Gratitude journal: Location location location

Tonight I find myself grateful for my location. I live in Newington, CT, two towns over from the state capitol of Hartford and in the relative center of the state.

This positions me about two hours west of Foxboro, MA, home of the New England Patriots, and about two hour east of New York City, the center of the universe.

As a Patriots season ticket holder and an author whose publisher is located in Manhattan, it’s a pretty good location.

Equidistant from these two exceptionally important entities in my life.

My wife and I also have family and friends living in the city, and I find myself driving there with ever increasing frequency for events like The Moth, making our location ever more ideal.  

We are also about ninety minutes south of my in-laws, who make their home in the Berkshires, which means they are close enough to see them fairly regularly but far enough away to prevent the unexpected visit. 

The perfect buffer zone.  

Tonight we drove into the city to celebrate my wife’s grandmother’s 90th birthday. While I do not particularly enjoy driving into the city, especially when the overall drive time exceeds the amount of time I am actually spending at the restaurant with Nana, it’s nice to be able to get there without too much trouble.

The Pteranodon song

My daughter loves dinosaurs and she loves music, so a combination of the two was inevitable, albeit slightly bizarre.

And very cute.

I will marry you: 3 things to look for when hiring a wedding officiant

From a New York Times piece entitled The Officiant Among Us:

FOR generations, getting married meant solemnly standing before an authority figure charged with upholding the rules of civil society or religious traditions.

But when Amity Kitchen wed Matthew Saucedo in January, a gregarious family friend, Chris Coughlin, officiated. Mr. Coughlin’s credentials for performing the ceremony? He clicked his mouse at a site offering ordination as a Universal Life Church minister, joining the ranks of Web-blessed clergy who are becoming an increasingly popular choice to preside over weddings.

“Neither Matt nor I are very religious,” Ms. Kitchen said. “The thought of just randomly picking someone to perform this meaningful ceremony, that just didn’t make sense.”

I became an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church thinking that someday there might DJ client also in need of a wedding officiant, and I might be able to fill this role for them as well. To be honest, I thought the chances of me being hired as a minster were slim, but since becoming ordained in 2002, I have presided over a dozen wedding ceremonies, including the ceremonies of two close friends, and three baby naming ceremonies.

One family actually considers me their family minster.

When Elysha and I were married in 2006, a friend also ordained by The Universal Life Church married us.

So I fully support the shift from traditionally ordained religious folk to less formal but more personal officiants, but I also advise using caution when choosing a friend or relative to preside over your wedding ceremony. After providing the music for more than one hundred ceremonies over the past decade, I have seen some less than stellar performances.

When choosing your officiant, traditionally ordained or otherwise, I believe that three important qualities should be considered:

1. The volume of the officiant’s voice

As a DJ, I have seen far too many ceremonies marred by a minister or justice of the peace who cannot be heard by the guests.

Sure, the officiant could use a microphone, but then you suffer the disparity of volume between the officiant and the bride and groom and anyone else speaking or reading.

You could also provide a microphone for everyone speaking at the ceremony, bride and groom included, but this adds a level of complexity that almost guarantees a problem. Either you are placing a lavaliere microphone on the bride’s dress (never a good idea), shoving a microphone in her face as she speaks (even worse), or she is holding a microphone during her ceremony.

All bad options.

There are plenty of people who can officiate a wedding. Why choose a wizened old man or a grandmotherly old lady? Instead, choose someone like me who can speak in a voice that can be heard loud and clear.

2. The ability of the officiant to speak extemporaneously

Too often I have seen brides and grooms choose a friend or relative to officiate a wedding, only to see the officiant bury his or her head in the book, never to be seen again. You want an officiant who can speak to an audience with a level of comfort that allows for frequent eye contact, an occasional smile and a relaxed disposition.

As much as you might love Cousin Henry, if he can’t get his head out of the book, it won’t matter if he is officiating your wedding since no one will ever see him.

