Hot Buzz About Books and Book Clubs

For those of you in the greater Hartford area (and beyond), I will be joining a panel of esteemed book lovers and professionals in the publishing industry to discuss book recommendations on Thursday evening at 7:00 at the West Hartford Jewish Community Center. This is an annual event that runs in conjunction with the JCC’s Jewish book festival.

It’s always a great night.

RJ Julia Booksellers President Roxanne Coady and Random House sales reps and Books on the Nightstand hosts Ann Kingman and Michael Kindness will be joining me on the panel to talk about books that we love. 

 

Prior to joining the panel, Elysha and I were regular attendees of the event, so you now it’s good. 

There will also be prizes given out throughout the evening and a book swap. RJ Julia Booksellers will also be selling the books that the panel recommends on stage. 

Details about the event can be found here. Hope to see you there!

Hot Buzz About Books and Book Clubs

I’ll be speaking on the panel below alongside RJ Julia Bookseller’s President Roxanne Coady and Books on the Nightstand hosts Ann Kingman and Michael Kindness.

If you’re a reader and a book lover, you should come. Before I joined the panel onstage, Elysha and I attended this event for years.

It will be fun. I promise.

My daughter received her first library card. Her father might be more excited about it than she is, and for good reason.

My daughter received her first library card last weekend. She was thrilled.

I think my wife and I were even more excited than she was.

She also checked out her first book with it: If You Give a Moose a Muffin.

   

I didn’t receive my first library card until I was ten years-old. There were very few books in my home when I was growing up, so my library card represented access to a world never before seen by me. I loved my public library, despite it’s miniscule size (a single room of books) and placement in the basement of our town hall. I would walk the aisles, staring at the spines of the books, unable to fathom how many stories were now available to me.

Today my hometown library is a beautiful building located in what used to be my middle school. It’s enormous, illuminated by natural light, filled with more books than my childhood mind could have ever imagined, and equipped with all the amenities of a modern-day library.

I’ve had the pleasure of speaking there on a few occasions, and while I adore the space, I still hold a special place in my heart for that small, basement room in the town hall where so many doors opened for me for the first time.

After some sleuthing by a clever reader, I even managed to identify and locate the first library book that I ever checked out, and a copy sits on my bookshelf today.

I have yet to reread it, fearful that it won’t be as spellbinding as I remember it to be, but I’ll crack it open soon.

Today copies of all three of my novels can be found in the same library where my daughter received her first library card All three can also be found on the shelves of my hometown library.

This astounds me. My heart still flutters every time I see one of my novels on a bookstore shelf, but seeing them on the shelves of these two libraries means more to me than I can describe.

I have wanted to be an author for as long as I can remember, but in my wildest boyhood dreams, I never imagined that my books would someday find their way onto the shelves of the library where the world of books and reading first opened to me.

And as a parent, the idea that my books are sitting on the shelves of the same library where my daughter received her first library card is equally indescribable.

My daughter was decidedly less impressed, and she is never terribly  excited about seeing her father’s books on library or bookstore shelves. That’s okay. My novels don’t have any pictures, and the endings aren’t always happy.

As long as she’s reading something, I don’t care.

This author found a way to sell books with sticks and leaves and a little bit of twine.

Last weekend I took my children to Winding Trails in Farmington, Connecticut, to a Fairy House Tour. I had never heard of such a thing and had no idea what to expect.

I wasn’t expecting much, to be honest. But it was brilliant.

Based upon author Tracy Kane’s Fairy Houses series, local organizations were invited to construct elaborate fairy houses from natural materials that were then placed throughout the woods for the children to find and examine. There must’ve been three or four dozen houses in all, each one more elaborate than the next.

The kids adored it.

At the end of the trail, the kids were given the opportunity to build their own fairy houses using materials provided by the camp.

The event culminated with a reading at the entrance to the trail and a book signing. A brilliant bit of marketing by the author, who sold many books.

     

It led me to wonder what I might do to similarly market my books.

Invite people to recreate life-sized versions of their imaginary friends and bring them to a Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend cocktail party?

Create a Something Missing book club game wherein each guest is sent into a room and tasked with stealing an item that would go unnoticed?

Design an Unexpectedly, Milo online game wherein players watch video diaries in order to determine the biography of the person speaking?

None are nearly as good as a Fairy House tour, I’m afraid.

    

My children visited a bookstore on the last day of summer. Their behavior was shocking.

We spent the last day of summer on the Connecticut shoreline. Among our choice of activities was a visit to our favorite bookstore, R.J. Julia in Madison, Connecticut.

