See you tomorrow?
Brooklyn Historical Society Library
Sunday, Sept. 21, 2014
Secrets large and small hold lives together in books by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore (Bittersweet), Bobby Byrd (Otherwise, My Life is Ordinary) and Julia Fierro (Cutting Teeth). Confusion and deceits among friends, the hidden violence of class power, and simple conversations of daily life raise the questions of whether secrets are dangerous or innocent, and if the truth is liberating or destructive. Short readings and discussion. Moderated by Rachel Fershleiser, Tumblr.
This morning I got to have breakfast with Merritt Tierce, a writer I admire immensely. She’s won some awards, been a 5 under 35 honoree, and is beloved by jamiatt, roxanegay, and many more of our favorites, so I’m not exactly breaking new ground here, but WOW, you guys. Just wow.
Her new novel Love Me Back is staggering, breathtaking, almost literally. Everyone’s going to say “unflinching” a lot. Unsentimental. Raw. Give Merritt the Nobel Prize in Smart Women Making Potentially Bad Decisions Without Apologizing to Anyone.
Merritt is also one of my feminist heroes for her work with the Texas Equal Access Fund, ensuring that women’s healthcare and reproductive freedom are for all women, not just those who can afford it. I was a fan of her writing and the TEAfund before I put it all together, and now I’m dazzled.
Congratulations to Merritt and Doubleday on the publication of this fantastic book! Don’t miss it, seriously.
Vulture has the first look at the effing amazing cover of my new book. Read more about the designers and why this cover is perfect here. Comes out June 2015. CANNOT WAIT.
I cannot even handle how gorgeous this is. I want to buy it poster-sized.
On the very day I was so saddened to lose this auction for books and art by Megan Mayhew Bergman, guess what I got in the mail!
We know when you happened, too. We were at a bed and breakfast in Vermont, he had proposed to me that day, hours before. That day. I was terrified and at peace all at once. It really did feel different. All my second guessing gave way to profound peace. Like, oh, you will be the one. Oh we will have children together. Oh, I’ll see you get old. It will really be you! And it felt so wonderful. It was the night after that, that same day. We had hiked for hours and driven through the mountains for hours and had maple ice cream on a Great Lake and had a flight of beers at a brewery and a dinner somewhere, seated at the bar. We didn’t tell anyone though I wondered if we should have ordered champagne, if we were doing engagement correctly.
We got to the B&B late and they left out tea and cookies for us and we tiptoed around the house in the dark, looking at prints of whales and family photos, all the while eating our ginger snaps. Back in our room I took a bath in the dark and then got into bed. We laughed at the teddy bear in a chair, I think I texted Anna a picture of it. We had, it must be said, and I’m sorry to tell you this, life-affirming sex. Near the end I think I might have been crying tears of joy and love and peace. Which is when, fortunately or unfortunately, which is the question of the hour, of the year, of your lifetime and ours, I said, “it’s fine, just go ahead” and your dad said no no and I said, IT’S FINE! And then there you were. Or you know, the start of you. Don’t mean to get political here.
The first day you existed we ate breakfast over candlelight. The door to the dining room was open and it was pouring rain. You could feel the rain, not the wet of it but the air, the feel of rain, in the room. Or was it just foggy? Was it just dark? We ate a big Vermont dutch baby type of pancake with syrup and berries and then something else, I don’t remember, just that we had told them we were vegetarians but they served us sausages and we debated either eating them or saying something (this is one thing I hate about b&b’s) but we cowered out and back to our room and when we met the mom of the place in the kitchen she apologized, saying she forget we were vegetarians and we had to do a big dance of self-immolation and “no, no“‘s and then we drove into town and went to a bookshop and then drove for an hour to a farm in the middle of nowhere and helped herd goats from the barn out to pasture. I teared up seeing the baby goats in a pen all their own, separated from their moms. The goat farmers were the nicest people ever and we asked them a million questions and felt so magical out there, stepping in the mud.
That was your first day.
Can someone please give Meaghan 500 book deals today right now or sooner please?
There I met the rest of the family – seven silent, dreamy children in total and their mother, also silent, and slender and weathered, and their father, a tall man in his fifties with long, gray hair. He was mostly toothless. He welcomed me, and motioned to a picnic table. It seemed impolite to say no.
A new Jami Attenberg story! A new Jami Attenberg story! FERSH_SIREN.GIF
Support independent literary publishing and buy tickets to our gala!! You’ll get all our love, not to mention a delicious Chinese banquet dinner. We promise it’s more fun than takeout.
If you like dumplings, spelling bees, and independent publishing, come sit by me!