Kidman’s To the Lighthouse!), D.H. Lawrence. And now I’m sampling new releases to decide which to read and which to hear. Which ones are calling you?

Finally, a revelation. About limitations. The limitation of having only my voice in my head, only my interpretations, my emphases, my biases. Listening to books by authors I’ve read more than once, I’ve heard – for the first time – lines and whole paragraphs I’d skipped over that are not only interesting, sometimes stunning, but crucial.

We writers can become more aware of rhythms in our own work by listening to the pulses of others’ being read out loud.

I’m not likely to join the ranks of audio-book junkies, but . . . while writing this . . . downloaded two more. Naturally, I hope you’ll give Vanishing Point a try:  http://amzn.to/2CB1Lv6

Wishing you joyous celebrations. And a happy exploration of the spoken word!

 

Illus: Google Images

 

 

Better Late Than Never

Never in a hundred years did I think I’d be singing the praises of audio books. A quick take on my transformation is on today’s Necessary Madness blog post, “The Spoken Word.” My publisher would yell at me if I didn’t ask you to sample the audio from Talece Brown for Vanishing Point: http://amzn.to/2De7wQw

Paperback for VP or Connected Underneath (published under Linda Legters) would also be just fine! http://amzn.to/2kNY8e8

A Hollywood Bikini Wax and Alexander Hamilton

A Hollywood Bikini Wax and Alexander Hamilton

Hello all. What a week politically. Here’s some distraction.

Curious what sort of story caught Reese Witherspoon’s imagination — she snapped up the movie rights I picked up Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman. Social misfit, physically-damaged Eleanor (“There was, it seemed, no Eleanor-shaped social hole for me to slot into”) first shares her brand new Hollywood bikini wax (I had no idea) but moves on to things like this:  “I suppose one of the reasons we’re all able to continue to exist . . .  is that there is always, however remote it might seem, the possibility of change.” Eleanor is delightfully capable of change. Honeyman’s quick, light prose has just enough fun and just enough suspense. You might see the movie, but read the book first!

Emily Fridlund is a friend of my own friend and priceless mentor, Gordon Mennenga. Her History of Wolves, long listed for the Booker Prize, is an excellent choice for a snowy winter night. The brilliantly observant 14-year old Linda copes with family love and family loss deep in the north woods of Minnesota. Linda’s mom implores her to ” ‘ . . . feel clean for a second, okay? Just feel good. . . . We’re starting over, you and me. I’m trying to get God on our side, do things different. So you can be a happy little kid again, got it? Can you just be a little kid for one second?’ I wasn’t sure what else I could be.” As I wrote on Goodreads, “Completely absorbing. Beautifully and honestly told.”

My own Connected Underneath is also story about family, and love, and the choices we make. Small stones create far-reaching ripples in the lives of wheelchair-bound Celeste, Theo, a single ex-biker dad, and his adopted daughter, Persephone. “[Theo] came to realize – we all come to realize – our search isn’t for family, exactly, but for connection, connections that will keep us, so we won’t drown, won’t fly off, something that will connect us underneath.”

And I’m going to throw this out there: Ron Chernow’s Hamilton — I know. A bit lengthy for this busy time of year, but, I’ve read nearly all the other Chernow biographies — astonishingly, they read like novels — and don’t know why I put this one off for so long. It provides fascinating insight into those Founding Fathers our politicians constantly evoke. Chernow gets to the truth about those early years of our republic, fraught with discontent and disagreement. We nearly didn’t make it, and yet here we are. Or, so far, here we are. Take a look — even if you’ve seen the musical!

These titles are readily available in all the usual places, but please support your local independent bookstores.

Nice to see you! Thanks for checking in.