3. Experience

Choose an officiant with a modicum of wedding experience, even if that experience is as a guest at many weddings. I have seen people officiate ceremonies who have attended so few wedding in their lifetimes that the basic structure and flow of a ceremony is a mystery to them. Not only does this often make for a stilted, uncertain performance, but it does not allow the officiant to act quickly with good judgment when something goes wrong, as it often does.

It’s one of the most important days of your life. Don’t trust it to a complete amateur.

Gratitude journal: Surprise

Tonight I am grateful for the potential for surprise that fills my life as an author. Today my agent informed me that we had received an offer from a French publisher for Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend. Just like that, my book will be translated into another foreign language and sold in another country.

I woke up thinking that this would be a relatively uneventful day, but by noon, I was going to be published in France.

Surprise!

Earlier this week I received news from my film agent that a production company has expressed interest in Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend. While this means absolutely nothing (both of my other books are currently optioned for film and television but nothing has happened as of yet), this news brings greater possibility to my life.

Surprise!

I also learned this week that the book has entered its fifth printing in the UK and its third printing in Australia.

Surprise!

Admittedly this was an especially surprising week for me, but it’s the possibility for surprise that I find myself especially grateful for this evening. Before publishing my first book, my life was relatively predictable.

Not unhappy, uneventful or unfulfilling, but marked by considerably fewer surprises.

Being an author requires a great deal of patience. Weeks and months can go by without a speck of good news and sometimes some absolutely dreadful news. But knowing that surprises like the ones that filled my week could be just around the corner make the hard work and the endless waiting all worth it.

Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend: An audio preview

The first two chapters of the audio version of Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend are available for preview here. The book is narrated by Matthew Brown, which seems apropos considering my UK pseudonym is Matthew Green.

I was initially worried that I would not like the narrator, especially given that the story is told in the first person, but the team at Macmillan has done a tremendous job in casting the role. I couldn’t be more pleased.

And I will have a chance to listen to the whole book soon. Macmillan is producing advanced listening copies of the book for distribution to booksellers, reviewers and at Book Expo America, so I’ll be able to give the book a listen before it’s actually published.

This will be helpful considering I never read any my own novels after they have been published. It’s too painful. I cannot help but continue to revise sentences and word choice in my mind.

I live in a tragic state of perpetual dissatisfaction.

But I am able to listen to my books on audio and enjoy them without the inner critic sounding off in my head, which is important considering how easily I can forget what I’ve actually written. Recently I was asked a question about a minor character in my first book, Something Missing, and I could barely remember who the character was or what role her served in the story.

It was a sign that it was time to give the audio version of Something Missing a listen again. I can’t tell you how embarrassing it is to realize that a reader has more knowledge about your novel than you do.

Gratitude journal: A stolen kiss

Tonight I am grateful for a stolen kiss, which wasn’t really stolen considering it was requested that I steal it.

After putting Clara in her crib, I asked for a kiss goodnight and she refused, which she does quite often. Instead, she typically latches onto Elysha and cuddles with her while Elysha sings her a song and I turn out the light and leave the room.

As I stood in the doorway tonight, ready to turn out the light, Clara said, “Daddy, come steal a kiss”, a phrase that I use from time to time when sneaking in and kissing her while she is busy doing something else.

It’s one of those moments I suspect I will never forget.       

I think I have finally found the perfect catchphrase to use when signing a reader’s book.

Since publishing my first two novels in 2009 and 2010, I have been searching for the perfect catchphrase to use while signing a reader’s book.

I wanted something short, clever, memorable and apropos to me that I could use in addition to my signature, but I had yet to find the right sentiment. I have even put the question out to my blog readers and Twitter followers without any success.

Instead, I have been writing arbitrary phrases like ‘I hope you enjoy my story’ and ‘Thanks so much for giving my book a chance’.

