Confessions of a Newbie Novelist

Newbie Novelist Has Moved!

2008-10-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

... to my new home at: http://www.nadinedajani.com/blog/

See you there!

Harriet Klausner Review for Cutting Loose

2008-09-30T12:33:00.001-07:00

"…the key to this superb character study is (that) cast members all are fully developed and seem genuine as each seeks happiness although none appear to know how to obtain it… Readers will relish following the escapades of the women and the two brothers who chase them whether it is Canada, Florida or London. Nadine Dajani provides a wonderful contemporary tale."

Harriet Klausner

GCC Presents...Roberta Isleib!

2008-09-25T20:26:00.000-07:00

I am very excited to present to you the first mystery writer to be featured on Newbie Novelist. Like her main charachter, psychologist/advice columnist/sleuth Rebecca Butterman, Dr, Roberta Isleib is also a clinical psychologist. With that in mind, I think it's safe to assume that every member of the cast of Asking for Murder will be an excercise in some deep characterization...

What makes a book un-put-downable for you?

For me, it’s always the characters. I can excuse a lot of plot flaws if the characters are appealing and complex. This is probably why I loved being a therapist too: understanding what makes people tick and how they struggle, and then helping them find a happier way to live.

Can you tell us about any real-life events that inspired a scene or two in your book?

People tell me that my books have a realistic feel—for good reason. The settings are modeled on the Connecticut towns nearby. Also my protagonist uses the therapy office I used to have, and she cooks meals that either I’ve made or I’ve watched friends prepare. (Spaghetti carbonara and red velvet cake in this book!)

Can you tell us the story behind meeting and signing with your agent?

I studied Elizabeth Lyon's The Sell Your Novel Toolkit and Jeff Herman's Writer's Guide to Book Editors, Publishers, and Literary Agents. I contacted agents who had interests like mine (mystery, sports, psychology), or who had some feature in their personal background that made me think we might connect. I hired an independent editor to give me fairly inexpensive but useful feedback on my manuscript-she directed me to several agents. I attended mystery conventions and talked with people there about the process. I attended the International Women's Writers Guild "Meet the Agents" forum in New York City. I groveled in front of everyone I even remotely knew connected with the publishing business. And I suffered through multiple rejections and shouldered gamely forward, my skin toughening by the hour. Finally an agent I'd met at IWWG called: Another agent had visited her office, seen my manuscript, and fallen in love with it. We're still working together!

What typically sets off your thought process when beginning a new book?

Characters are easier for me--I can imagine their lives and their history and the arc their relationships will take. I'm always looking for the plot part of the story--in newspapers, conversations, other books. Really, I'll take it wherever I find it! And brainstorming with my writing friends is also very helpful.

What’s the most useful thing, in terms of promotion, that you’ve done?

In a word: networking. Working as a writer can be lonely and discouraging. By getting involved with Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, and my own writers group, I’ve made so many writer friends. And from those friends have come tips, invitations, suggestions, questions, and unlimited support.

And Today's Lesson Is...

2008-09-25T20:11:00.001-07:00

Don't piss off David Letterman, kids.

Candace Bushnell in Grand Cayman

2008-09-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

The wonderful thing about living in a teeny, tiny place, as I might have mentioned previously on this blog, is that when a celebrity comes to town to promote something, you actually get a very good shot at meeting them. Such was the case two years ago with Orlando Bloom, and five years ago with Jessica Alba (back when I had no clue who she was - sorry, Jess).

And this time, it's CANDACE BUSHNELL.

THE Candace Bushnell.

She'll be reading from her latest release, One Fifth Avenue, at our local Books&Books.

The best part? An after party at a swanky resto-lounge around the corner from the bookstore.

I bought my copy of the book this morning, which came with a ticket to the signing/after party, and I started reading. I have to say, this one sounds like it's going to be different from the previous few efforts. It seems Bushnell gets more complex with every book, which I suppose is a trend that makes sense. She also seems to have branched out from the fashion/modeling/Hollywood backdrop into... you guessed it... Hedge Fund Accounting (well... insofar as you can for something that's supposed to be entertaining).

In a recent interview where I was asked to explain why I'd given up on fashion after such a brief stint in the industry, I did that, among many other reasons, I missed the "glamour" that came with international finance.

I guess I wasn't the only one who's made the unlikely connection...

Here's an interview with Ms Bushnell. Happy Monday.

Black Monday and Generation Me

2008-09-15T09:59:00.001-07:00

I went to bed last night, my head spinning somewhat after a long day playing Frisbee on the beach, a party where a little too much wine had been had, and confusing internet headlines about Lehman Brothers, one of the oldest investment banks around, possibly going the way of the Dodo bird (and many other birds these days).

This morning the rumors and speculation turned into tragic fact. Not as tragic as, say, deadly hurricanes turning beleaguered cities and island nations into muddy swamps and war zone look-alikes, but tragedies nonetheless. The cliché of business being "just business" and totally divorced from its role in communities, identity, and just plain survival, is now being tried against a class of people not familiar with the idea that sometimes hard work, planning, and intense "wanting it" do not necessarily materialize into success. Sometimes they don't even materialize into a week's worth of groceries. Jane Green recently blogged about a phenomenon I'd noticed but hadn't really thought about until recently – the entitlement philosophy – which has led to a whole generation of people (dubbed "Generation Me") thinking they should be applauded and showered with all the material and psychological gifts associated with achievement just for showing up. There's even a popular saying – "80% of life is just showing up". A generation drunk on self-importance, disdainful of "lesser" people, and patting itself on the back because it did nothing more than win the "lucky birth" sweepstakes.

I wonder how this philosophy plays out in Brazilian shanty towns where armed gangs of children scavenge for food (anyone who has not yet seen City of God needs to RUN, not walk, to the video store), or pretty much anywhere in Africa, Latin America, huge swaths of Eastern Europe, the Middle and Far East, or indigenous Australia and the South Pacific Islands, where increases in food prices this year have meant absolute catastrophe for millions.

Or even in Middle America, where "middle" now means barely above the poverty line.

It is, in fact, a dog-eat-dog world out there folks, and no amount of reality TV, books, articles, or "vicarious luxury" products like designer perfumes, handbags, shoes and "bridge" lines trying to sell us an alternative universe of untold riches available to the average Joe and Jane will change that. It's not about "showing up". It was about consuming, at least as far as this continent was concerned, and now America is in the process of passing the baton of conspicuous consumption over to other ambitious nations that have clawed their way up to this privilege.

And yet, all I hear about is Bristol Palin's pregnancy, Palin as a pig with lipstick, pro-choice/anti-choice, drilling, drilling, and more drilling, and barely any acknowledgment at all from the people currently running the show that there's any problem at all, that the price you pay for having the freedom to buy the biggest car your line of credit will get you, the biggest house in the fanciest neighborhood your mortgage broker says you qualify for, and as many useless gadgets as you feel like, is that sometimes you will go broke. It's called a "market economy" and it's a tailor-made philosophy for Generation Me. It speaks to disinterest in people perceived as "lesser" and their problems, to the feeling that anyone who is good enough can be on the winning side, to the hope that you can one day be one of the thousands of millionaires (and even billionaires!) this wonderful country manufactures.

Now, that's all good and well when it's factory workers, mechanics, janitors, teachers, firemen, and Wal-mart greeters who are falling through the cracks of no-holds-barred capitalism. They didn't go to school. They didn't work hard enough. They didn't want it badly enough. They didn't earn their success.

I wonder if the (former) investment bankers, admin assistants, accountants, lawyers, and IT support technicians are giving each other the "you should have wanted it more" pep talk this morning. I wonder, as these people might currently be wondering if they'll get any severance pay at all, if laid-off accountants and IT administrators, and secretaries will continue to be hostile towards labor unions who guarantee things like severance pay.

Will white-collar workers' inflated sense of entitlement finally bring about the kind of grassroots change, righteous anger, and standing up to corporate interests that blue-collar workers failed to achieve? Because we're not talking about construction workers, nurses or janitors anymore – we're talking about US and this isn't supposed to happen to US!

The silver lining of this dark economic cloud is that we may see the end of Generation Me, and perhaps, if we're lucky, a Generation We, or at least, a Generation Aware. Maybe I'm living in some sort of fantasy land that exists only in my head, but perhaps when people like me and my friends start getting laid off from our well-paying jobs, when we see it won't be so easy to get back on our feet this time, when our home values (and retirement packages) begin to erode, we may no longer be as quick to blame the poor for their poverty, to be aghast at a welfare system that guarantees healthcare to everyone, even if it means having to wait our turn in line. Maybe we will endeavor to be less ignorant, to focus less on acquiring "market skills" now that we know how fickle the market is, and get ourselves some life skills instead, some humility, a sense of history, and our miniscule, insignificant place within it.

But, judging by how mesmerized the public remains by this magician's trick of a cute, hopelessly clueless (or pretending to be) hockey mom with a king crab for table-top knick-knack, and no ideas about how to steer the economy if not towards a recovery but at least away from certain doom, I think my fantasy will remain just that – a fantasy.

GCC Presents… Joanne Rendell!

2008-09-09T07:45:00.001-07:00

I loved this quote from Christina Baker Kline about The Professors' Wives Club: "…risk it all in pursuit of life, love, and green space in New York City…"

I've always thought Montreal was a smaller, "frenchier" version of New York City and I also attended one of those downtown University campuses where green space was coveted than prime balcony space during Mardi Gras in Rio. So I can see how a group of four very different women, each with her own secrets, can get their collective panties in a bunch when the ruthless Dean of Manhattan University tries to bring an end to the charming garden sanctuary where each woman comes to take refuge from the world. Also, like Rendall, I'm a sucker for stories that pit women with widely divergent points of view against each other.

Here's the author, in her own words:

Can you tell us about any real-life events that inspired a scene or two in your book?

I'm a professor's wife and my husband teaches at NYU – which looks a lot like the fictitious Manhattan U. in The Professors' Wives' Club - so real-life sneaks into my book a lot! One particular scene, however, which is very true to my life, is when the character Sofia gives birth watching Terminator movies. It is what I did when I gave birth to my son. No kidding! You can read about it on Mothering.com: http://www.mothering.com/articles/pregnancy_birth/homebirth/terminator.html

Can you tell us a bit about your writing process? Do you have a writing routine you stick to or a special writing space that brings out your creativity?

I write while my five year old son sleeps. Thankfully, he sleeps late every morning which gives me just about enough time to go the gym, come home, make my cup of Tetley tea, and then sit down to do some writing. It would be great to have my whole days free to write. But, in actual fact, I think I'm probably more productive being limited to just a few hours in the morning. It makes me get down to work, pronto! If I had whole days stretching out before me, I would spend way too much time emailing and nosing through people's photo albums on Facebook.

I always try and write at least 500 words a day. I started doing this in grad school when I was writing my PhD dissertation. 500 words might not seem a lot but it definitely adds up and keeps you moving forward.

Do you have an agent? Can you tell us the story behind meeting and signing with him/her?

I do have a wonderful agent! I was working on a writing project with a friend of mine - another professor's wife, in fact! This friend was already published and was kind enough to introduce me to her agent. The agent and I hit it off and I remember during one conversation, almost as an aide, I mentioned my idea about writing a book called The Professors' Wives' Club. My agent looked me dead in the eye and said "Write it, it will sell." So I did write it and my agent was kind enough to read drafts along the way and give me advice. When it was finally done and it sold to Penguin, we really saw the book as "our" baby!

What's the next book, fiction or non-fiction, you're dying to read next?

Yours! Seriously, it's true. You just sent me an advanced copy of Cutting Loose and I'm dying to get to the end of another book I'm reading so I can start it. It sounds like it has all the ingredients of the kind of women's fiction I love - a tale about a group of interesting women, some good love stories, plus insight into places and cultures I know little about. I can't wait! [wow…I'm blushing right now…]

There are so many wonderful books out there like yours – books by women, for women, and about women. I wish I had more time to read them all. I also wish the reviewing press weren't so dismissive and demeaning about women's fiction. It makes me so mad that women's fiction so often gets labeled "trash," "fluff," or "formulaic." Women do most of the buying and the reading of books these days and thus it seems ridiculous that "our" fiction is so routinely denigrated…..Okay, rant over.

What up next for you?

My second novel is also being published by Penguin and comes out next year. The novel tells the story of two women, professors this time, who work an English Department. One of the women, Diana, is older, very serious, and extremely established in the academic world. She's only interested in very serious literature and has written books about Sylvia Plath. The other professor, Rachel, is new to the department. She's young, bubbly, and enthusiastic and her scholarship looks at popular women's fiction. Her research ruffles a lot of feathers in the academy, in fact, because people see the books Rachel looks at as throwaway and trash. Diana is particularly adamant on this point and really doesn't like it when the young professor comes to the department.