 

Elysha and I once spent hours in bookstores, but when our children entered our lives, that changed. We tried for a while to do some tag-team parenting.  One parent relaxes while the other stops the monsters from ripping every book off the shelf.

It wasn’t fun.

But something happened on that last day of summer. I brought the kids upstairs to the children’s section of the bookstore, and within a minute, with no intervention on my part, this happened:

 

Not only did they plop themselves down and start reading, but they remained this way for a full 30 minutes.

Just imagine how much better it will be when they can actually read!

I probably couldn’t leave them unattended and descend to the adult section, but while my wife browsed below, I browsed the children’s section, which I sort of love anyway. I’ve written a few picture books that I am hoping to  eventually sell, and I missed out on these books as a child, so I still have lots of catching up to do. 

Even if this weren’t the case, this is a huge improvement over chasing them around, shushing them, and returning strewn books to the shelves.

This is good.

There is hope for the future.

PowerPoint presentations, game shows, skinny dipping, and now The Oscars: Quirks of the many book clubs I have attended

Last week I attended the meeting of Sheltering Trees, a book club in Wallingford, Connecticut. The members of the group (more than a dozen ladies ranging in ages from their twenties to their seventies) were kind enough to read Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, so I joined them for their discussion.

As expected, it was great fun. Book club events always are.

After having attended the meetings of more than 100 book clubs over the past five years, I’ve discovered that every book club has its own traditions, rules, quirks, and eccentricities.

I’ve attended a book club meeting that opened with a game show created by the host, played by the other members, and was based upon the book they  read.

I watched a book club choose their next book via professional presentations that included PowerPoint presentations, heated discussions, and carefully chosen clips from New York Times reviews.

I attended a book club meeting where two of the women disappeared in the midst of the meeting, only to be later found skinny dipping in the pond.

The latter was my own book club.

I could probably write a book about my adventures attending book club meetings. I probably should.  

The book club that I met with last week ends their meeting by rating the book on a 1-10 scale, and these scores are averaged, giving the book a final score. These women  take this rating process very seriously. In addition to assigning a number, each person also gives a reason for their determination. Members not present who finished the book can email in their rating and rationale. One of their members was in Korea but still took the time to email a score and a paragraph explaining her thinking. 

As the author, it was both fascinating and a little terrifying to listen to these women, who pull no punches, rate my book. I offered to leave to allow them to be honest, but they insisted I stay. “Don’t worry,” one woman said. “we won’t be careful of your feelings.” Two of my ladies in the group assigned my book a perfect ten, which causes the rest to burst into spontaneous, uproarious applause.

These women take their perfect scores very seriously.

I also had my share of eights and nines from the group, and my book ultimately received an average score of a nine, which I was told is very good.

At the end of the year, the book club meets for an award’s night of sorts. The members vote on the books read during the year in categories like best and worst book, best passage from a book, best and worst male and female character, best discussion, best cover, and more. They run this awards gala like the Oscars. Members vote, and presumably one member (unless they also enlist the services of Price Waterhouse) collects the votes and places the winner’s names in Oscar-like envelopes for the dramatic reveal. 

No book is read for that December meeting. It’s simply a review of the previous year’s books.

The women were kind enough to invite me and Elysha to their awards celebration, and if the date is open, I’m going. This book club is comprised of an interesting cast of characters (they always are), and I suspect that the evening will be highly entertaining.

Maybe it will be the final straw that pushes me over the edge and makes me want to write that book.

Love the book. Hate the fact that it only took Bradbury 18 days to write it.

Ray Bradbury was born 94 years today. My favorite Bradbury book, and one of my favorite novels of all time, is Fahrenheit 451.

It took Bradbury just 18 days to write the book.

Jerk.

I realize how unlikely you are to watch an hour long video online, but this talk given by Bradbury in 2001 is fantastic.

Can you imagine a better way to start the day?

My boy likes to read, which is great. He can’t actually read yet, but you know what I mean.

 

It’s not quite as great when you’re trying to put him down for a nap and he demands. “Mmm book! Mmm book!”

But when I crept into his bedroom yesterday morning and found this, my heart swelled to three times its size:

My book club once featured skinny dipping. This book club has a big time college football player for a member. I think they win.

I’m not a big college football fan. I don’t have an allegiance to any college football team. But wide receiver Malcolm Mitchell may have turned me into a Georgia Bulldogs fan with his recent foray into, of all things, a book club.

It’s a great story. I can’t wait to show this video my students at the beginning of the school year. You must watch.