Meaningless drivel that caused me to suffer a great deal of disappointment and self-loathing with every signature.

But after years of searching, I think I have finally found the perfect catchphrase.

When signing a reader’s book, I will write:

I know we’ve only spent a few moments together, but you remind me so much of the spirit found on page 86 of my novel. 

Except each time I will change the page number to a different, arbitrary page, leaving the reader to analyze and scrutinize the page in an attempt to bring some meaning to my purposefully random, intentionally amorphous statement.

Can you imagine the look of consternation on the readers’ faces as they read and re-read the page, searching for a hint of themselves amidst my prose?

It would be priceless.

Or perhaps I will choose half a dozen different pages from the novel that are especially suited to this purpose. Pages that are emotionally charged or perhaps devoid of emotion completely. Pages so inscrutable as to have the reader wondering about my comment for years and years.

I think this might be perfect. It would give me the chance to personalize every book that I sign and infuse it with some meaning (albeit false) while staying true to my own nonconformist, occasionally jerky self.

It might even work out well for some readers.

The narcissist will undoubtedly find a way to transform my comment into a sincere and meaningful compliment.

The introspective soul will have the opportunity to examine the page with careful thought and reflection.

The self promotional office braggart will have a new and fascinating topic of discussion for the next day of work, perhaps even photocopying the page and distributing it to his or her coworkers in an attempt to crowd-source an analysis of my statement.

Either way, I will have a little fun with the reader, and it will almost guarantee that he or she will share the book with others in an attempt to ascertain the meaning of my statement. this process might even lead to a few more sales as well. 

Not bad. Right?

Gratitude journal: The ticking of the clock

I find myself struggling to find gratitude this evening.

I left the house at 6:30 this morning and returned at 8:00 this evening, thanks to a day of teaching followed by a series of parent-teacher conferences. As a result, I spent about 90 seconds with my daughter today, who was already in her crib and nearly asleep when I finally returned home. 

I can’t tell you how upsetting this is to me.

And I get to do it again tomorrow.

And I already did it yesterday.

Nevertheless, there were things to be grateful about today.

1. My conferences went very well.
2. My students worked very hard throughout the school day.
3. One of my colleagues is keenly aware of the number of hours that a classroom teacher works during the week of parent-teacher conferences and has done her very best to ease our burden throughout the week, including today. I can’t tell you how much this means to classroom teachers. For this alone I should be supremely grateful.    
4. I received great news from my agent regarding sales of my new book in the UK, Australia  and New Zealand.
5. My audiobook publisher sent the audio recording of the first two chapters of my new book, and I loved it.

In truth, there was much to be grateful for today, but the almost complete absence of my daughter looms large over everything else.

So I try to find gratitude for all the good things that have taken place today, but instead, I find myself grateful for every minute that ticks off the clock, for each minute that passes brings me closer to the moment when I can pluck my daughter from her crib and squeeze her again.

The Golden Rule: Complete and total nonsense

I recently made the assertion that the Golden Rule, the Biblical admonition to do onto others as you would have done onto you, is an ineffective and nonsensical means by which a person should live his or her life. I was in a conversation with a group of educational leaders at the time, and I am relatively certain that their reactions to this statement fell along one of three distinct lines:

1. Matt is an idiot.
2. Matt likes to say things to make people angry.
3. Matt is an idiot who likes to say things that make people angry.

Suffice it to say that whatever their reaction was, no one initially agreed with me.

Yes, I may be an idiot who likes to make people angry at times, but my assertion in regards to The Golden Rule is correct. “The foundation of Christianity and most major religions” (as one person described the Golden Rule to me) possesses a flaw that makes it utterly useless.

The flaw is this:

In reality, we do not treat people as we would want to be treated, nor should we. We treat people as we perceive they want to be treated, and this is is often entirely different than the way we actually want to be treated.