The novel looks at the tensions between these two very different women and shows all the repercussions in their department and in their lives when they are pitted next to each other. A handsome visiting professor from Harvard and some high-profile misbehaving students only serves to make sparks fly even more between the two women! [Hmm… I'm liking the sound of this novel already… I'm also sensing a theme : ) ]

Thanks Joanne, for a very interesting interview. Looking forward to picking up The Professors' Wives Club very soon!

Superrich

2008-09-08T09:09:00.001-07:00

I didn't know I had an obsession until I took a critical look at my recent entertainment choices, choices that at the time seemed positively random:

Deluxe by Dana Thomas
Richistan by Robert Frank
My Super Sweet Sixteen
Some MNBC show devoted to how the other half, or more accurately, the top 0.01% lives

This form of entertainment feels part voyeurism, part sheer envy, part research on how to infiltrate the world of the Superrich (answer: start a tech company, inflate its value, launch an IPO followed by a "liquidity event", and all within a year) and finally, part train-wreck-watching.

First, some jargon.

Richistan devides its population into 3 subsets: Lower Richistan ($1 million to 9 million in annual revenue), middle Richistan (10 to 99 million), and upper Richistan (100 million plus. In case you are wondering, John McCain is a member of Upper Richistan via his wealthy wife).

Do you know what the median household income in the United States is? It's $26,000 per household. If we assume the population of the US is 300 million, this means that 150 million Americans are living in households earning $26,000 or less.

Or less.

Politicians will usually talk about the "average" income – not median – because the average is a very top level figure that doesn't show you what's happening at the bottom, or how big the "bottom" is.

For example, if in Company X the CEO makes $1,000,000 a year, his VP $100,000, his secretary 25,000 and his two laborers $15,000 each, then the average income per employee of Company X is $231,000/year.

This is the figure usually quoted by politicians: $231,000 per year, per employee.

Makes those laborer's jobs sound great, right? I would LOVE to be working at a company where the average income was $231,000 a year!

The figure you won't hear about as often is the median. The median in this case is $25,000. Half the workers at this company earn less than $25,000, while half of them earn more.

Even though that figure gives us a slightly more realistic picture than the average, it still doesn't tell us that the CEO earns 10 times the salary of the next highest paid employee, and 67 times that of the lowest paid worker.

Of course, this is a totally fictional scenario.

In real life, the average CEO earns 821 times that of the lowest paid worker (2005 figures).

This was not so a mere two decades ago, but I digress. The point of this whole discussion is to provide an answer to the inevitable question that popped into my mind after reading these books and watching a couple of nauseating back-to-back My Super Sweet Sixteen episodes: WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE???

Richistan did a good job of answering this question, and also addressing the "how" of how these people came to be. Deluxe, however, though very entertaining especially to an avowed fashionista, devoted its 300+ pages to examining how the luxury industry (Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, Coach….) had sold out the Superrich by slapping their coveted logos on more pedestrian, affordable items like the $50 bottle of perfume, the $32 lipstick, or the $700 "It" bag. The final question Deluxe sought to answer was: where do the Superrich go now?

Where, indeed.

Romantice Times Review for Cutting Loose

2008-09-03T11:54:00.000-07:00

"Dajani spins a tale of three women and their individual journeys to find happiness. Through strong writing and distinctive characters, readers are drawn into their lives, their loves, and their internal struggles. Dajani wraps it up nicely in the end, leaving us with a delectable tale that is hard to put down."

Yay!

The Problem with Being Holier Than Thou

2008-09-02T06:41:00.000-07:00

... it usually turns around to bite you in the ass.

Some people really are irreproachable (I always like to hold my mother up as a case study for the quietly faithful person, the kind of person the Republican party might be reaching out to if she were a Christian faithful rather than a Muslim faithful). And there's nothing wrong with that.

There is, however, something wrong with consistently rubbing your squeaky-clean persona in every body's face, and something positively shady when you use it as the basis for your platform when you're running for the second highest office in the world's reigning (though not for much longer) sole superpower.

It also doeasn't do you any favors to run on that platform.

Because it doesn't take much to bring you down when your governance philosophy consists of: I don't tolerate personal mistakes or gray areas, because there's nothing grey about my character of my prissy, married, church-going, heterosexual life. No ambivalence, no 'buts', no excuses.

So what's your excuse for your pregnant teenage daughter, Palin? Sorry... what was that?... You want us to respect your family's privacy in personal matters? Where have I heard that before?...

Oh yeah, the Democratic platform.

A Time to...re-think??

2008-08-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

I have to admit I didn't really feel the ending of the 1996 Matthew McConaughey and Samuel L. Jackson courtroom drama hit, A Time to Kill. Probably because it was aimed at a an audience that put blacks just marginally above farm animals (or maybe not, as I don't think white farmers take too kindly to their animals being abused and slaughtered just for lack of something to do on a Sunday afternoon).

Or maybe we were supposed to somehow be able to see through the eyes of bigots. I'm referring to the final line of Matthiew's closing statement, where he asks the audience, their eyes closed, to imagine the victim was a young black girl instead of a young white girl.

I remember thinking - THAT'S your big ending??? Are you kidding me???

It's hard to imagine that for some people, in some places, they need to actually be instructed to treat certain classes of human beings as, well... human beings.

It was that scene in A Time to Kill that popped up in my mind when I happened upon this article today.

To summarize, we've now officially started using the "surplus" brown people of the developing world as human guinea pigs in the interest of "free trade" and globalization.

Before you slap a Communist sticker on my forehead, I believe in free trade as much as the next internationally-distributed author out there (I've lived and worked all over the place, I hold a Canadian citizenship, my readership is mainly American...) but I also hold dear the belief that free trade actually needs to be free, and not in the if-poor-people-don't-care-if-their-kids-get-killed-then-who-am-I-to-stop-them sense. We, as the holders of money (ie: power) in this transaction dictate the term of the trade.

And this is how we've chosen to conduct business. By saving little bunny rabbits from experimentation, but not little brown babies.

Let's dust off Matthew's line, shall we?

Imagine a bunch of little babies, crammed together in an orphanage. Imagine unspeakable, sci-fi like experiments done on them. Imagine these teeny tiny one-year-olds are being given adult doses of an experimental blood pressure medication. Imagine some die as a result, probably horrifically, but they're babies so they can't tell us anything, and free trade agreements only guarantee the free flow of money, not information, so we'll never know the reasons or circumstances of their deaths.

Now imagine these babies were American.

Loving Your Inner Demon

2008-08-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

It's not every day we feature paranormal writers here on Confessions, so I am honored to present fellow GCC sister Jackie Kessler whose latest, Hotter Than Hell, is on bookshelves now. And check out the great press below...

In HELL’S BELLES and THE ROAD TO HELL, Jackie Kessler brought readers into an unforgettable Underworld populated by alluring demons and sexy devils. Now Daunuan, the most irresistible incubus of all, is facing one Hell of a challenge...

Praise for HOTTER THAN HELL:

"Jackie Kessler is firmly on my list of favorite authors. Hotter Than Hell is edgy and filled with hot temptation--in the form of an incubus so sexy, daring, and delicious that you'll be offering him your own soul. Fast paced and clever, Kessler's writing shines."
— Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestselling author of Shadow Magic

"Kessler has outdone herself by giving readers a glorious book three of her deliciously sinful series, Hell on Earth. Daunuan's sexy supernatural antics make sparks fly, and if you're not careful you'll singe your fingers as the pages speed by. It's packed with quirky characters, a spicy, fast-paced plot and witty dialogue. Be prepared for a demonic treat that's hotter than hell."
— Romantic Times, 4.5 stars (top pick for August 2008)

"Sexy and bold"
—Publishers Weekly

Name three authors at the top of your “to watch” list:

I can’t count, so here are four. :)

Heather Brewer. Heather, my critique partner, is the fantabulous author of the YA series THE CHRONICLES OF VLADIMIR TOD, all about a teenage boy half-vampire, who has to deal with math tests, school bullies, and fang control. Oh, and avoiding vampire slayers, and curbing his ever-growing thirst for blood. And (shudder) girls. A terrific, funny, poignant series. Go buy EIGHTH GRADE BITES and NINTH GRADE SLAYS.

Richelle Mead. My fellow succubus diva, Richelle has not one, not two, but THREE series out now (I know, I have no idea when she sleeps, either): the Georgina Kincaid SUCCUBUS series; the YA series, VAMPIRE ACADEMY; and the new STORM BORN, first in the DARK SWAN series, which just launched on August 5. Richelle just keeps the hits coming — and she recently made the NY Times Bestseller list with FROSTBITE, the second in the VA series.

Caitlin Kittredge. My co-author for the upcoming BLACK & WHITE, a dystopian superhero novel to be published by Bantam Spectra in summer 2009. Caitlin, who is hugely talented (and smart, and funny, and pretty, and YOUNG, damn it! 23 and brilliant. It’s so unfair), is the author of the NOCTURN CITY series about a cop who’s also a werewolf, as well as of the upcoming Lovecraft/Gaiman evil lovechild of a book, STREET MAGIC (oh, I do so love this book. I (heart) Jack Winter!) in early 2009.

Toni McGee Causey. Author of the spectacularly funny and intricately plotted Southern caper comedy BOBBIE FAYE’S VERY (very, very, very) BAD DAY and its follow-up, BOBBIE FAYE’S (kinda, sorta, not exactly) FAMILY JEWELS. These are two of the few books out there where I’ve laughed out loud. A lot. And how many authors have buttons that declare “Shuck Me, Suck Me, Eat Me Raw”? (It’s the motto of an oyster house in the first book. And it’s the shirt that Bobbie Faye wears, that s-l-o-w-l-y gets destroyed, a la Catwoman’s costume in BATMAN RETURNS.)

Name a book you’ve read over and over again, and you’d probably read again:

Right now, the two contenders are:
LORD OF THE RINGS
THE DRESDEN FILES

What typically sets off your thought process when beginning a new book?

I have to get into the character’s voice, if it’s a first-person novel. For HOTTER THAN HELL, it took me months to shed Jezebel from my voice and find Daun. But once I did get his voice, the story flowed like chocolate syrup. Mmm. Chocolate syrup...

Do you write full-time? How do you juggle the day job with your writing?

Nope, I have a full-time day job. I write first thing in the morning, but I do the bulk of my writing at night, after the kids are in bed. When I’m on a deadline, I don’t get to sleep until around 1:30 in the morning or so.

What up next for you?

In January, my erotic novella HELL IS WHERE THE HEART IS will appear in the RED HOT VALENTINE’S DAY anthology from Avon Red. And in the summer of 2009 will be BLACK & WHITE, from Bantam Spectra. Two superpowered women — once best friends, now on opposite sides of the law — must join forces to fight the Big Bad Evil. (Bwahahahahahaha!) I’m currently writing the fourth HELL book now, tentatively called HELL TO PAY.

What has being published changed about your life?

I sleep a lot less. :)
Actually, I’m a very shy person, but doing the conference circuit and signing at bookstores and speaking on panels has really helped me grow more confident about public speaking and just having a great time in general with tons of people.

...Thanks for the great interview Jackie!

Wild Wild San Francisco

2008-08-08T14:23:00.000-07:00

Little known fact: I was addicted to comics as a child. I started with your standand English-language Archie comics, and eventually graduated onto Asterix and Lucky Luke. As the Super Shuttle zipped along the freeway towards what looked to me a desert mountain range, speckled with brownish shrubs along the horizon, I thought I'd somehow been teleported back a few hundred years and landed smack dab in the middle of Cowboy Land.

That, or an Isabel Allende novel.

Besides the traveling that the RWA Nationals bring, there's the creative stimulation. All those readers, writers, agents and editors all gathered in one place... I don't know why, but I always come back itching to write.

Here's me at the TOR sponsored signing of Cutting Loose ARCs:

(A little too much cleavage for a signing, eh?)

...And after the awards ceremony with fellow writers Aryn Kenney, Heather Davis, and Marley Gibson:

And a big ol' shout out to my ladies whom I didn't have a change to get on film since I really suck at remembering to bring my camera along: CPs and roomies Wendy Toliver and Kristin Wallace (who also threw a kick ass chick lit party, along with Amanda Brice), and cyber buddies Dona Sarkar, Marylin Brant, Kwana Jackson (who's waaaay better at remembering her camera than I am) and Kelli Estes & sis Carolyn.

