Stephanie Gayle

I've been talking about my forthcoming book, THE WORLD V. NATALIE GOLDBERG, to lots of folks as of late. Whenever I meet someone new who has heard I have a book under contract they ask, "Who is publishing it?"

"HarperCollins," I say.

Their face changes. Sometimes subtly, other times it's a full-on gape. "Wow," they say or "Ohhhh."
This is followed by, "So you're really getting published."

It's funny what a name will do. People recognize HarperCollins. Even folks who don't read much know the name. It makes me wonder if my book got bought by MacAdams/Cage or Grove/Atlantic, how the reactions might differ. A furrowed brow followed by a "Well, congrats!" or maybe a long silence and a "Huh."

Being published by a small or boutique press is no less really getting published than being published by a giant like HC or Random House, but I am not sure everyone sees it that way.

I have to admit it is fun to watch people's faces change when I invoke the name. It's as close to name dropping as I will ever get.

Posted by Stephanie at 11:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I write in my room at my desk most days. If I am away from home I will scribble in a notebook, only rarely lugging my laptop about to work on. On gorgeous weekends I have been known to take my coffee, notebook and pen out of doors, to the back steps where I commune with nature. Communing means sitting in the garden, scowling and scribbling, looking up to say, "Wow. There are a lot of bees here," and then getting back to it.

But most days, I sit at my desk and tap tap away. My things are there: printer, reference books, all my other stuff that is strictly speaking unnecessary to my writing. Except this week it has been hot. Near or in the 90s for days. Muggy days that my window fan cannot hope to conquer. Days that make the back of my legs stick to my chair. I had to go downstairs to the dining room table yesterday to write. The heat upstairs was too much. I did okay, but my roommates were around and I found myself talking, which is not writing.

This is why you need a room of your own: to keep others out.

I know lots of people who cannot write at home, who instead write at libraries or coffee shops or anywhere but their houses. They find their stuff's nearness distracting. Me, I find it comforting. I like to be able to change my music, or turn it off as wanted. I like taking dance breaks. I like being by myself, feeling like what is in my head is what is around me. If I were in a space with others, I don't think I could achieve that singular focus. Besides, you try taking a dance break in the middle of a library.

Posted by Stephanie at 11:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Playing Scrabble in my family involves a lot of trash talk. One might argue it's a healthy way for us to express our aggression over a friendly game. One might also argue that we Gayles are insane. It would not be the first time this idea has been expressed.

My family plays by some unconventional rules. We have a house rule that if you draw three tiles of the same letter you can throw the third one back and pick a fresh tile. You won't find that in the rule book. We also use the official Scrabble dictionary. By use, I mean we check opponent's words but we also "go shopping" when we want to find a word we hope exists. Sometimes the word does. We don't call that cheating. We call it increasing our vocabulary.

While I was home this weekend we broke out the board. Over our second game my brother Brian (who was winning at this point) says, "God. Here I am, nearly illiterate and I'm beating a soon-to-be-published author. What's that say about her?" My mother concurred this reflected poorly on me. Great. So now I am held to a higher standard in Scrabble play? After that remark, I laid down a seven-letter word and went on to win the game. Oh the trash that was spoken then was indeed worthy of my vocabulary.

Posted by Stephanie at 08:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)