For example, I know that when my wife has a problem, she would like me to listen intently and empathize with her plight. She is like most women in this respect. She wants to be heard. She wants to know that I am on her side. She wants to believe that I understand how she feels.

She may ultimately want me to help her solve the problem, but I know that any proposed solution is secondary and possibly not required at all. Sometimes a problem has no solution, yet she will still want to talk about it with me. As long as she knows that I am listening and I care, she is content with my response.

My response to a problem is entirely different. If I have chosen to discuss a problem with my wife or one of my friends, it is because I have reached the point where I need help in finding a solution. If a problem has no solution, I am unlikely to ever mention it to anyone.

Many men handle problems similarly. If a male friend calls me to discuss a problem, I know that he is not looking to be heard. He is not seeking empathy. He is calling me with the expectation that I will offer an immediate array of possible solutions. In most cases, I do not need to empathize or even care about my friend’s problem. I need not think that the problem is worthy of discussion, just as long as I have a solution to offer.

If I were to apply The Golden Rule to the way in which I discuss my wife’s problems with her, my response would not be well received. In this case, I cannot treat my wife as I would want to be treated, because our needs, like the needs of most men and women, are entirely divergent.

Situations like this happen all the time. In fact, if The Golden Rule was actually a valid moral code, human beings would be required to treat every person in their lives in only one way:

The way they would want to be treated.

Allowances would no longer need to be made for differences in personality, sensitivity, sex, age or personal background. In a world in which we treat people in a way that we would want to be treated, everyone would be equal in our eyes in every respect.

Everyone would be us.

Admittedly, it would make for a significantly simpler world. The need for nuance, grace and  sensitivity would be gone. Every decision would be based solely upon our own personal preference. You would simply ask yourself what you might want in a given situation and make that your modus operandi, regardless of who you were dealing with or the context of the situation.

For example, I like to be spoken to in a direct and honest manner. My closest friends know this and are able to say things to me that might hurt the feelings of others. But this is how I prefer to be treated. I find this method most effective for me.

In a world that demanded adherence to The Golden Rule, I would be required to speak to people similarly, even if I knew that doing so would  hurt some people’s feelings and cause them to feel uncomfortable around me.

I am quite certain of this because there was a time in my life when I practiced The Golden Rule in this regard, and it resulted in a great deal of animosity toward me. I was stupid and arrogant and lacking in nuance, and the results were not good.

The Golden Rule caused me a lot of trouble in my youth.

The actual Golden Rule should read like this:

Treat others in a way that they would want to be treated.

Thankfully, this is how most of us actually live our lives, even as we espouse our belief in this flawed, archaic rule.

Gratitude journal: Daddy

Tonight I am grateful to be called Daddy.

My daughter is three years old, so Daddy is probably safe for a while, but I know that Daddy will eventually evolve into Dad.

And while Dad is just fine, there is nothing like walking in the door after a twelve hour day of teaching and parent-teacher conferences and hearing your daughter scream “Daddy!” from the back of the house, followed by the scampering of her little feet as she runs to the front door. 

She has this new baby thing all figured out.

A conversation between me and my three year old daughter:

Me: What’s in Mommy’s tummy?

Clara: A baby! A cute little baby!

Me: And when the baby is born, what will you be?

Clara: A big sister!

Me: That’s right. Will you help us take care of that little baby?

Clara: No, Mommy will take care of the baby.

Me: But Clara, big sisters can take care of babies, too.

Clara: No, Mommy will take care of the baby.

Me: If you won’t help us take care of the baby, what will you do then?

Clara: Play.

Guessing game gone awry

I play a game when standing in line. I listen to the people behind me as they speak and try to envision what they look like based upon their voice. Once I have a clear picture in my head of the person behind me, I turn around and compare my prediction with reality.

It’s actually a game I thought everyone played, but when I told my wife about it recently, she said that she had never played the game but thought it sounded fun.