As much as I love the internet and the virtual writing and chatting forums it provides, I can't help but wish writing was a proper 9 to 5 job with cubicles and water coolers and coffee machines where I can hang around with other writers instead of catching up just once a year. Then again... I get to work in my pyjamas and in cafes. Guess I can't really complain : ) Until next year...

Summer of Reading

2008-07-28T22:46:00.000-07:00

So much of that has been done lately that I would be too embarrassed to post a comprehensive list up here lest it be apparent that I'm not doing enough writing (ahem).

But some of the books I've read lately really deserve comment, so here goes.

The first time I noticed Towelhead by Alicia Erian was many years ago when I saw a review of it in Vogue. It had actually been reviewed by everyone and their grandmother back then as it seems this little book about a shy, withdrawn 13-year-old sent by her not-all-there Irish mother to live with her cold, old-fashioned and borderline abusive Lebanese dad was subject to a lot of hoopla when it came out. I read the review, told myself I'd buy the book, and then promptly forgot about the whole business until I happened upon it a few years later in an adorable indie shop in Vegas (had a hilarious conversation with the lovely elderly owner of that shop...I think I was her only customer that day and even she seemed surprised that in a town where everyone comes for the slots and a dose of designer shopping, I was spending time in a bookstore). As with every other time I walk into a bookstore, I have a hard time walking out with just one or two books, and Towelhead lost the battle against an autographed hardcover of Isabel Allende's Zorro. Then, a few years after that, I noticed the paperback version of this book and finally bought it. It languished in my To Be Read pile until finally, last month, Marie Claire recommended the movie version of the book, coming out this August (watch the trailer here). I couldn't put the book down. It has the appeal of slowing down to stare at a train wreck, albeit a funny (at times) train wreck. But when it's not funny, it's heartbreaking and horrific and perverse, and you'd probably stop reading if not for the feeling that Erian's thin tome, although wrong in some details of authenticity, rings like something that might happen more often than we'd think in a world where adults are often more lost than their kids. Read it, but be prepared to be disturbed.

Then there was This Charming Man by Marian Keyes. Marian is one of the very few authors with massive commercial appeal who is allowed to meander for pages and pages of character and setting detail (and I don't mean description) with the aim of advancing the resonance of her novels rather than the plot. The plot always ties together in beautiful, intricate, and highly intelligent ways at the end, but in the hands of lesser writers, the readership might not have stuck around for 600+ pages rich with detail and character development. This one is her most ambitious yet - touches Irish politics but only insofar as they affect a very tangible, very real issue that's probably close to a lot of women's hearts (though if more men cared about it, maybe it wouldn't happen so much). Read it only if you have A LOT of spare time on your hands because you won't put it down until you've made it through all 680-odd pages.

The last book I devoured was Alisa Valdez-Rodriguez's Dirty Girls on Top. I've been waiting on this one for a few years now, so I obviously couldn't resist buying it hardcover even though I'm trying very hard to cut back on hardcovers (besides the price issue, they don't fit in half my handbags). As much as I liked it (and I did). I was sad to see that the author had poured all her character development into the original Dirty Girls and left the sequel a little thin. It was nonetheless as sexy as the title suggests, funny, fast-paced, and engrossing, so far better than a lot of fiction I've read in general, but I thought her first one was a masterpiece - difficult to surpass. Caution: if you've never read the first one, you might find the cast unsympathetic and hard to relate to, so you should really pick up Dirty Girls Social Club for the full experience.

Up next: DeNiro's Game by fellow Lebanese-Montreal-Canadian debut author Rawi Hage. I'm not sure how much of a splash this novel is making in the States right now but up here, it's HUGE. Won all kinds of awards, and recounts some of the worst days of the Lebanese civil war but in a supposedly fresh, original way. Stay tuned.

The Forgotten Isle

2008-07-25T07:25:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you but all I ever associated with Puerto Rico were Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, and Marc Anthony. The thought of it did fleetingly enter my mind as a possible and very accessible alternative to Cuba.
After all, both Cubans and Puerto Ricans claim Salsa as their own, both islands have a somewhat similar geography and history(if you forget about all that Communist stuff...), even if Cuba is much bigger and closer to the United States.

I don't know a whole lot about US-Puerto Rican relations, but they seem a little strained to me, what with many Americans of Anglo/Germanic origin annoyed with the large Puerto Rican communities in their midst despite PR being practically another state, and with Puerto Ricans themselves not exactly sure what kind of relationship they'd like to have with the States.

So it came as a bit of a surprise to me to be totally charmed off my feet by this little island even after I believed the Caribbean could no longer surprise me.

Take a look...

So why don't we hear more about this place? Is it because Cuba sounds so much more alluring what with it's "forbidden" status? (which always cracks me up... its only "forbidden" to one group of people on the face of the entire planet folks. To they rest of us, it's, well... a place where they make great mojitos and everyone gets free health care).

I'll be telling you much more about it in the coming months seeing as lil'sis is moving there.

Hola from... Puerto Rico!

2008-07-16T06:00:00.000-07:00

Long story... will make subject of a proper post one day soon, but am in beautiful San Juan, Puerto Rico with lil' sis on a very last minute, impromptu trip.

God I miss the Caribbean.

I had no idea what to expect coming here, but San Juan is certainly living up to my romantacized expectations... it's South Beach meets Havana, if Havana had McDonald's and toilet paper.

Took lots and lots of pics which I will post up on the blog as soon as I get home.

Tons of non-writing related news... bought a condo! Finally! Started reading "Kitchens & Baths" magazine! Picked out kitchen cabinets and door handles! Very fun stuff, even if quite suburbanized and bourgeois for my taste. In other news, the website redesign is coming along, can't wait to have that up and running for you guys.

Also, so many of my favorite authors came out with new books this summer I can barely keep up. Must blog about that soon...

And of course...can't wait for SAN FRANCISCO!

In the meantime, here's one of aforesaid favorite authors making voicing her opinion on one of my favorite news sites.

GCC Presents... Amy Wallen!

2008-07-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

I'd nearly forgotten how much Montreal slows down in this season of hot, long, lazy days and lively festivals, one after the other. Not a whole lot of work gets done by anyone (we only get two months of proper summer after all) and that includes me and blogging.

In case you were looking for some fresh new fiction for your holiday reading, next up on out GCC tour is Moonpies and Movie Stars by Amy Wallen, enjoying a paperback release this month.

Before I get into the novel itself, I'd like to give you a little glimpse of the writer who reminds me a little of novelist Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Prey, Love in the sense that Wallen is a bit of a nomadic globetrotter herself who just weeks ago returned from hiking to Macchu Picchu. A native of Texas, her father's job took her to places as near and far as Louisianna, Mississippi, Nevada, Nigeria, Peru, Bolivia, and Oklahoma (and I thought I'd travelled...). Still, it's those summers spent helping her grandmother run a convenience store on highway 90 in Brackettville, Texas that inspire this wanderlust-stricken writer's prose.

What, in your opinion, is the biggest allure of Southern themed novels? Why did you chose to set your novel in the South?

For me, my first novel just came to me innately. I didn’t have a choice of what I was going to write. I don’t necessarily call myself a Southerner, but on the other hand, I think of myself as second generation Texan because I was raised by Texans, just no in the state of Texas.

I think the allure of Southern novels comes from the crazy uninhibited personalities. Flannery O’Connor once commented that New York book reviewers would never understand southern writing because unless you’ve been to the south and seen firsthand that the people really do have a different joie de vivre, then you can’t grasp that the far out characters really do exist. I’m misquoting her, and wish I had time to look up exactly what she said, but that’s the gist of it. Southern novels are just rife with characters and crazy goings on. But it’s all real and true, even when it’s fiction.

What’s the next book, fiction or non-fiction, you’re dying to read next?

I have two. Both memoirs. The Shadow Man by Mary Gordon and The Bishop’s Daughter by Honor Moore. I’m dying to write the story of my father. He’s one of the funniest people I know, and a tremendous storyteller. His career took him and my family to many distant and exotic places. But I have a feeling he has a secret underneath it all. I may write a novel, instead of a memoir, but I only have snippets in my head right now. I’m working on a completely fictional other novel right now, so this is just a distant project I’m mulling over.

Name a book you’ve read over and over again, and you’d probably read again in the future.

Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger. I’ve read it probably 7 times and probably will read it 7 more. Every time I read it it’s a different experience. We evolve so much in our lives and the story of Holden Caulfield trying to find his place just always rings true, but in a different way as I move through my own life. He makes me laugh, cry and think. I love that in any story.

Can you tell us about any real-life events that inspired a scene or two in your book?

My grandmother who lived in Brackettville, Texas and who owned several different businesses, including a beauty shop, a honky tonk (beer joint), and a convenience store/gas station, inspired and influenced several scenes, but without a doubt she was the reason I wrote the big Price is Right scene in MoonPies and Movie Stars. Whenever I visited, she would always ask me, “How come you live out in California and you ain’t never been on one of them game shows?” So, I put a game show in the book for her. There’s also a Willie Nelson sighting in the book and she inspired that.

What kind of research did you do for this novel?

I had to go to bowling alleys and not only try to bowl and eat fried cheese and drink bad beer, but I found tiny old out of the way bowling alleys that still had the old workings and asked the owners to tell me about the mechanics and about the way bowling was before everything became computerized. I met some really interesting characters and I found a great old six-lane bowling alley out in Pioneertown, CA near Palm Springs. It was an old movie set for Roy Rogers, I believe it was, and he wanted to have something to do between sets so he had this six-lane bowling alley built. It’s still there, still running and it has great café attached where supposedly the first Patty Melt was ever made. Patty herself used to own the bowling alley, the story goes. It’s a trip back to the past, Pioneertown. Out in the middle of the desert, just a ghost town really. But if you get a chance, find it on a map and check it out.

What up next for you?

I’m working on another novel. I have a contract with Hyperion. It’s a fun project that I’m about half way through. It’s the story of a senior artists colony in Burbank, CA. When their benefactor and guru dies, the bohemian retirees, Hollywood has-beens and wannabes, don’t know how to save themselves or their home.

What’s the most useful thing, in terms of promotion, that you’ve done?

I go to book clubs. A lot. All over. It’s been the most fun I could ever have. I love it much more than the book tour, which was also fun, but the book clubs environment is much more intimate and less inhibited. We always have a great time and I’ve made so many wonderful new friends. I have ton of funny family stories I like to tell and so I keep the reading to a minimum, but I tell all the inside scoop on where story inspiration came from.

Ruby Kincaid has her hands full these days. In addition to running the bowling alley after the death of her husband, Rascal, she has the daunting task of caring for her two boisterous grandchildren, since her daughter Violet disappeared without a trace four years earlier. It’s 1976 and Ruby and her nearest and dearest in Devine, Texas are watching their favorite soap opera at the bowling alley when they see Violet in a Buttermaid commercial. Expecting it will only take a little motherly guilt to rein in her wayward daughter, Ruby loads up the Winnebago and heads for Hollywood to try and bring Violet back to the Lone Star State.
Along for the ride are Imogene, Violet’s over-bearing and pretentious mother-in-law (who’s ready to assume the title of “celebrity-in-law”), and Loralva, Ruby’s wild sister who is itching to visit Tinsel Town because it’s where all the game shows are taped – and nothing’s going to stop her from making it to her favorite, The Price Is Right. Rounding out the group are Ruby’s grandchildren Bunny and Bubbie who are confused, sad, and excited at the prospect of finding their mother. They give Ruby the courage she needs to track Violet down and try to make things right.
While MOONPIES AND MOVIE STARS is great fun and a lot of laughs, it is also a poignant story of dreaming big, finding home, and coming to terms with family.

And if that doesn't get you running to the bookstore, here's a quote from the Los Angeles Times:

[S]pirited and honest… Wallen capably illustrates that it is not only possible but also compelling to be funny, captivating, and compassionate, all in the same book.

Happy Reading!

I Know Spain Won But...

2008-07-02T08:15:00.000-07:00

Portugal still gets my vote for hottest team.

Meant to psot this last week but was consumed by aforementioned move. Enjoy the view, ladies!

Happy Canada Day and Moving Is Brutal

2008-07-01T08:09:00.000-07:00

I never understood why Canada Day is the unofficial moving day across Quebec, and possibly across the nation (actually – I hope this is a strictly Quebecois phenomenon, as would explain a lot… might turn out to be nefarious separatist plot to prevent Federalists from actually enjoying the day off).

This year I was a very reluctant participant in this annoying tradition, and luckily for me, because I have the luxury of my parents’ basement, I could actually prepare early for this move and let all my earthly belongings sit somewhere temporarily while I moved my stuff in waves.