Go Bulldogs.

Contrary to popular belief, parents and teachers are well aware of the existence of Sparknotes.

was sitting inside Barnes & Noble last week with seven teenagers who are participating in our writing camp. We were discussing book titles when one of the students pointed at a rack of Sparknotes and gasped.

Heads turned. Jaws dropped. One student asked, “What are they doing here?”

Another whispered, “Why are they just sitting there, out in the open?”

It turns out that the kids didn’t realize that Sparknotes were something that you could purchase in a bookstore. They thought that Sparknotes were a product only available on the Internet. Even more amusing, they thought that parents and teachers were unaware of their existence.

I explained that parents and teachers are well aware of the existence of such products, and that they have been available in bookstores for a long, long time.

“Then why do they still exist?” one student asked.

I explained that as much as I wish it were otherwise, parents and teachers do not rule the world.

Then one of them pointed to the center of the rack. “The Hunger Games? They have Sparknotes for The Hunger Games? What moron cant read that book?”

They all agreed that the existence of The Hunger Games Sparknotes was an abomination.

I love listening to kids.

I am like a tree in one very specific way, at least according to my daughter.

A few weeks ago, I discovered that my daughter doesn’t think I sleep. Because I am out of bed every day by 4:30 and back in bed well after she has gone to sleep, Clara has never even seen me lying in bed.

At the time, I explained to her that I sleep. I just go to bed late and wake up before most people.

I thought she believed me.

Last night I was reading a book to my daughter called Chicken Bedtime is Really Early. In it, the hamsters stay awake all night while the rest of the animals sleep.

“Hamsters must be nocturnal,” my daughter said.

“I think so,” I said.

“And the other animals like the sheep and the cows are diurnal,” she said.

“I think you’re right.”

“And I’m diurnal,” she said. “And so is Mommy and Charlie.”

“You’re right. But what about me?”

“You’re…” She paused. Looked at me. Squinted her eyes. Tilted her head. “You’re no-urnal, because you don’t sleep. Like trees.”

I’m like a tree. No-urnal.

I’m going to have to jump back in bed one of these mornings to knock this idea that Daddy doesn’t sleep out of her mind. While I would love that to be my super power, my actual super powers do not include the ability to avoid sleep altogether.

I worry that George R.R. Martin will die before finishing his Song of Fire and Ice series, and yes, that’s not a nice thing to think.

George R.R. Martin is the author of the popular Song of Fire and Ice series which you may know better as Game of Thrones.

He’s currently writing the sixth of that was originally going to be seven books in the series, though he recently hinted that there may be an eighth.

Martin is 65 years-old. He’s not exactly the picture of health.

It took him six years to write the most recent book in the series, A Dance with Dragons, and it has taken him 15 years to write the five books written so far.

At this pace, he will complete the final two books by the time he is 72 years-old, and if there really is an eighth book planned, he will be close to 80 when he finally wraps the series.

For these reasons, I have decided to wait to read the books, fearing his demise before the series is complete.

This is not an entirely unfounded position. Stephen King’s Dark Tower series (which you should all read immediately) was nearly cut short when King was hit by a van and nearly killed in 1999 with three books to go.

When I first heard about the accident, my first thoughts went to The Dark Tower’s Roland and his ka-tet. As saddened as I was to hear about King’s death (it was originally announced that King had died in the accident), I was equally distraught over the idea that Roland’s journey to The Dark Tower would never be realized.  

Perhaps fearful that he may never finish the series if he didn’t work quickly,  King promptly completed the final three books in the series  in 2004 (publishing one in 2003 and two in 2004).

Then he added a book for good measure in 2012.

So yes, I worry about Martin’s ability to complete his masterpiece. He’s not a young man, and he seems to require about five years to finish a book. I was nearly left hanging in the midst of a masterpiece once before. I don’t want that to happen again.

Apparently I am not alone in this sentiment. Others have expressed this concern openly and often. Martin recently addressed the many people who have expressed concerns over his ability to complete the series before his demise:

“I find that question pretty offensive, when people start speculating about my death and my health. So f**k you to those people.”

He added a middle finger for good measure.

I deserve the rebuke. He’s right. It’s not exactly polite to speculate about an author’s longevity. If I were him, I’d be angry, too.

But when you want to stick it to someone like me, there are four words even more satisfying than simple vulgarity:

“I told you so.”

Finish the books, George. Make me look like a fool for ever doubting you.

Dating in a perfect, bookish world

My wife gave me a book on our first date:

 The Tale of Despereaux. Complete with the best inscription ever.