Over the years, I’ve gotten quite good at this game. While actual physical features are often impossible to discern, the age, size, race and even style of dress can often be predicted with reasonable accuracy by simply listening to a person’s voice.

Then there are the moments like yesterday, when I guess the size, age, race and even style of dress precisely, but I get the sex wrong.

This happens exceedingly rarely, but when it does, I feel rotten about it for the rest of the day.

Gratitude journal: The best of friends

As you may know, my next novel, Memoirs of an Imaginary Fiend, has already been released in the UK, Australia, New Zealand, and even places like Dubai and Singapore. Anywhere that my British publisher, Little Brown UK. might ship books.

In the US, however, the book doesn’t publish until August.

Unwilling to wait for the August release, several of my friends have decided to purchase the UK edition of the book, despite the additional cost of shipping from overseas, and despite their assurances that they intend to purchase the US edition as well.

I find these decisions quite humbling.

Tonight, one of my friends received his overseas shipment and sent me this photograph.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the friends that I have in my life.

My first library book: Desperately seeking the title

When I was a child, there were very few books in our home, and almost no children’s books whatsoever, so when I was finally able to ride my bike to the public library and receive my first library card when I was ten, it was an important day for me. I remember that first visit to the library like it was yesterday. My hometown library was little more than a single, poorly lit room in the lower level of the town hall, and while it contained more books than I had ever seen, it only consisted of about half a dozen aisles of books.

Today, the library occupies the building that was once my middle school. It is enormous, modern, multi-leveled and bright. I did a reading there a few years ago when my first book was published, and while it is vastly superior to the library that I had growing up, I still love the thought of that small, dimly lit room that opened the world of literature to me.

I still remember the first book that I checked out of the library, but I cannot remember the title, and for years, I have been trying to find it. It was a dystopian science fiction story in which the tallest buildings in the world begin to liquefy, starting with the Sears Tower in Chicago, the tallest building at the time. The very tip of the building first begins to liquefy, and as the height of Sears Tower comes even with the second tallest building in the world, that building begins to liquefy as well.

Eventually all the buildings of the word begin to liquefy at exactly the same rate, throwing the planet into terror and chaos.

Ultimately, it is discovered that this is the work of an alien race that feels obliged to ensure that mankind does not advance technologically beyond a point that is considered safe. By keeping building no taller than six stories, the aliens believe that the technological advancement of the human race will be curtailed. Ultimately, every building of the world is liquefied to this point.

Thirty years have passed since I read that book. While I’m sure that it is out of print and nearly impossible to find, I would at least like to know what the title of that first library book was.

If you happen to know the title, could you let me know?

And if you know a librarian or someone who might know, would you mind inquiring for me?

I would be forever grateful.

Gone fishin’

Oh sure. To you this looks like a little girl waving a toy broom at the camera.

But it’s not.

That toy box is actually a boat, one I was required to sit on for quite a while. The broom is a fishing pole. The floor is an ocean, the rug an island, and all those dolls on the floor are swimming.

And while I wasn’t thrilled to be asked to sit in the boat and row for what felt like an hour while singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, I couldn’t help but marvel at the imagination of my little girl.

Gratitude journal: Clara’s kisses

Tonight I am grateful for the way Clara will grab hold of my the cheeks and pull me in for a kiss.

There will come a day when her kisses are decidedly less exuberant and significantly better aimed, and that will be a sad day indeed. 

Adolescent boys are apparently easily entertained by really stupid (but AWESOME) stuff

I mentioned on Twitter today that my favorite Japanese monster was Gamera, the giant turtle with inexplicable rocket engines for flying.

Unable to remember the story of Gamera, I went online to refresh my memory.

I wish I hadn’t.

I cannot remember reading a more idiotic plotline in all my life.

It’s a sad reminder of how easily an adolescent boy can be entertained by an ill-conceived monster, a few well timed explosions and the destruction of a city.