I think that the worst aspect of moving is that the mere thought of it highjacks your brain, preventing you from doing anything other than dreading the torture to come.

At least that’s my excuse for not blogging : )

Stay tuned for an interview with Amy Wallen, author of Moonpies & Movie Stars, and a brief review of some fabulous fiction I’ve been reading (the latest Marian Keyes… yet another reason I couldn’t blog… could NOT put it down).

But for today... the plan is to enjoy this gorgeous day off.

Happy Canada Day!

GCC Presents... Melissa Senate!

2008-06-11T20:49:00.001-07:00

I am BEYOND honored to be hosting Melissa Senate on my blog today since I've looked up to her, along with fellow chick lit trailblazers Sarah Mlynowski, Jane Green, Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez, Laura Caldwell and others, since a career in publishing was but a flicker in my imagination.

Melissa's debut novel, See Jane Date launched Harlequin's dedicated chick lit line, Red Dress Ink (I was an active member of the RDI chat boards, and back then RDI authors were God to me) and was turned into a TV movie. (How cool is that?) Since then Melissa's written five women's fiction novels, and has dipped her toes in YA waters as well with Theodora Twist, and a few other projects she discusses below.

You've been writing since chick lit first caught on in North America. Can you please tell us about the evolution of the genre since See Jane Date up until now - how have the plots changed, how has the readership changed, is chick lit ever-evolving or is it coming full-circle ?

The evolution of the genre is likely a result of the authors “growing up,” getting older and wiser, perhaps settling down into marriage and motherhood—or not. I wrote See Jane Date at age 34. I’m now 42 (she says proudly). Since See Jane Date I’ve gotten married and divorced, had a child, moved from Manhattan to Maine, gave up corporate life for the writing life, and have been through lots of little things in between. I’m such a different person, leading such a different life that I couldn't quite write See Jane Date in the same way again, but I do think the essence of chick lit, what makes it so lovable, so appealing to so many women, will never change: the female experience in the here and now, with its questions and concerns and issues, written with a certain sensibility, a certain tone. There are many books called chick lit that aren’t, and many that aren’t that are! I think there will be as many different types of chick lit novels as there are different types of women in different walks of life. The young writers who might write chick lit now very likely would steer clear of those elements now considered stereotypes, but they’re stereotypes for a reason. Killer bosses and harping moms and bad dates and thank-God-I- have-you-best-friends really and truly exist. I know for a fact!

Name a book that you wish you’d written

Good Grief by Lolly Winston. I love this book, love its poignancy, its humor, its heart. Lolly Winston’s sentences have the most delightful energy. I’d like to write as freely, as lushly, as funny as she does.

Name a book you’ve read over and over again, and you’d probably read again in the future.

Birds of America by Lorrie Moore, a collection of amazing short stories. I’ve read it at least five times and will re-read this summer. There are sentences and paragraphs and ideas that zappers that get me every time with: Wow. Just wow. My favorite book on writing that I reread constantly is Making A Literary Life by Carolyn See. But I love Stephen King’s and Anne Lamott’s too. I’ve read each at least five times too!

What typically sets off your thought process when beginning a new book – a kernel of a character you’d like to get to know better, a flash scene, a gripping ending you need to trace back to the beginning…?

Questions To Ask Before Marrying started off with three very different ideas that had me gripped: The first was my love of the movie Sideways. Oh, how I wanted to write a road trip book after seeing that wonderful film. The idea of two very different people trapped together in a car, being on the road, really gripped me. Enter my estranged twin sisters, one a conservative school teacher from Maine, newly engaged but with serious feelings for another man, and the other a professional muse and face reader from NYC who is searching for the father of her unborn baby (would help if she knew his first name). These two hit the road with many questions and get to know each other—and themselves—very well three-thousand miles later. The second idea was divorce, something I was personally going through while writing this book. I wanted to go “back to the start” and explore what you know when he slips that ring on your finger. The third was a New York Times article, the most popular of 2006, a simple and practical list of questions couples should ask before marrying or (wish they had). The article gave me my title and honed the theme for me, which is that asking questions, even questions without answers or answers you don’t like, is the most important thing you can do.

Can you tell us about any real-life events that inspired a scene or two in your book?

Ruby and Stella have a long-lost father they haven’t seen seen or heard from since childhood—and so do I. But mine didn’t run off with a casting agent and 10% of my earnings as a toddler models (not that I was baby model!) they way Ruby and Stella’s did. I often write about issues of parental abandonment, whether via death or choice. I’ve learned quite a bit about the way I feel about it all. One of the best things about writing!

What up next for you?

I just signed on with a new publishing house, Simon and Schuster’s Pocket Books, for my next two novels. The first is about an unmoored New Yorker who discovers she has a half-sister she never knew existed in a small town in Maine. Off she goes. At this very moment, I’m finishing my second YA for Delacorte. It’s called: The Mosts and the Most Nots, about a Most (most popular) who is recruited by a Most Not to change her into someone who won’t make the Most Not list this year. Both girls go through a major emotional transformation. I was neither a most or most not in high school, but for some reason I love to write about girls on either end of the spectrum who change each other’s lives. This is pretty much the core of all my noves, YA or adult.

What’s the most useful thing, in terms of promotion, that you’ve done?

Honestly, I think blog tours, like the GCC, have been the most successful in getting the word out that I have a new book out, a shot of the cover, links to where to buy, etc. I read a bunch of blogs every morning and always discover new blogs via those blogs and always have a list of books I see noted or recommended. What’s particularly wonderful about the GCC is how varied the authors’ works are.

Education for Everyone? Not so Fast...

2008-05-31T16:53:00.000-07:00

It's hard to make a case today, in 2008, that it's okay to discriminate based on race and ethnicity when it comes to access to education.

I'm not talking about money, the old: it-would-be-nice-if-everyone-who-wanted-to-could-go-to-Harvard-but-let's-be-realistic-here argument - I'm talking about turning down someone who'd qualified for a scholarship on the basis of his or her race.

No, this is not happening in Somalia, Iran, or North Vietnam.

It's happening in America, sort of. Under America's nose, even though America issued the scholarship.

If there's anyone out there who doesn't think Gaza is effectively (and not metaphorically) an open-air prison, here's some food for thought: 7 Palestinian students who had qualified for and been granted Fulbright scholarships have had their scholarships revoked. Why? Did they have suspicious records? Nope. Had someone, somewhere thought they may have ties to terrorism? Guess again.

Israel will not let them out of Gaza, so they can take up the studies they earned the privilege to undertake, because Gaza - the whole city, and everyone in it, is under siege. And what does America, whose tax dollars flow like wine at an ancient Roman orgy to Israel's treasury, have to say to its favorite ally in the Middle East? Right then, we'll just go ahead and cancel the scholarships, no worries... would you like us to get that bar of soap you dropped while we're at it?

Here is the New York Times article - feel free to read it for yourselves and enlighten me in case you come upon a "oh, right, that makes TOTAL sense!" moment I might have missed.

Why Writing Rocks, Reason #981

2008-05-30T14:56:00.000-07:00

... You get to read about all kinds of stuff just because it sounds interesting/off-beat/might-want-to-put-in-a-book-or-article-one-day, and it's called "research".

And then when you find yourself standing on a yacht deck one fine, starry evening, fizzy cocktail in hand and the sequins on your dress catching the moonlight, you get to inject otherwise boring cocktail party conversation with nuggets from this so-called "research (e.g: Did you know that The Palms Casino and Hotel is owned by the Maloof family, fifth-generation Lebanese dynasty founded by a common peddler? No? Well...)

Or, say, in someone's backyard in Winnipeg, a Molson Dry in hand, swatting mosquitoes with the other. It's all good.

I bring this up today because I've just returned from an adorable indie bookstore down the street with a book I'd flipped through before, wanted to buy, but told myself I own way too many books as it is, and so begrudgingly put it back.

Until today, when I proudly returned to the store, and bought it.

The book is entitled "The White Guy" and is a tongue-on-cheek look at your regular, beer-guzzling, football-watching, spending-too-much-time-at-the-office-to-have-a-normal-sex-life kinda guys. In other words, the kind of guys I know all too well, am considering writing about in considerably more depth in my current novel, but am afraid of venturing into cliche territory. You see, I've spent far too much time thinking about one of life's most mystifying unanswered questions: when you ask a man what he's thinking about and he says nothing, could he really mean... nothing? Would that not imply that men don't think of anything, ever? Or are they hiding something from us, which just might be the key to all the misunderstanding between the sexes?

In the course of all this heavy thinking, I did make this one important observation: white guys are a lot more likely to be thinking about "nothing" than non-white guys (and by "white" I strictly mean of the North American, Western European, non-Mediteranean variety). Ask a nineteen-year-old Latino guy what he's thinking about, and he is far more likely to say "how hot your boobs look in that top" than "nothing". Same goes for Arab guys. A French guy might recite you a poem, but the French are generally odd anyway, and a race unto themselves.

So, to rephrase, could the white guy be suffering from an acute inability to communicate, as compared to, say, his Latin brothers (in other words, is the white guy also busy thinking about your boobs in that top but cannot articulate that thought), or have beer, sports, long hours at the office, equating emotional IQ with gayness, taken their toll on the white guy through a slow process of cultural evolution, bringing us to a stage where the white guy thinks that thinking of "nothing" all the time is perfectly normal?

As I said, it's question for the ages.

And to my Winnipeger blog readers, married to quintessential White Guys (I know you're reading this even though you are too lazy-ass to comment), you might be interested to know that the author is a white guy from Winnipeg.

I'll be sure to share my findings with you once I've had a chance to review all the data and make an informed conclusion. Or, maybe you can read all about in my next novel ; )

Not Your Regular Reality TV Drama

2008-05-29T22:02:00.001-07:00

Disclaimer: Please ignore the snippet of commercial and Arabic introduction at the beginning of this video... it's the cleanest one I could find!

Since we’re on the topic of Middle-Eastern hotties and Arabic TV, here’s a little story about a certain Star Academy contestant (this show was adapted from a French version of American Idol) who underwent drama of a different sort than his American counterparts…

The way this show works is that once a certain number of finalists are chosen from countries all over the Arab world, they are then taken to a secluded villa in the Lebanese countryside where they get voice lessons, dancing and music lessons, to prepare for the weekly show, and for the four months leading up to the finale. After each performance, someone gets the boot, à la American Idol.

The purpose of this isolation was sorely tested during the latest bout of Lebanese infighting. The show’s directors contacted the parents and it was decided that the kids were in a safe place, and the less they knew about the political situation, the better especially since one of the contestants, Sa’ad, is Lebanese and comes from one of the affected areas.

One set of parents however, wanted to ask their kid, Abdullah, a Saudi Arabian, if he wanted to come home in light of the situation. So, he was the only one among the finalists who was made aware of the situation.

But then, Abdullah (that’s the skinny one in the yellow t-shirt), upset about all this secrecy, started sowing suspicion among the contestants, and forced the director (the redheaded angry lady) to come clean about the mess in Lebanon… in front of Sa’ad (the tearful hottie… tell me that doesn’t break your heart).

Now, you don’t get that kind of drama on American Idol, do you?

So This Blog is Supposed to be About Books...

2008-05-27T19:49:00.000-07:00

...but every time I think of a great book-related topic to blog about, I read something which makes my blood boil and it trumps the book post. Sorry.

Last weekend I did something I don't do nearly enough, and that was to read the movie reviews in the paper, pick a movie, and actually go see it. I was very happily surprised to see lots of documentaries out, and one in particular caught my eye: The World According to Monsanto.

Its format is more PBS than blockbuster, but the message was chilling nonetheless. It was about genetically engineered (GE) crops, what's supposed to be so great about them, how, like a whole lot of those fancy schmancy nouveau weapons they keep making grand promises about, they turn out to be crap, and how no one can really do much about it right now. Here's what Monsanto did, in as few words as possible:

1) They invented a really groovy pesticide that killed JUST ABOUT ANYTHING you could think of! It's called "Roundup" (disclaimer: I don't have a green cell in my whole body, much less a green thumb, but apparently this Roundup thing was da bomb for the weed-battling masses).

2) Then, in a stroke of genius, they invented the only plants (well... Franken-plants) that could survive Roundup, called "Roundup Ready". (recap: everything gets coated in a lovely, glossy Roundup sheen, causing everything to die, except for the stuff destined for our plates)

3) Roundup turns out to be a carcinogen, which is a fancy word for "gives you cancer". Well... not so much of a carcinogen as a cancer-enabler. So, it's not so much like an abusive husband, as the mother who tells her daughter to go back to the abusive husband and give him another chance. Roundup messes up your cells enough that down the line, they are that much more vulnerable to cancer.