Not quite the dream scenario described below, but close.

No better start to the day

There are mornings when my son refuses to come out of his crib until he’s  had a chance to read a book.

Oftentimes, he’s grunting, pointing at a book in his basket or on the shelf. He’ll flip through it once or twice, pointing and delighting at the pictures, and when he’s finally done, he stands up and lets me know that he’s ready to start the day.

I hope he never changes. Never ever. 

Goodnight Moon with her little brother

I read Goodnight Moon (and most other children’s books) for the first time with my daughter, who immediately fell in love with the story, as much children do. 

Now she puts her brother on her lap and “reads” the book to him.

I keep thinking how much better these moments will be when my daughter can actually read.

Still, incredibly cute.

24 thoughts from my weekend at Booktopia

Elysha and I spent the weekend in Vermont at Booktopia, a weekend retreat for listeners of Books on the Nightstand that brings readers and authors together in a unique experience.

It’s our favorite weekend of the year.

Here are some thoughts from the weekend.

1. It is impossible to predict where the idea for an author’s novel first originated. Don’t even try.

2. Writers of historical fiction are well aware (who knew?) that they can just write straight fiction and avoid all that annoying, time consuming research, yet they choose to do otherwise. I admire and respect them, but I still don’t get it.

3. Women swoon at the sound of a good accent. I wish I had a good accent.

4. I do not have a good accent. Even when I had a Boston accent, I did not have a good accent.

5. Even though I was recently told that my voice is “sensuous and sultry,” this is clearly not true. Even if it was true, it doesn’t matter if your wife doesn’t think so.

6. Any compliment that I receive in life is predicated on my wife’s agreement. If she thinks it’s bunk, it’s bunk. 

7. I am not the only person to despise Ethan Frome. Not by a longshot.

8. There once were thousands (not an exaggeration) of readers, scattered around the globe (not an exaggeration), unaware of one another. Then one day two people decided to make something that did not previously exist, and in that act of creation, thousands of lifelong friendships were born. Quiet, introverted, oftentimes solitary people found other quiet, introverted, solitary people, and suddenly they were no longer alone in their love of books. Authors met readers from around the world and established lifelong friendships that had nothing to do with their writing and everything to do with their mutual love of reading. Proof positive that world can change with a simple, audacious act of creation.

9. Sadly, the people who engage in these acts of audacious creation that change the world are the ones who are most likely to dismiss their achievement or criticize their results. Heroes rarely celebrate. They never celebrate themselves (except for Walt Whitman). That is why they are heroes.

10. It’s often the tiny, forgotten moments, noticed by those special people with clear eyes and lasting memories, that can mean the most when retold.

11. Social media allows strangers to get to know you in real, meaningful ways that you can’t begin to understand until you see these people face-to-face. It is endearing and saves a lot of time, but it can be occasionally creepy, too.  

12. If your social media photo does not actually resemble you in real life, it’s not my fault if I fail to recognize you.

13. Readers make the fastest of friends. If you want more friends, read more. 

14. Authors are quick to befriend other authors, regardless of age, sex, geography or genre. We crave the companionship of fellow writers because we spend so much time in the company of a bunch of uncooperative characters and no one else. 

15. As much as someone may love my writing, they will probably love my wife and children more. I am almost okay with this.

16. Not really.

17. Authenticity is the key to an author talk.

18. The Brits have great words like daft, nicked and knackered that I wish I could use on a regular basis without my wife thinking that I’m an idiot.

19. I am incapable of the levels of genuine forgiveness that so many memoirists seem to possess. I may lack maturity. Or I may have simply encountered more despicable people in my life than most.

20. I am capable of being incredibly sad about the loss of my mother and indescribably joyous over the mother that my children have in the exact same moment. That is far too many feelings for me for one moment.

21. You should never do a Google image search on “chastity belts” or “naked yoga” while in a restaurant. Probably not ever.

22. It’s in the company of friends that I’m often reminded that I’m most proud of the relationship I have with my wife. Sometimes I forget and begin to believe that I take the greatest pride in my books or my storytelling or my teaching or even my kids. Those are all great and I am proud of them all, but my marriage tops the list.

23. Of all the miraculous and beautiful sentences that I have heard authors read this weekend, my favorite sentence came from my mother-in-law, who is taking care of our children while we are away. She hasn’t spent much time alone with our 22 month-old son yet, and not knowing what to expect, was admittedly trepidatious about a weekend with him. On Saturday afternoon, she texted me: “Charlie is crawling his way into my heart.” Favorite sentence of the weekend.