The film opens with Gamera's awakening from the accidental detonation of an atomic bomb as a result of an aerial assault by American fighters on Soviet bombers caught crossing into North American airspace. Gamera wastes no time in causing a rampage of destruction, first destroying a Japanese research ship, then making its way to Japan to wreak havoc.

In an attempt to stop the giant turtle, Gamera is sedated with a freezing agent on a precipice, and powerful explosives are placed at the base. The explosion knocks the monster on its back, and while it seems as though mankind has scored a victory, this is not the case: Gamera reveals its ability to fly. The monster arrives in Haneda airport and destroys most of Tokyo.

The military attempts to lure it to an island with fire, which it eats, and kill it, but the creature is distracted when a volcano erupts. Gamera goes to eat the lava instead. A new strategy, Plan Z, is devised to stop the monster, this time by baiting it into a space rocket bound for Mars. The plan is successful and the Earth is safe from Gamera.

I finally read Where the Wild Things Are. Sort of.

Having grown up with almost no children’s books in the home, it has been an unexpected joy to read these classics for the first time with my daughter. I would not recommend depriving your child of books, but as a father, it has made for more interesting bedtime reading. One of the books that I had yet to read was Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are. I watched the film adaptation of the book last year but had yet to read the actual book.

At the time, I postulated that I might be one of the only people in the world to have seen the film version without having ever read the book.

The book is actually sitting on my daughter’s bookshelf, just waiting to be brought into circulation. My hope was that I could experience this classic for the first time with Clara, but I’m afraid I cheated this morning.

I discovered this video of Christopher Walken reading the book and couldn’t resist.

I do not regret my decision. It’s fantastic.

Gratitude journal: The almost perfect game

Yesterday I was grateful for poker, which I described as the perfect game.

Tonight I am grateful for golf, the almost perfect game. I played today thanks to a spat of unseasonably balmy temperatures, my first time on the links this year. I played well at times, poorly at others and finished with a score of 56, which stinks.

But still, it was golf. In March.

Like poker, golf is competition wrapped in a social milieu. Despite the ongoing battle for first place (or the more important battle to avoid last place), it is also time well spent with friends. It does not place nearly as many intellectual demands upon a player as poker does but adds a layer of physicality that poker does not possess. 

It’s a magnificent game, and I would play everyday if I could.

Here’s the thing that keeps golf from being as perfect as poker:

At the poker table, anyone can win. An inexperienced, stupid player can make a series of good decisions, become uncharacteristically aggressive, or pick up on a tell and win the game. At the poker table, every player, regardless of skill or experience, is a legitimate and persistent threat to the best player at the table.

Golf is very different. I play golf with guys who are in many ways playing an entirely different game than me. They are hitting the ball so much farther and higher and with such greater precision that beating them is a near-impossibility.

While poker provides a relatively level playing field for all players, golf does not. Experience plays an enormous role.

And some guys are just better.

Still, I love the game, despite its imperfection. Thankfully, winning and losing does not matter as much in golf because it lacks the head-to-head combat of poker.

Simply put, you cannot play poker without an opponent.

This is not the case for golf. Opponents are not required to enjoy the game. In many ways, you play every round of golf by yourself while in the midst of three other people and then compare your scores at the end of the round to see who played alone best.

If given the choice, I prefer the cut-throat, head-to-head battles that poker provides, but golf is a close second.

Blurb!

In the wake of Jodi Picoult’s exceptionally generous blurb comes this one from Carol Kranowitz, a teacher, a leader in the autism community and the bestselling author of The Out-of-Sync Child and The Goodenoughs Get in Sync:

“Here is a perfectly crafted treasure! While it is shaped around autism, it deals with much more—courage, loss, love, human development and relationships—the very stuff of real life."

I didn’t write the book with the intent of specifically appealing to the autism community, but this endorsement means a lot to me, particularly in terms of the portrayal of Max, the character who is on the autistic spectrum.

It’s good to know I got him at least a little right.