So far there isn't anything truly Franken-like about this tale. We all know pesticides are bad. But here's the hilarious thing - if you were to walk through a Roundup-sprayed field on a regular basis, your skin would start to fester very unbecomingly, almost like you'd dipped it in acid.

Yes, yes, but think about all the masses of poor who can at least eat! Well... and this was the part that did it for me, it seems that when you mess with nature, nature finds innovative (and deadly) ways to mess with you back. While the Franken-plants were not killed by Roundup, they were vulnerable to pretty much everything else that nature had previously equipped plants to withstand. I'm sure Monsanto isn't terribly bothered by this... it's license to keep coming up with pesticides to kill these old-new plant diseases, perpetuating an eternal circle of treat-kill-treat-kill-treat-kill until human beings start spontaneously com busting when they come into contact with anything sprouting from the Earth. And poor people don't seem that stupid either... Indian cotton farmers figured out, all on their own, that they were getting a better yield (and at far better prices) using non-genetically engineered seeds. So basically, the same stuff humans have been using for millennia. But, in one last shocking twist, when they started requesting the good old regular stuff back... there was none left on the market! Somehow, regular seeds are no longer readily available. I know this sounds kinda kooky, but think about how expensive "organic" food is compared to your run-of-the-mill, icky-yucky-mad-cow-disease-riddled stuff all over the supermarket.

You'd think something grown using old technology (ie: an ox on grandpa's ranch) versus new technology (ie: a humungous factory in Sri Lanka) would cost less. But no - it's all about volume baby, and Monsanto has got volume.

What impressed me the most about this movie was (partly) the sort-of sleuthing-around-for-Dummies approach it took, coupled with some uncomfortable interviews with some high-placed people (Ali-G-meets-mousy-librarian style).

The reporter would type questions into the Google search bar, and all kinds of golden information nuggets would pop up.

I decided to use this approach to try and figure out why oil was so damned expensive. I don't have a car, so I don't care all that much, but since it seems like people are starting to make food-vs-gas decisions, I think this is as good a question as any to pose. Here are my starting points:

1) Iraq is supposed to lie atop the world's second largest reserve of easily-extractable oil (after Saudi Arabia) - how come we mighty westerners can't seem to get a piece of that action and must resort to playing suck-up to the Saudis, who stopped caring what we say or how much we threaten? Don't they know we could pull an Iraq on them and bomb their country back to the Stone Age???

2) Why are we sucking up to Saudi Arabia and not bombing them back to the Stone Age? King Faisal was assassinated for being an oil-snob back in the 70s - what, are we suddenly above callous assassination, or something?

3) No one was making a fuss over this a mere three years ago. What changed? Not Iraq - that happened 5 years ago, and it was pretty clear from the get-go that no one was going to be greeted with any flowers or rice or whatever carb they were expecting. 9/11 happened more than 7 years ago. I remember learning about the notion of "peak oil" back when I was a wee high-school-attending lass, and yet, the idea of "peak oil" was just as popular as "global warming" was a few years ago. Again - what changed?

I Googled "Iraqi Oil" for fun. And then perused some articles about what's happening with oil this week. It was very enlightening.

My favorite was a 2004 USA Today article where the author is freaking out over the idea of "prices far above $50 a barrel, perhaps $60 or more".

Well, it's early 2008 and the current price of a barrel of oil is set to reach... "an average of $141 in the second half of 2008 and to $148 in 2009. OPEC no longer rules out $200".

Wow. That sure put things into perspective for me. You can have fun googling yourself, or check this, this, and this out and see a big picture emerge.

Turkey's Answer to Brad Pitt

2008-05-25T07:30:00.001-07:00

I’ve been spending a lot of time at my parents’ place lately where I’ve been exposed to ungodly amounts of Arabic satellite tv. Besides learning that virtually every single American hit show has been purchased by Arabic stations and repackaged for an Arab audience giving us Arabic versions of American Idol (called “Superstar”), The Biggest Loser, Project Runway (sponsored by the Lebanese crown jewel Elie Saab), Friends, and yes, even The View, there’s a new soap opera that’s been causing quite the sensation in the Arab world right now, and this one isn’t of American origins…

It should be clarified that soap operas in the Arab world run more along the Mexican ‘telenovela’ model, with a run of about 3 to 4 months, than the American version which goes on forever and probably into the next world.

My mother introduced this soap to me like so: “It’s worse than those American soap operas, with this woman having a child from that man, and being separated from this one, and that one having a dubious past… it’s terrible. But the hero is quite an eyeful.”

See for yourselves…

PS: I can’t wait for the Arabic version of “The Bachelor”.

Guilty Pleasures and Maggie Marr

2008-05-20T19:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, so let’s take a brief reprieve from politics (of course it’ll be brief… I won’t make promises I can’t keep!) and get on my guilty pleasure topic: Hollywood gossip.

I don’t have many guilty pleasures in life, mostly because I’ve come to think that if you’re going to feel guilty about doing something, it takes away half the fun, so do it wholeheartedly or don’t do it all. Or try not to anyway.

Not so Hollywood gossip. It’s certainly a pleasure, and yes, it is sinfully, double-Oreo-brownie-a-la-mode guilty.

Here’s a typical scenario: me, standing in the grocery store check out aisle, clutching a carton of milk and the latest Marie-Claire, trying to look away. But I can’t. I sneak a peak. Brittany has a bump. Jen has found true love – for real this time. Nicole has gained a pound. Suddenly it becomes too much to bear. I tell myself there are still two people ahead of me in line… if I pick one and speed read I’ll manage to take all the crucial info in, no need to waste my money on this brain crack. I know they are lying to me. I know it’s all padding. I know those headlines are exaggerated… but I can’t help it. I am weak. Just when it’s my turn to pay I grab the In Touch staring me in the face (does it snicker at me? Does it know it won?) and fork over three dollars I’ll never see again. Score: Hollywood gossip: one, me: zilch. And so it goes.

Meet Maggie Marr, an author who’s managed to take our obsession with juicy Hollywood insider info and turn it into a novel praised by chick lit royalty Sarah Mlynowski (“Move over Jackie Collins! Secrets of The Hollywood Girls Club is a steamy page-turner bursting with insider Hollywood gossip. I loved it!") and Marian Keyes (“This is a juicy, delicious read! I just loved the insider secrets and the access to what really goes on in Hollywood—the stuff we suspect happens but is always denied by scary publicists").

Who is Maggie Marr, you ask? A bitter ex-assistant looking to do some damage in roman a clef mode? Not quite. Maggie has earned her Hollywood cred as an LA motion picture literary agent, where she’s worked with the likes of Owen Wilson, Cameron Diaz, Ashton Kutcher (eek!), and Reese Witherspoon. And get this… she used to be a lawyer before become an agent and an author, so you just know this is going to be a smart read.

Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club is the follow-up to Hollywood Girls Club where A-list friends Jessica, Celeste, Lydia and Mary-Anne attempt to beat the plastic-surgery/secret affaires/sex tapes rumor mill to keep hold on to the spot at the top.

Without further ado, here’ s the scoop from Maggie.

Who’s your favorite Hollywood heartthrob?

It's a three way tie...Brad Pit, George Clooney, and Daniel Craig...oh wait… did I mention Mark Wahlberg?

Name three authors at the top of your “to watch” list.

Okay so this list changes all the time! But I have to say..I love Carl Hiaasen. Adore him. I think he's a brilliant writer. His characters are quirky and fun and I always enjoy reading his books. Next...right now...I'd say Janet Evanovich. I just recently discovered the Plum series. I love the pace of Janet's books. How the stories keep moving. And I love the character Stephanie Plum. Jennifer Weiner. I just finished Certain Girls and although I'm a little up and down on this book, I think more because of my memories of Good In Bed than Jennifer's story choices, Jennifer's writing is brilliant and she continues to get better as a writer. So of course, I am always interested in the stories she's telling.

Which book do you wish you’d written?

Carpe Demon by Julie Kenner

Can you tell us a bit about your writing process? Do you have a writing routine you stick to or a special writing space that brings out your creativity?

Let’s see. I love the mornings. I love to be at my computer by 7:30 or 8 am to get started. I have a goal of one chapter a day which for me is about 10 pages. Some days I make it, other days I don’t. But when I’m working on the first draft, whizzing along, I try for ten pages. I work in the morning until noonish and then I take a break and have lunch with my girls. I put them down for nap and write another two hours, from two to four. Usually I’m pretty shot by four pm. I might read or edit in the evening once the girls are in bed, but I don’t usually get much writing accomplished.

Do you have an agent, if so, can you tell us the story behind meeting and signing with her?

Prior to becoming a full time writer, I was a motion picture agent for ICM. I worked full time repping writers and directors. So Hollywood is my home. I started hearing a character voice in my head and late at night when I couldn’t sleep or on the weekends, I would write down the story I was told. This story became the first draft of my first book Hollywood Girls Club. Secrets of The Hollywood Girls Club is the second book in the series and a continuation of the lives of these four fabulous women who live and work in Hollywood.

So while I was agenting, I wrote for fun, in my spare time. It was my husband who convinced me to give four chapters to my friend and colleague (and now agent) at ICM. I gave her four chapters without my name on them, guessing she’d pass and then I could go on about my life repping my screenplay writer and directing clients. But instead she loved it. I finished the manuscript and when she took it out, there were two houses that wanted the book…so I ended up going with Crown. And suddenly, I was a writer.

So… What up next for you?

I just turned in a draft of a television pilot that I'm developing. I also finished the first draft of my third book, a stand alone women's fiction book, unrelated to the Hollywood Girls Club Series. Once I have the women's fiction book complete, I plan on finishing a screenplay I've been writing of and on for a while.

What has being published changed about your life?

I have a whole lot more work! There is the writing, plus the business of being a published writer. I'm always trying to get the word out about the books. Trying to let people know what a fun read they are. The promotion of the books, takes a ton of time. But I can't complain, my life, is truly blessed.

Thanks so much Maggie!

How Not to Write an Article

2008-05-17T18:07:00.000-07:00

I was going to write a nice, tame post about a movie I saw last week and why it reminded me of plotting techniques, but then something appeared on the opinion page of the Montreal Gazette that nearly drove me out of my mind, as happens every single weekend with the Montreal Gazette. (A legitimate question might be: “why do you read the Montreal Gazette, Nadine, when it incenses you so?” and I don’t have a better answer than quoting the Gazette’s branding motto which is: “The Gazette – The English Language, daily”. In overwhelmingly French Quebec, it’s The Gazette or nothing, I’m afraid).

This is how the article, by David Brooks of the New York Times, begins:

“Hezbollah is one of the world’s most radical terrorist organizations. Over the last week or so, it has staged an armed assault on the democratic government of Lebanon.”

Contrast this with what Robert Fisk, award-winning British correspondent for The Independent, author of several excellent books (one in particular I’ve read and that made me cry with empathy, sadness and nostalgia all at once, Pity the Nation) and longtime Beirut resident had to say:

“That [the widely held perception that if Lebanon plunges into another civil war, it’s because of religious strife] is the problem. For the war in West Beirut is not about religion. It is about the political legitimacy of the Lebanese government and its "pro-American" support (the latter an essential adjective to any US news agency report), which Iran understandably challenges.”

David Brooks of the New York Times has also authored a hard-hitting, non-fiction book, so in the interest of full disclosure, I must give you the title: “Bobos in Paradise: The New Upper Class and How They Got There”

I must say, it sounds pretty fascinating (plus, it’s on sale!) and I’d love to read it if I didn’t have better ways to send my time than supporting self-important nincompoops pontificating on subjects they know little about, but I digress.

For my problem with Mr. Brooks' article isn’t based merely on his lack of credentials, but it’s because he, and pundits like him, are the reason many people are stunned to learn that Hezbollah (should be written “Hezb’Allah, btw, since it literally translates to “Party of God”) currently holds seats in Lebanon’s parliament and enjoys support from a cross-cultural swath of Lebanese society, which is saying a lot in a tiny country gutted by clashes between its 16 religious sects, ravaged by Israeli military occupation, and destabilized by a large Palestinian refugee population (spilling over from Israel).

Out of the multitudes of guerillas the 15-year long Lebanese civil war spawned, Hezb’Allah was the only one allowed to hold on to its weapons after the war ended.

Why?

Because it is largely due to Hezb’Allah’s military campaign against Israeli occupation of Southern Lebanon, an occupation distasteful even to Israelis themselves, that the south of Lebanon was eventually liberated in May 2000.

