I solemnly swear that I am up to no good…

Hello, Lovelies… Greetings from LA… Cozy den of narcissism that it is.

My eyes are about to fall out of my head from waaaaaay too much screen time. I have been working feverishly on a Christmas movie about what else… Pie. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat!

With the book tour for Gotham Girl Interrupted winding down, I have to confess, I did something slightly evil… I found out my nemesis was dissing me to booksellers all over the country… So, in every city that I went to, in every airport bookstore, in every chain, in every indie… wherever that guy was taking up lady shelf-space with his complainy, whiney, white-boy misery memoir…  I slipped a bookmark into his book redirecting readers to my book. TBH, I feel he perpetuates wildly negative stereotypes whereas I still believe humor opens the door for greater empathy which leads to broader mainstream understanding… above and beyond the grim woebot narrative. This pie is for that guy. My favorite part of the tour is still my interview with Jessimae Peluso from Sharp Tongue – Episode #150. If you haven’t had a chance to listen, let this help you snort-laugh on your way home today. 

For now, stay rad, stay warm, and stay safe. xoxo – gotham girl

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 21 of the Writer’s Retreat. Change Status to…

Phew!!!…  Okay, yesterday was a close one… the thought of having spent years on a book only to have it ruined with a seven-word subtitle—made this girl pretty squirrelly. I just feel like anybody curious enough to pick up my book in a store or online should feel like a welcome guest… They need snacks and like-minded company. They should never say to themselves, “Holy cats!!! I am SO in the wrong place!” Thank God funny, pithy sanity is prevailing (for the moment). I never imagined there could be such a tussle over things like subtitles…

I also want readers to feel like they could be me. On any given day, at any moment, their comfy brains could suddenly just decide to rebel for whatever reason—genetics, hormones, immunological things, stress, etc. As a single mom with epilepsy, struggling to make ends meet, I used to look around at the privileged, married moms in the private school where my daughter went and think, any one of you could suddenly be me. Any day. Strangely, it helped me to accept them (and our situation) a little more… and then, of course, I also just loved these other moms. Even the judgy ones whose daughters I could see were on the cusp of morphing into mean girls. But blerg… it’s so freakin’ complicated and intersectional and there’s no one right way to do things.

In the meantime, it’s beautiful as hell here and Gary (the beaver) was just looking over at me like, “Why aren’t you writing faster?” He’s finishing a late brunch… that guy’s a day drinker if there ever was one…

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In the meantime, I am being a good citizen and filling out all of my book marketing forms with frequent flyer numbers to Kenny Loggins and a whole marathon Yacht Rock playlist. Stay rad, Lovelies…  xoxo – GG

 

Laura Dern is Really Good at Being a Shark

Hello, Lovelies,

How the hell are you? It’s been a rollicking few weeks, dear readers! That bigoted sack of Bisquick is still airing his balls in the Whitehouse instead of the Big House, Hurricane Jose is en route to NYC and I turned in a book… the one about going from being a mostly-dead girl… voi-la…

 

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photo: Holly Mckeown

to a mostly-alive girl…

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I still feel like some parts of the book are missing. I keep having these epic middle school dreams where I have a line in some awful 6th-grade pageant but no pants on, which is distracting in the best of cases. Yes, the pants are the pages.

About midway through, I wrote this lazy quip “No more Laura Dern-style meltdowns for me,” and I got this big note back in black Sharpie that simply said, “Is she even known for this?” and I thought holy cats, I am so fucked! My silly book had been bought by smart, literary people who don’t watch television, which I completely, totally get. We should all be reading more, but we’re talking Laura Dern here, people!

George Saunders may have said it best: “A book is like a shark. A shark hasn’t evolved in 40,000 years because it’s still really good at just being a shark. A book is the same.” So is the human brain. It’s still the most efficient storytelling device on the planet, sending all variety of messages from brain-to-face-to-body.

This is where Laura Dern is an especially good shark. I wanted to tweet my editor all these pictures of LD melting down throughout pop culture history. Etsy even makes buttons of them…

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The other funny thing about breaking your face and having your lower jaw torn off like an act-one Stephen King character is that all your surgeons and speech therapists want you to be during recovery is Laura-fucking-Dern because those splendid facial gymnastics she’s famous for actually help you to get better.

Another note I got on the book… was “more emotion” which made me do a full-on spit-take (and I wasn’t even drinking anything). I walk around thinking I’m chocked full of emotion, but with most of the nerves on the right side of my face severed it’s no longer so wildly apparent. My mug is a little inscrutable these days and it’s not only changing my interactions with people, it’s changing my written words as well. I believe that when you stand alone on the precipice of big change, you can either fill the gaping chasm with dread, devastation or drollery. It’s not to say that you’re not afraid, not sad, not homesick for the “dear ordinary” that you knew before, the one all the therapists have you reenacting each day, but you can choose other ways to fill the abyss. I chose drollery.