24. I hate saying goodbye. I much prefer the Irish goodbye. My wife prefers the “spend more time saying goodbye than we actually spent together this weekend” goodbye. 

Suspiciously perfect start to the day

My son refused to allow me to pluck him from the crib this morning until I handed him a book and allowed him to read it first.

He’s a little less than two years-old, and yet I still felt like he had done something terribly wrong and was attempting to score points with me before I found out.

Is it wrong for me to suspect that  my 22 month-old son already possesses  Machiavellian intentions? 

   

I’ve always thought that a library fine was a good thing. Unexpected income. Some librarians have disagreed. Am I wrong?

From a piece in the Hartford Courant entitled Wethersfield Library Begins ‘Food For Fines’ Program:

For a limited time, Wethersfield Library patrons can pay their overdue fines with a can of beans or a jar of spaghetti sauce.

The library's Food for Fines program, which began Monday and lasts through the end of August, donates the items to the town's food bank, Library Director Laurel Goodgion said. The library runs the program every year, she said.

"People like doing it," Goodgion said. "It gives them a way to feel good paying off their fines."

I have always been a person who doesn’t mind paying fines for overdue books. I’ve always considered it my way of supporting the library. And because I’m never borrowing a new release, the books that I borrow are presumably not in demand. No one else is waiting for them when I am finished reading. I’ve never been accused of making another patron wait for a book.

In my mind, my fines have always been favors for the library.

Unexpected income.

Some librarians have disagreed.

While I admire and respect librarians a great deal, I have run into one or two in my time who become genuinely angry when I return an overdue book. It typically occurs when the librarian attempts to scold me for my tardiness, and I respond with a smile and a comment over how happy I am to pay the fine.

One time the discussion became so heated that I stormed out of the library and charged into the restroom in the outer hallway, only to find myself standing over a half-naked woman sitting on the toilet.

Her fault for failing to lock the door on the single occupancy restroom, but had I not been so angry, I may have offered a courtesy knock before entering.

While I understand that one of a librarian’s duties is to safeguard books and other media on behalf of the general public, I have never understood the emotional response that has occasionally greeted me.

The system of overdue fines serves a purpose. If I am late in returning a book, the library (and thereby the general public) is compensated for my lateness.

And it’s not as if I’m paying a fine for speeding or failing to stop at a crosswalk, which endangers the lives of others. It’s a fine for a book that I kept for three extra days.

Can’t we be a little happy that the book is being returned along with some unexpected cash?

I’d even be happy to pay more. Increase the fines if necessary. I’m more than happy to contribute to the library. Perhaps the increased fine would increase my chances of returning the book on time. At the very least, it may give librarians a reason to smile while collecting the fine, knowing the money will support the institution that they and I love.

Am I wrong about this?

Clara’s deep thoughts while reading Neil Gaiman’s Instructions

Comments uttered in whispers:

“I trust my story.”

“I always betray my heart with my tongue.” 

Pressure is a privilege

Author Susan Schoenberger posted this quote to her Twitter feed:

"Pressure is a privilege." - Billie Jean King as heard on Fresh Air.

I love this idea. It’s so true.

Many of the things that I choose to do involve pressure.

I stand before 21 students every day, knowing full well that I am responsible for their academic success, and that a portion of their future professional success is in my hands.

I do not take this responsibility lightly. I worry about my students a lot.

I write novels. I choose every word. I create every character, every setting and every scenario. Then I send my story into the world for public consumption and comment.

The success of the book is based almost entirely on my ability to create a story that readers love. The viability of my writing career hinges on the success of each book.

I am a storyteller. I stand before as many of 1,500 people at a time and share a true story from my life in hopes that they will be entertained and moved.

If I am competing in a StorySLAM, my story will immediately be followed with a numerical assignation of my performance by teams of complete strangers.

I am a wedding DJ. I am the person most responsible for the most important day in the lives of the couple who have hired me. Along with my partner, we coordinate every minute of the wedding. I feel more pressure on a person’s wedding day than any other day of the year. I understand how important this day is to them.

There are days when I yearn for a less pressure-filled life. I recently saw a parking garage attendant sitting in a booth, reading a book, listening to  music. While I understand that the person in that booth doesn’t earn as much as someone in my position, I found myself envious of him just the same. He was getting paid to perform a simple, stress-free job that allowed him to read a book and relax while on the job.

There are days when that sounds damn fine.

But Billie Jean King was right. Pressure is a privilege. It leads to a full, rewarding, memorable and meaningful life.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Most of the time.