So, while the US still considers Hezb’Allah as a terrorist organization, the Lebanese parliament crowned the group with “national resistance movement” status.

Mr. Brooks does not expend time and ink explaining to his readers why Hezb’Allah deserves to be listed among the “world’s most radical terrorist organizations”. Are they as bloodthirsty as say, the Khmer Rouge of Cambodia? The Tamil Tigers of Sri Lanka? Why does Hezb’Allah, a guerilla movement consisting of Muslim Shia leadership more popular among Lebanese of different faiths than say, the Phalangist party (created to represent “Christian” interests) which has lost so much support, even among Christians, as to be virtually irrelevant? I doubt Mr. Brooks is using Hizb’Allah’s killing record as a basis for his conclusion, because until the summer 2006 Israeli invasion of Lebanon, Hizb’Allah’s offensive was targeted at soldiers, and soldiers only. Never any civilians.

Of course, Mr. Brooks would not mention that. This is why Hezb’Allah is the only ex-Guerilla movement to hold seats the current Lebanese parliament. Because when everyone was busy killing each other, Hezb’Allah focused only on driving Israel (and US Marines) out of Lebanon.

David Brooks' opinion piece is not about Hezb’Allah. He is simply using Hezb’Allah to paint Barack Obama as someone who panders to “one of the world’s most radical terrorist organizations” and counting on reader laziness, misinformation and stereotype to advance a point without a shred of backup.

And that, dear readers, is exactly how a principled journalist should never write an article.

For a lucid, short, and easy-to-understand assessment of the current situation in Lebanon, you can read Robert Fisk’s latest piece here.

Tag Love

2008-05-12T17:02:00.000-07:00

Wow - it's been a long time since I've been tagged. So long, in fact, that I think a pretty big segment of taggers from the olden days don't blog anymore, but it's a tag that's both fun and doesn't use up too many brain cells, so here goes. Here are the rules:

1) Pick up the nearest book - I happen to be blogging from my parents' place right now, so I had to get up and go to my sister's bedroom to find a selection of books I left behind. My eyes fells on a very bright pink cover I remembered from back when I first got into chick lit - Valerie Frankel's The Accidental Virgin.

It's probably worth telling the story behind this book. It was 2003, I'd just fallen in love with a new author I'd never heard of before called Sophie Kinsella, and I was desperately searching for similar books. Also, I'd just moved to the Cayman Islands where pretty much anything besides sand and sea water was scarce. I could order books from Amazon.com but then I'd have to wait a month to get them (who wants to do that??!) or I could order them from our one local bookstore. Wait time: one week. It was a no-brainer. Except that in retrospect, I should have probably ordered a book with a title like "The Accidental Virgin" over the anonymous net, month-long wait time and all. Because our local bookstore was run (and still is - though other book stores have popped up in the meantime)but a little old Caymanian lady with a Brooklyn accent (don't ask) and a hearing problem. I went to pick up the book on a Saturday afternoon when everyone and their grandmother was at the bookstore. The conversation went a little like this:

Me (a little bit embarassed): Hi, uh, you called me... you said my book was ready for pick up?

Little Old Lady: And what book was that, dear?

Me (leaning over the counter and whispering): Er, The Accidental Virgin, please.

LOL: What was that dear?

Me (leaning in closer and whispering and breaking out into a mild sweat): The Accidental Virgin.

LOL: The Accidental what? You'll have to excuse me dear, I'm a little hard of hearing.

Me (wanting to die): The Accidental Virgin

LOL (screaming at the top of her lungs, because she's a little deaf): The Accidental what? Virgin? Ed... do we have The Accidental Virgin back there? This young lady wants The Accidental... oh, uh, virgin (says last word a little more quietly this time).

Entire store turns to look, or at least that how it feels. I tuck my chin into my chest, pay, and run out of the store. I have since been back many, many times, and have a lovely friendship with the owners of the store, and even signed there once, so at least this story has a happy ending: )

Okay - back to the tag rules.

2) Turn to page 123, find the fifth sentence and post the next three:

The idea was to differentiate itself from the upscale lingerie retailers on the Internet. Hitching thongs.com with a porn site would send their cart careening down-market, downhill, down the toilet.

"I say this with the deepest respect for Stanley's business acumen," said Stacy, "but isn't smut.com kind of smutty?"

There you have it. If you're not intrigued, I don't know what else to tell you.

Now for the tough part... I'm going to go ahead and tag Mary Castillo of Chica Lit, Karin Gillespie of Southern Comfort, my friend and intrepid traveller Bride-to-Be, and Dona Sarkar who hasn't blogged in about 17 years (though I'm pretty sure she's still blogging over at Books, Boys & Buzz Girls).

Are You Ready?

2008-05-07T19:06:00.000-07:00

...for some seriously exciting announcements?

After years and years of waiting (okay - maybe about a year and a half), I have finally made it on to the Girlfriends' Cyber Circuit networking virtual group, which means you'll be seeing a lot more writing related blogging from me in the future. I pledge to try and make my interview questions as quirky and original as possible so that those of you who blog-hop (you know who you are...) don't feel like you're reading the same interview over and over again.

And that's not it.I've been waiting for the relaunch of my website to announce this but it's looking like that might take a little while, so here goes: I've got the galleys for Cutting Loose and I am absolutely smitten with my cover!!!

Take a look:

Getting your cover is one of those moments in the writing process that gets you through the rougher patches and reminds you of how totally cool it is to be a working author.

Well... what do you guys think? Effective? Pick-upable?

Movie Review: Goya's Ghosts

2008-04-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who once proclaimed that history has little to teach us because it seldom repeats itself. (In her defense, we were pretty young at the time)

But the arrogance of youth aside, I think the reason some people fail to see themselves in the past probably has something to do with self-awareness (or rather, lack of) and an inability to see the forest for the trees.

I can already see people watching Goya’s Ghosts, an excellent movie I rented this weekend (out last summer), and ascribing Goya’s anguish to the cruelty of his time rather than the cruelty of human nature in general, and its propensity towards fanaticism over compassion.

There's nothing subtle about Goya's Ghost, with lines like “in these troubled times [we] deemed it necessary to bring [torture] back….” Of course, the church of the Inquisition never used the word “torture” either, but “the Question”, as in, “if you are put to The Question, God will grant you the grace not to falsely confess to something you’re not guilty of….”

Or: “[they] will shower us with flowers and rose petals in the streets…” the “they” in this instance referring to the regular people in Spain awaiting “liberation” from the monarchy and a corrupt clergy by Napoleon’s army (I'm too lazy to look up the actual transcrips, so there's some paraphrasing here. Sorry)

Goya watches one set of perverted ideals take over another set of perverted ideals, power passed around between a select privileged and lucky few like a game of high stakes hot potato, with regular people shouldering the human cost of this macabre game.

Nathalie Portman was great as an embodiment of human misery and helplessness, in the face of stacked odds and just pure bad luck.

We also get the benefit, throughout this movie, to see some of Goya’s body of work and how he synthesized and recorded all this pain around him. For that alone, I’d say the movie is worth it, especially for art buffs.

Ultimately though, my only beef with artists like Goya (and writers like Flaubert and Zola), who see things as they really are (as opposed to buying in to the optimistic, know-it-all stand of the established powers) and convey them to us as best as they can, is that ultimately they offer no alternative. Maybe this is why human nature is still so vulnerable to know-it-alls. We’d rather follow an asshole who’s convinced of what he’s doing, rather than a guy who tells you “look, I don’t know what the answer is, but this isn’t it. Hopefully I’ll know it when I see it”.

Lusting After...

2008-04-22T06:25:00.000-07:00

... This Juicy Couture hot pink trench.

What better way to usher in the spring?

God vs. Allah: Using Language to Divide

2008-04-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

Once, in my first year out of University, I had the chance to transfer to Hartford, CT with my company for six months. I jumped at the chance seeing as I've always loved travelling, any kind of travelling, even to Hartford in this case (at least I got to see plenty of nearby NYC and Boston....)

I also got my first chance to see real life Americans, in their natural habitat (as opposed to on TV) for the first time (I'd vacationed in Cape Cod for a few days once, which I'm not going to count since the only Americans I talked to were the store clerks).

It's an experience I'll forever be grateful for because the one thing that regrettably gets lost through all the media images of Americans and American culture the world is bombarded with every second of every day, is the genuine niceness and curiosity of the American people. The problem is that there is such a discrepancy between how much of the world they get to see in return, and the little they do see is distorted through media filters. Add to this the phenomenon of American credulity - that unshakable faith that what they are being spoon-fed through TV and politics and Hollywood movies is the truth - as opposed to the natural cynicism of the rest of the world, and you have the conditions for some really bizarre conversations.

Like say this one, with a fellow University student (I took a Spanish class at U of H while working in Hartford).

I can't remember what I was so adamant about, but I was adamant enough to say this to him at one point: "I swear to God, blah, blah, blah..."

At which point he interrupted me with "Wait a minute - you can't say that, you don't believe in God, you believe in Allah."

I think I just stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, and then tried to explain that "Allah" was simply the Arabic word for "god" and that he believed in Allah too, and that all Arabic speaking people speak of "Allah" whether they are Christian, Muslim or Jewish (I won't comment on Buddhists or Hindus because I believe the Arabic word for polytheistic religions is different, but I honestly can't remember what it is right now - sorry). I’m not sure I convinced him.

I was reminded of this in a great article in The Los Angeles Times about the mutation of language, how new words are incorporated into language (especially English, as it’s always been receptive to foreign vocabulary), and how words can shed their meaning and acquire a new one, like one acquires a new coat, when they switch over to the other side.

But, the article says, one word that should not mutate is Allah, as people are accepting it means something different from the happy-go-lucky, forgiving God of the Bible. As if Allah were the Muslim version of Zeus, or Shiva or Thor.

He’s not. God is god. “Allah means” God, just like “r'abb" means “lord” and “sukkar” means “sugar”. That’s the honest to God truth. Or the honest to allah truth, if you prefer.

Caramel

2008-04-10T10:44:00.000-07:00

I’m Baaaaa-aaaaack!

Cayman was beyond fantabulous, but I’m also very excited to be in Montreal. In very, very, VERY happy news (at least for me), the weather now seems to be firmly entrenched in the pluses (as in, not freezing) and most of the snow has melted. Hurrah! I even pulled out the old trenchcoat this morning, dusted it off, and wore it out with a pair of pretty autumn./spring boots.

I’ve officially survived my first Canadian winter in years. This warrants a pause.

Pause.

Okay, now I can tell you about the first Lebanese chick flick I’ve ever seen. It’s called Caramel and it was Lebanon’s official selection for this year’s Academy Awards. Caramel is the French expression used to translate sukkar banaat, the sugary concoction Arab women have been using for millennia (and continue to use, even though it hurts like a mo’fo, because of how silky and utterly touchable it leaves your skin. It’s also 100% natural – you can make it in your kitchen) to remove body hair.

It was also one of the most delightful movies I’ve seen in a long time, partly because I saw it in Arabic and the authenticity and nostalgia hit home for me. Also, it was almost like seeing one of my own novels come to life – the story centers around a salon, the three women who run it, and their most faithful customers. Lalaye is a Christian Lebanese early-thirty-something having a tortured affair with a married man in a society where slipping away to a motel incognito is not exactly an option, Nissreen, a young Muslim Lebanese woman who should be thrilled about her upcoming wedding, except the groom comes from a stricter family than hers, and she hasn’t found the courage to tell him she’s not a virgin. Meanwhile, boyish Reema who mans the generator when the electricity gives out, ignores the attentions of the neighborhood “Johnny Bravo” in favor of a beautiful woman who shyly but wantonly abandons her luxurious long, black hair to Reema’s hands. Added to the mix are themes of growing old in an unforgiving environment, family – the one you’re born with and the one you create – and sacrifice.

That this movie was criticized as being a Lebanese version of Queen Latifa’s Beauty Shop annoyed me to no end. Here, here and here. And here. This is just like that stupid article that calls women the “dimmer sex” because they focus on the emotional side of things rather than the destructive side. The movie did not have to go deeply into the ravages of the war – the barely-hanging-on “B” from the signage of the salon is enough to show destruction, the hot water running out, the electricity suddenly and without warning shutting down go far in showing life in the wake of rationing, and the room that Layale (in her thirties) shares with her young teenaged brother speak volumes about life outside the US, Canada, and Western Europe where nearly everyone stays at home, in cramped quarters, until they’re married, no matter how old they are. There’s plenty more to say, but I wouldn’t want to spoil the plot.