There was a point in my epileptic life where I probably liked my seizures a little more than I despised them. I know it’s not supposed to work that way. In the current zeitgeist of the differently-abled, you are supposed to stand up, resistdefy, and even hate your chronic condition or illness whatever it may be. But there’s something about my particular brand of seizures that scratches this deep ontological itch I have. There’s an odd satisfaction to them I still can’t name. Why are we the only species that seems to yearn for oblivion?

Yes, I still wake up from each fit thinking “Ugh, not again…” because the crawl back to normalcy is usually such a doozy, but my seizures are also terribly gorgeous, like being caught in a tornado of stars. It’s an instance of overpowering joy that I get a snatch at, which holds almost as much allure as a drug. In this way, I feel like a traitor against the cause to cure the condition. I don’t hate it as much as I’m curious about it and long for another glimpse.

In this way, the grief I feel around epilepsy is strangely deferred, less about me, and more directly related to the fear I’ve caused the people around me. You don’t feel bad for you, so much as you feel bad for how frightened, vulnerable and Laura Dern-like you may have made the people around you feel in the moments when they were watching you thrash and flail around on the ground. It’s their meltdowns you tend to, once you are back and awake.

Maybe that’s the whole point, we’re all Laura D, we’re all really good at being sharks at one time or another, which is how we persist. I’m not sure yet. I think I need to read and stew more.

This week I have fallen head-first into Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, which is one of those books that just calls out to you at the end of the day as you come in the door. “Read me,” it beckons with its siren’s song.

 

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Ng’s prose flows like water and her witty, wry conversations between siblings are so exactly how whole generations grew up speaking to each other. I highly recommend it for this week’s weather. Or in any kind of weather.

For now, stay rad and hold tight in those crazy winds outside. XOXO – GG

2015: Year of the Bread Cleanse

Aren’t these 2 things…Sex and Bread… ideas we can all relate to?

Happy 2015 people…  I can’t believe it’s already been a year since I failed to become a better person.

I’ve been mulling over different new year’s resolutions… Most are such a terrible yawn… Things like flossing, wearing sunscreen, not leaving wet towels on the bed and doing things like squats and lunges to stave off gravity… Most of these I will forget or reject by Tuesday. You will too.

No… I’d like to make this year’s resolutions more about New York… and less about squats.

Resolution #1 – Go on a “Bread Cleanse” 

Screw all these newage-sewage resolutions to go on a “juice cleanse”… Not only is juicing pretentious, it’s yucky. Fess up New Yorkers, do you really want to down a quart of kale-beet-garlic-turnip sludge? You might feel righteous in the moment as you are choking it down, but trust me, pooping purple is not going to make you feel any healthier.

Instead, I’m going on a “bread cleanse”.  I’m going to eat nothing but croissants, muffins and brioche for a whole week, and I guarantee you now that I will feel happier and healthier at the end of it. Before and after pix to come…

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Resolution #2 – Become the “Building Fairy”

NYC is about “the building”. There’s none of this ridiculous apartment vs. single family home class warfare that you’ll find in other cities. Everyone lives in a building.

Our building is like many old school, prewar upper westside edifices. Great bones, beautiful details, but everything’s just a little bit broken… the front door sticks, the toilet seat is missing a bolt, so it slides around with you sit down, the heat works too much in the bathroom and not enough in the back bedroom. The lobby could use a re-fresh–or at least some Mr. Clean. We also have something that’s uber rare in NYC and a little bit broken…a back yard…it’s been completely abandoned. Dead plants, junk and a dirty old dinner table. It’s a total travesty.

And I’m taking it back!

In the dead of night… when everyone is sleeping… I am going to become the Magic Building Fairy. I’m going to do some reverse vandalism and leave some figurative treats under figurative pillows… I’m spraying that stupid sticky lock w/ WD40, planting a shitload of flowers, fixing the patio furniture and hanging some solar string lights because this coming year, I’m vowing to have a bunch of these:

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Because dinner parties always lead to good things, like bread and sex.

Resolution #3 – Wear pants less often

Lastly…In NYC, heat is free and our apartment hovers at a balmy 82 degrees throughout the winter. I am going to channel my inner and outer Lena Dunham and dispense with the whole pants paradigm from now on. I’ll save on laundry, be more environmental… and if Lena can do it… and oog out half of America… so can I.

The point is, pants are overrated.

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Besides, it’s always good to accept one’s own bodily realities in the face of bread.

And if you get to ride through the streets of NYC on this guy… well then a very happy 2015 to you my friend…

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xx-gg