Stephanie Gayle

For me, fall is the season of beginnings. That may seem backwards, but it marks the back to school season and, in and around Boston, September 1st is the official day to move. So fall is when things begin anew. Or so it seems to me.

Fall is also apple picking season and I love apple picking. I like meandering through the orchard, twisting the blushing red fruit in my hand, and smelling the aroma rising from the decaying fruit at my feet. I don't even mind lugging a half bushel bag of apples back to the car. I like apples, and fall is the season for them, where they're crisp (nothing worse than mushy apples) and available in abundances that demand you make apple crips, apple cakes, and, this year, apple pie.

My pie making history is brief and, until recently, not illustrious. I had attempted one pie: a blueberry pie. During the construction of said pie I was swearing with such vigor and ferocity that I cleared the apartment of all other living creatures (who actually expressed fear of me in that moment). When said pie came out of the oven looking less than perfect a small bite confirmed that it looked better than it tasted. The spices had not gotten mixed well, and, as a result, you could end up with a mouthful of cloves. My failure was made more terrible by the fact that not two weeks later I was at a dinner where someone else had made a more perfect than perfect blueberry pie that just happened to be her first pie ever. I nearly cut her right then and there.

Eight years later, I was ready to try again, but this time I was going classic: apple pie. No fancy lattice crust or crazy mile high type structure (I knew I wasn't ready for that). Just a good old regular apple pie. The kind I feared I'd never be capable of making. As if I was afflicted with a very specific baking afflication. Sure I can bake cookies, pies, profiteroles, whatever. But pies? Ack! It's my baking Kryptonite!

I'm happy to report that the pie turned out well. It won't win any prizes but it looks as it should and tastes pretty darn good. And so fall truly is the time for new beginnings.

Posted by Stephanie at 06:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

At some point I intend to share the list of all the books I've read recently, but not now. No, now is the time when I tell you to buy a book and read it. Why? Because the author is my former writing instructor, Ellen Litman, and she knows a thing or twenty about solid prose. So go to your nearest independent bookstore and buy The Last Chicken in America. It's getting great reviews and was picked as an "indie darling" by Publisher's Weekly. You hear that? Darling! Now go get your copy before your bookstore sells out.

Posted by Stephanie at 08:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last night's reading at the Harvard Coop had the biggest promotional window display for my novel that I've seen yet. Big piles of my book. Two big posters (one with my face, the other of the book cover). Right in view of Harvard Square. Classy! Unfortunately, only five people attended but I also had the nicest introduction I've ever had at a reading. Clearly the bookseller had read the book and liked it, a lot. So that was heartening. After the reading was over I was disposing of my water cup and saw the typed introduction he'd used for me in the wastebasket. I, um, fished it out. What? It wasn't dirty and I really did want a copy. And I just reread it, and damn. It's really entertaining and very flattering. I wonder if the bookseller has ever considered a career in writing?

# of books sold: one
So don't worry. My ego, lovely introduction notwithstanding, is firmly in check.

Posted by Stephanie at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Hey all you locals! I'm going to be reading this Tuesday, the 25th, at the Harvard Coop Bookstore on Mass Ave. at 7:00 P.M. Please come. Really. This is the first event where I'm concerned about attendance (In part because the reading area is on the third floor, in a very, very tucked away space. So no one is likely to wander in, catch a burst of my sparkling wit, and decide to plunk themselves down for a spell. Oh no. Not going to happen.)

We writers are frail creatures with easily wounded egos. Won't you come help boost my pride? If you come I promise to do my best to entertain you. Hey, if that involves busting out my super secret weapon (Bob Fosse jazz hands!) so be it.

Posted by Stephanie at 07:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Put them aside and go here: funny kitties!
Truly, I cannot explain my love for 'I can has cheezburger?' But I love it. Fiercely. Part of the magic is the pictures, but mostly it's the captions. And that too is odd because I have a strong track record of hating dialect. I've stopped reading books because the dialect, it was too much. I much prefer it when the author makes apparent that the characters talk differently, gives an example or two of colloquial speech, and then moves on. Otherwise, I tend to growl and hurl the book across the room. It's just my way.

But the heavy dialect of the LOL cheezburger cats? Totes kewl. Fureals.
Okbainow!

Posted by Stephanie at 10:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There are a lot of emotions you feel when you become a published author. I'm finding one of these chief feelings to be anxiety.

I worry. I worry about sales. I worry about ever earning out my advance and earning royalties. I worry about reviews. I worry about interviews and the possibility of being misquoted. I worry about readings where no one shows up. I worry about being smart/funny/entertaining/enlightening enough at readings. I worry about my second book and whether my agent will like it. I worry that I'll never be able to earn my living as a writer (without needing a second job).

But you know what?

There are some nice surprises. Fan mail. Damn. That's an amazing thing that makes me go all tingly.

And the other day, when I was on the floor, doing contorted push ups, I looked ahead. Before my face was the box of my books my publisher sent just before My Summer of Southern Discomfort hit stores. Sweating, shaking on trembling arms, I felt the biggest grin pulling my face into two. Because that was my name on that box. That was my book title. And inside: my novel. I laughed, genuinely happy to be in that moment. It's still a joy to me. I have a book published under my name.

So when I start worrying that people won't buy a book with "summer" in the title in non-summer months I try to remember the happy moments and trust that my work will lead to another box of books in the not-too-distant future.

Posted by Stephanie at 09:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, um, there have been difficulties, of a technical nature. We lost some blog posts. But don't cry. If memory serves they weren't terrific. Mostly all about my planned rigorous writing schedule, which I'm happy to announce has begun!

So book #2 moves apace and I spend lots of time in my room at my desk, typing. In fact my day is pretty tightly constricted into boxes of time, with little to none left for things that don't involve: eating/showering/working/putting clothes on/changing clothes/exercising/reading/writing/writing/writing/thinking about writing. In some ways, this compact schedule is almost liberating in its, you know, lack of freedom. Sort of how I envied kids in private school who wore uniforms because they never had to deliberate about what to wear in the morning.

Plus it's a lot easier to focus on your characters when your interactions with real people are limited. Of course I work 9-5, so it's not as though I'm holed up at home, seeing no one. Never fear. I haven't turned all Nicholson in The Shining just yet.

And yesterday, somewhat out of the blue, I had an idea for a new book. Even if it comes to naught it's good to have ideas and I was very mildly worried, because I've honestly had no ideas about what will come after I'm done with this one. Whereas the idea for book #2 came right on the heels of finishing book #1. Sometime I think half of this writing game is worrying. I suppose that's good news, because boy, am I good at that.

Okay. I'm gonna hit save and publish. Let's see what happens.

Posted by Stephanie at 09:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)