Go see it if you can, it’s a gem of a movie told from a seldom seen perspective, and most importantly, it’s an honest, authentic movie that’s positive and uplifting as opposed to sad and depressing. Not too many of those out there!

Aloha From the Cayman Islands!

2008-03-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

I wish we had a cutesy, pseudo-cultural way to say “Hello” in the Caymans but since we’re a teeny tiny little ex-British outpost, you’ll just have to settle for a term I borrowed from Hawaii.

I’m on vacation!!!

After six long months of winter, winter and more winter, here I am, sipping a cappuccino at the very same café I sat in to start (but not quite finish…) Cutting Loose during the two wonderful months I took off to enjoy the island before I left. I’d be on the beach but sadly it hasn’t been very nice since I arrived… I’m beginning to seriously think I’m the official Bringer of Nasty Weather. Montreal is having its worst winter since 1971 and Cayman is seeing a bit of rainy-season-esque weather even though we’re smack dab in the middle of dry season, and so I must conclude I have something to do with it. No matter, it’s still a lovely, balmy 27 degrees (81 F), party cloudy with sunny breaks and I am here for another week and a half while everyone back home gets used to the idea that winter will be with us for another month or so.

I have to admit I’ve been out of writing mode for the past two weeks or so as my brain has been kidnapped by daydreams of lying on Caribbean sand, and also some pretty crazy happenings at work. It’s pretty tough to stick to my self-inflicted rule of keeping the working and blogging lives separate right now, but suffice to say that good, exciting things are happening, and that if I’ve learned anything from everything I’ve done so far, is that no matter what, know thyself, and then stay true to thyself. I’m more convinced than ever of a saying I read once: You can have anything you want, anything at all, as long as you are willing to give everything else up to have it.

There’s another saying my sister is fond of: choisir c’est renoncer, which loosely translates to: to choose is to forsake.

When we write we forsake snippets of a social life we could be developing, parties we could be going to, friends we could be with, relatives who need us and who don’t understand how we could spend so much time alone with our thoughts and our word processors. Some of us forsake extra hours we could be spending at our day jobs that could earn us promotions or more money. All I’ll say about what’s happening at work right now is that I took a huge gamble several months ago, one that saw me forsaking everything I’d built over the course of my career for an uncertainty. The more time passed, the less I was convinced I’d done the right thing. And then suddenly, as I sort of coasted along leaving as many of my options open as I could, the road forked, and I was facing two great opportunities: one that would forever anchor me to the career I picked in university, and one that would throw me into a future I’d always dreamed about. And unlike writing, I couldn’t do both. Choosing one would mean forsaking the other, maybe forever.

I chose to keep moving forward, deeper into the gamble I took when I moved back to Montreal. I had received a very concrete, tangible validation that what I’d dreamed about and hoped for since forever wasn’t just some crazy dream, that there’s actually a job out there I’m a perfect fit for. On the other hand, of course, lies financial security and comfort. If I succeed on this new path, then security and comfort will come eventually, but in the meantime there’s fear and insecurity.

But here’s the funny thing: it seems that ever since I started taking (calculated) risks with my life, the closer it has started resembling the life of my dreams. So I’m forging ahead… for now.

I’ll be off until April 6, sporadically checking email only because I’m a bit of an online news/café junkie. But as much as possible, I will be trying to lie quietly on the beach, mentally plotting book #3.

Have a great two weeks guys!

Published in my Home Town!

2008-03-11T09:35:00.000-07:00

My sister, after reading my weekend post, suggested that instead of just venting my outrage over the limited sphere of my blog, I should go ahead and send my post (or a modified version) to the Montreal Gazette, which had reprinted the Charlotte Allen piece.

And guess what?

The published it!

Read the modified article here. It's actually a pretty good example of taking a blog post (where you're allowed to go on tangents and hit on pretty much any subject you feel like) and hunting for a theme, bringing it out, and organizing your ideas around it in a succinct way. If I had just sent in my blog post as is, I doubt it would have been printed.

NB - That headline is NOT mine... just goes to show the kind of sensationalism it takes to make the paper. But hey, if a little bit of sensationalism is what gets my article read then I certainly don't mind!

Charlotte Allen - Media Whore, Rabid Anti-Feminist, or Just Plain as Dumb as her Article?

2008-03-09T15:44:00.000-07:00

Can someone please tell me what's so wrong about watching Grey's Anatomy? Or listening to Celine Dion, for that matter?

Is there any empirical evidence lying around somewhere that proves Celine Dion has a more damaging effect on brain cells than say, Garth Brooks or Snoop Dog? Is Grey’s Anatomy really dumber than Pimp my Ride? Is Oprah cornier than Ty Pennington on Extreme Makeover: The Home Edition?

Can it be that Celine, Oprah and Grey’s Anatomy are dumb because… wait for it… they are women (or in Grey’s case, created by a woman, for women) and are also… hugely, massively, out-of-this-stratosphere successful?

I could write pages and pages about the article I read in this morning’s Montreal Gazette, which originally appeared in the Washington post, but I won’t, because I fear I’ve already succumbed to the Ann-Coulter-perfected trap of giving someone who shrieks outrageous drivel at the top of their lungs a platform from where to shriek their outrageous drivel.

Charlotte Allen, annoyed by the unusually heartfelt devotion Barack Obama has been inspiring of late – to the point where a few people across the US, trapped in throngs of thousands, succumbed to fainting – has used these incidents as narrative spark to a bonfire of hateful woman-are-so-stOOpid hate speech. Amongst other arguments advanced for why women really are the dimmer sex, is the popularity of Grey’s Anatomy, Oprah, Celine, and yes, even Chick lit! Had the author of this op-ed tried to make a serious stab at intelligent insight with her piece, I’m sure Jane Austen would have garnered a mention as well. From the pop culture related reasons as to why women are an embarrassing excuse for human beings, Allen segues to politics, with the mismanaged Clinton campaign held up as an example. This is the gist of the theory: Hillary Clinton’s campaign, up until the Texas and Ohio primaries, has been run like an all-monkey cast stage production, Clinton is a woman, as are most of her advisors, ergo women shouldn’t be in politics. Because they are stOOpid.

A little bit of googling reveals a Washington Post sponsored Meet-the-author type online forum with the aim of giving outraged readers a chance to “clear things up” with Allen after all the ensuing hoopla.

Rest assured, this transcript, together with the article itself, cleared a lot of things up for me.

Far from thinking all women are stOOpid, Allen does in fact dignify a few with her respect: Margaret Thatcher, and Golda Meir.

Margaret Thatcher, a classic example of oh-yeah-let’s-see-whose-balls-are-bigger female leadership style, is quite notorious for her BFF, the equally notorious Chilean dictator, General Pinochet, recently on trial for crimes against his people, namely widespread, decades-long torture.

Golda Meir I hold near and dear to my heart for this lovely gem of human insanity: “There is no such thing as a Palestinian people […] they did not exist.”

So these are the shining examples of female leadership we feeble-minded women should aspire to emulate (if only we had the brain cells! The balls! The butt-ugly hairdos!). Not, say, Mary Robinson, former prime minister of Ireland who’s been credited with that country’s economic renaissance, took office as the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, and was a the recipient of the Amnesty International’s Ambassador of Conscience award, or the late Benazir Bhutto who, in spite of problems during her political terms, would have been a much-needed positive role model for young women in the Muslim world at large.

So, you see, I’m not sure whether Allen’s op-ed was motivated by:

1) Sheer stupidity – there is nary a logical arc to be found anywhere in the piece

2) Politics – this is also the woman who thinks Hurricane Katrina was the best thing to happen to poor, disenfranchised African Americans since KFC

3) A little bit of resentment against women who chose career over kids and
baking cookies at home (see her lament at why women don’t just do what they’re naturally good at and leave the serious stuff to the able-bodied – and brained – men)

4) An Ann-Coulter-esque thirst for 15 minutes of fame – or infamy, in this case.

Allen ends her piece with an appeal to women worldwide: Face it ladies, a bunch of scientific theories and studies I just made up say that you’re not going to excel at anything besides whining and passing out when faced with male virility to which you can never aspire, so why don’t you just have some kids and decorate instead?

Inspirational words indeed. I was going to work on my novel tonight, but I think I’ll just grab a box of chocolate chip cookies from the pantry and watch some Grey’s Anatomy instead. Or maybe read some chick lit. Because chick lit is stOOpid, and so am I.

PS - I think what got me really going is her anti-Eat Pray Love rant. Out of all the issues plaguing the world, she picks a fight with "spirituality", "relationaships" and "Latin lovers"??? DUDE - it's called "ENTERTAINMENT".

Charlotte - a word of advice - a "Latin lover" of your own might make you a much nicer, more interesting person, the sort of person who gets famous because people find her interesting - like, say, Elizabeth Gilbert - and not because she's a gender-bashing shrew straight out of the twelvth century. Lighten up, Char.

New Cover!

2008-03-07T11:44:00.001-08:00

Fashionably Late has a new paperback cover, with a bonus sneak preview of Cutting Loose included at the end!

Eeek!!!

I am totally tickled pink.

Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits

2008-02-28T09:32:00.000-08:00

There’s a writer I’ve been wanting to blog about for a while now but wanted to wait until her book, Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits had arrived in the mail from Amazon, and until I’d finished reading it.

It’s a thin little novel, less than 200 pages, and worth all the hype I’d previously read about it. The author, Laila Lalimi, is the creator of a popular blog, Moorishgirl (the site has since changed names to simply www.lailalalami.com/blog) where she covers a fairly wide range of topics about contemporary literature, Arab issues at large, literary Arab figures, and Moroccan issues in particular. Lalimi herself is a transplanted Moroccan, now a lit professor living in Portland, Oregon.

What I really like about Lalimi is her grace.

She tackles some very serious, sad stuff without anger or virulence, something most passionate, opinionated people have a hard time with, with elegant, understated prose.

Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits may be about a raft full of Moroccans from wildly different walks of life about to cross the dangerous Straits of Gibraltar to a (one hopes) better life in Spain, but as the collection of character sketches unfolds, we see the life of the illegal immigrant in all of its tragedy, melodrama and universality. It’s a book about very specific people and very specific circumstances and yet it’s one of the most relevant books I’ve read in a long time.

Take the current illegal immigration crisis in the States. I hate to break this to those of you who think that America (or any country) belongs only to its citizens, and who support anti-illegal immigration laws, but we’re about to find out what “immigration crisis” really means.

Americans (and Canadians) should count themselves very lucky as the poor masses that come sneaking into their country come from one direction only. You’ll have a much easier time protecting your borders when your country is isolated from all sides but one by oceans (and in Canada’s case, icebergs). It’s not as easy for, say, Chinese migrants to hop onto a raft and paddle their way to California as it is for a Moroccan to make it to Spain. Fourteen kilometers, Lalimi writes, is all that separates abject misery from a life of human dignity.

Another important point is capacity. If the entire population of Cuba were to take to inflatable rafts, that’s just….. eleven million souls. I bet Florida (population: 18 million) could take half of them on without too much trouble. Eleven million… that’s 6 million less than how many people call Cairo, Egypt home. And we are talking about the United States of America here, the world’s largest economy by a few light-years. We are also talking about a country (like Canada) with massive tracts of yet-uninhabited land – not because there’s anything wrong with the land, mind you – just because people would rather live in New York, or LA, or Phoenix, or Miami.

We’re not talking about, oh, I don’t know… Syria.

Syria’s population is 19.4 million. Syria, as a consequence of the Iraq war, has absorbed 1.2 million displaced Iraqis.

Would you like to know how many “innocent Iraqi civilians” the United States has absorbed?

800 since 2003. That’s an average of 160 a year, for five years.

800 people??? 100 people came to my launch party last year… that’s 12% of the total amount of Iraqi refugees accepted into the United States since the start of the war!!! (They have since signed-on to 7000 more in 2008, after some much-deserved hoopla over the disgustingly low figure. Will they honor the promise? Who the heck knows)

800 out of a population of 300 million is… my calculator doesn’t have enough space for all the zeros in this one.

1.2 million out of 19.4 million?

That’s a 6% population increase in just half a decade.

And we’re talking about just one war, one tiny little man-made crisis in a world that’s going to see massive displacement of peoples as a result of natural disasters, rising water levels, and more pronounced inequality than the world has ever seen.

Over 2 million refugees created by the Iraq war. How many refugees will be created if a big portion of a southern Indian province is lost to rising water levels? Who will “absorb” those people? And what kind of life awaits them in their adopted countries? What future awaits us all if we continue to treat these Global Untouchables as “surplus humanity”?

It might be time to start talking about the “immigration crisis” as it really is, as opposed to how we imagine it to be in our pampered, sheltered little fantasies.

Read Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits. It’s a good start.

Can Someone Please Explain Paulo Coelho to Me?

2008-02-26T11:21:00.000-08:00

First off, does everyone know what I’m talking about? It’s been a little while since Mr. Coelho’s come up with a new novel, but for the past few years, all I ever saw when I walked into a bookstore were huge displays of Paulo Coelho’s various books, and all I ever heard were people raving about The Alchemist, or gasping about the “controversial”, salacious Eleven Minutes.

And by “people” I don’t mean people who read widely and regularly, but that mysterious third party who decides what ‘everyone’s watching’ these days, or who were the best dressed celebrities at the Oscars, etc, etc.

Sometime after The Alchemist had snuck into my consciousness somehow (don’t remember anyone recommending it to me, or reading any articles about it, so can only assume the bookstore hype got so bad that my brain could no longer ignore it), I came upon a copy of Veronika Decides to Die. That, I thought, sounded far more interesting than The Alchemist. And for most of the novel, Coelho actually lived up to this image of a genius writer I had built up in my head. I LOVED this book.

Until I finished it. It weighed on me like a supersized double Big Mac with extra cheese.

Something about it was not right. I’m not quite sure what. But now, halfway through the ‘salacious’ Eleven Minutes, I think I may have it figured out.

I think Paulo Coelho appeals to the masses the same way that guys who paints ‘light’ in and quaint country cottages does.

McLiterature? McPhilosophy? McSpirituality?

McCrap.

You can scoff and call me a snob, but I would rather read Danielle Steel than a guy who feels it’s necessary to place his philosophical gems in brackets, in mid-action, mind you, rather than have the readers figure it out on their own from the writing and story itself.

I don’t think that the fact I can’t appreciate Paulo Coelho’s body of work as much as the millions of people out there who do is because I am a literary snob. I write chick lit for Pete’s sake.

I just think Mr. Coelho appeals to people who don't have time for nuance and subtlety. Which is not most writers, or people who read widely and often. It’s like bite-sized literacy for the hurried. Or men. Which probably explains why his books are so thin.

Anyone out there have a favorite Paolo Coelho book? ‘S okay, you can tell me. I did find the ones I read entertaining. It was just the aftertaste I wasn’t too happy with...

Rx for the Winter Blues

2008-02-22T10:10:00.000-08:00

I popped into Chapters on the Grande Dame of Montreal shopping streets the other day, Sainte-Catherine, to gaze upon Fashionably Late for a few delicious moments (yes we newbie novelists do that every once in a while… quite pathetic, I know), and lo and behold, but it wasn’t there! I was mad. This is my home town, after all.

But right there in front of the fiction titles shelved against the walls is the ‘Travel Lit’ section. And what do I see in between a book about adventures in Mexico and one in India, but Fashionably Late.

I am shelved in Travel Lit.

I don’t know why but that gives me the chills. Happy chills. Thrilled chills.

In between the few articles I wrote for Atmosphere Magazine (will post links to these soon) and Fashionably Late, it seems I’ve become a travel writer.

And I could not possibly be more thrilled. It’s the kind of vocation the universe gently nudges you toward because it knows what’s good for you, even if you don’t.

What does this have to do with the winter blues? It’s winter, it’s cold, dark and depressing, and I’m going to seriously regret upping my chocolate intake levels, so for me, the next best thing to running away to a wonderful, exciting place when my life is in a phase I’d like to skip over is to watch a movie or read a book where other people are running off to wonderful, exciting places and having the time of their lives.

In writing as in life, nothing jolts a ho-hum plot quite like a vacation. Here’s a sampling of some of my favorite trip-lit. I’m sure there are lots more I’m forgetting about, so I’d love to hear what your favorites are.

• The Buenos Aires Broken Hearts Club by Jessica Morrison – Recently fired 30-year-old self-described obsessive planner goes on a totally unscripted, unplanned trip to Argentina after catching her fiancé in bed with a hot cellist. Plot meanders a bit, but I learned lots about Argentina and was quite taken by Argentine hottie Mateo.

• Burning the Map by Laura Caldwell – The first chick-lit-travel-lit I ever read and a big source of inspiration behind Fashionably Late. Three best friends head off to Rome and Greece just before the lead chick, Casey, is shackled to her first out-of-school job at a Chicago law firm. Caldwell is a great writer and turns what could be a predictable plot into a really fun adventure. Characters are very well drawn, and both Rome and the Greek isles sound like breathless fun.

• Eat, Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert – This book has gotten so much press already, and I am absolutely honored beyond belief that it comes up as a suggestion to customers who enjoyed Fashionably Late on Amazon.com. It’s a travel memoir of a woman getting over a nasty divorce (pretty typical s far) across Italy, India, and Indonesia. It’s really the author’s style, humor and with that carry this book, and the fabulous sections in Italy and Bali. India was a bit lackluster as it focused on the author trying to achieve ‘inner peace’ in a high-profile Ashram, and could have been cut shorter, but I guess in the end this is a spiritual book that reads a lot like a fun, reckless, escapist, sexy novel, but it’s still mainly about teh quest for inner peace. It's the kind of spirituality an atheist like moi can have respect for. Reminds me a lot of Anne Lamot’s style.

• Under the Tuscan Sun (the movie) – Rent it when you’re feeling blue. Guaranteed to lift your spirits.

• My Father the Hero (movie) – This is a mediocre Hollywood 1994 remake of an old French movie starring Gérard Dépardieu. I can’t say much about the plot as it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but I’ll tell you this: the cinematography, the shots of the Bahamas were so stunning, they’ve stayed with me all these years. Time to rent it again, methinks….

•Cuba Diaries: An American Housewife in Havana by Isadora Tatlin – The title is pretty self-explanatory. The author’s insights into daily Cuban life are fascinating even though we get a deep look at the small miseries of life in Havana mixed in with the author’s growing and strange attachment to the city. As someone who’s come into close contact with Havana and her locals, I can assure you the author gets it just right.

•Something Blue by Emily Giffin – Not sure whether this really qualifies as travel lit as the protagonist only flies to gray, dreary London about a third of the way into the book when her baby daddy leaves her pregnant with twins and her ex-best-friend is about to fly off to Hawaii with her ex-fiancé on what was supposed to be her honeymoon, but this is a great example of spicing up a meandering plot with an exciting trip. I also went to London solo a few years back and it was really cool seeing the city through the character’s eyes.

•Seven Sunny Days by Chris Manby – Set in a resort in Turkey, I would have loved to see the author delve into the culture provided by this unique setting, but she stuck to predictable, self-absorbed characters that epitomize the McTravel experience: sheltered behind the high walls of a gated resort where the only local you’re likely to run into is the one cleaning your toilet. Even the “local” love interests are French, not Turks. And yet….. if you accept that you are in a resort that might as well be in Mexico or Belize, Manby does a great job of making you feel like you’re right there with the three girls on a hen trip, the bickering couple, and the studly tennis pros. And to be honest, I’ll take a canned resort experience over February in Canada any day.

Anybody else have any suggestions out there?

The End of an Era

2008-02-19T06:48:00.000-08:00

I don't check the evening news for one night - ONE - and this is what happens. Fidel Castro, after nearly fifty years of uninterrupted rule, has decided to step down.

The Earth's rotation won't reverse course, life as we know it won't come to an end, and yet... this is still the end of an era and the beginning of something more nebulous, uncertain, even scary. No matter how much some people out there hated Castro there’s some comfort to be had in old hatreds, and change is always met with a bit of cynicism. Who says Raul won’t come down harder on individual freedoms? How will the US react (or not react…) to this development?

We’ll see.

I’m just glad he announced his retirement just before I handed back my copy edits for Cutting Loose as there’s a teeny tiny reference to the caballero in there and I need to adjust accordingly… Gracias, Fidel!

As for Fashionably Late... I think it's now officially a "historical" novel ; )

What Do Mexican Buses and the Veil Have in Common?

2008-02-14T08:46:00.000-08:00

Here’s an interesting post from Alisa VR, this time about a group of Mexican women who, fed up with the groping and taunting they get everyday on the overcrowded public buses, complained to the authorities. Now they get to ride same-sex buses and are loving it.

Many months ago I blogged about the veil and why it’s not an oxymoron for progressive, liberal-minded women to support the wearing of it if the decision is a voluntary one, and that the veil stands as a symbol of liberation for some women, not oppression.

It’s a tough stand to defend to Westerners because of the particular way modernization unfolded over on this side of the world, unhampered by outside forces, unfettered by oppression, and fed by unparalleled economic super-growth that spanned several decades.

Even when times were tough, Americans and Western Europeans collectively decided to change some values, tilting them towards modernism, to preserve their economic gains. After WWII for example, suddenly, a woman didn’t have to be pregnant, barefoot, and doing the laundry by hand anymore. She could get herself a job and buy a washer and dryer set instead. She’s had to get a job during the war anyway, and society didn’t collapse, after all. Then, suddenly, it was seen as a good, privileged thing to have a proper education (even if the more privileged of the women who got it just ended up marrying well and staying at home anyway) and education for women entered the mainstream, trickling down from the wealthy classes to the middle class. And with economies in North America and Western Europe doing great, with cheap plentiful oil and an expanding middle class, there was plenty of room for women in the workforce. In fact, it became easy to see that how they were an asset to the economy as opposed to a mass of undesirables who took jobs away from white, able-bodied men.

So society’s values as a whole changed.

Now, imagine yourself in a society where there is no middle class to speak of, or if there is one, it’s extremely vulnerable to the slightest economic, military, or natural disaster. There isn’t enough money to provide clean water for everyone, much less education. Over the last hundred or so years, this society has managed to get its act together, had a revolution or two, where, for a brief moment it looked like everything would be okay and everyone, even women, would have the privilege of living with a modicum of human decency (no more middle-of-the-night raids, slave wages, widespread rape and prostitution, lack of sanitation, etc…).

Then, for whatever reason, the revolutions failed, or outside forces intervened to make sure everything would stay as it always was, which is to say that the same benefits would keep flowing to the same people, and the miserable would stay miserable.

Under such circumstances, people don’t really have the luxury of enlightenment. Of choosing their values. In some cases, like that of the Mexican women choosing segregation, the correlation is obvious. The environment is such that it makes men abusive, and segregation is one way to deal with it.

In other cases, like Muslim women clinging to the veil, it’s much more insidious. Tradition and religion have sort of codified male/female relationships insofar as women are expected to be modest because men “just can’t help themselves”.

Because no society lives in a vacuum anymore, people are exposed to alternative ways of living even if those alternatives run counter to their experiences (I’m sure they get Sex and the City in Saudi Arabia, at least by satellite…). So you will naturally get people who yearn for the individual freedoms of a modern society while their countries at large are still buckling under the weight of old oppressions.

Tunisia and Lebanon are usually held up as positive examples of countries where governments are abiding by Western standards of individual rights. The Sha’ria laws of Islam are not followed, women have the same rights as men, are not made to wear the veil (in fact in Tunisia, female civil servants are strictly forbidden from wearing it while on duty). But since they do nothing to alleviate the suffering of their poor (the majority of their population), don’t invest in hospitals and schools, this public image of forward-thinking is nothing but a shallow mask. Large chunks of their populations are reverting back to Islamic extremism (think Hezballah), for lack of any other source of hope.

In these circumstances, I’d have no trouble whatsoever believing a woman who tells me Islam respects her and gives her freedom. Just like I see why those Mexican women might be much happier riding on same-sex buses than being groped everyday on their way to work. I just wish we could stop obsessing over women’s rights in the Middle East to the blind exclusion of all those other things that created the perfect environment for abuse in the first place.

And on that note, happy Valentine’s Day.

More Rants on Chick Lit

2008-02-13T13:14:00.000-08:00

It’s still a dirty word, like most things female-centric, still pejorative, still snubbed and looked down upon, and judged as one big homogenous blob in spite of the massive range of subjects, themes, situations, characters and moods it covers.

Here’s the hilarious Maureen Johnson’s recent take on the issue-that-won’t-die, which is one of the best, funniest treatments of the topic I’ve ever seen.

I’m not about to add my own voice to the circus as I’m sure I must have done it at some point in the past, and honestly, I don’t care what people call my books as long as they read them and (hopefully) enjoy them.

But the reason I’m bringing this whole thing up again, is because of a book I just finished reading that would certainly fall under the “chick lit” category, and therefore will never be eligible for any kind of literary prize or recognition, despite it being a truly impressively written novel. But because the heroine can probably be described as “plucky”, and certainly funny, plus she does describe her outfits every once in a while (not gratuitously, but as a seamless addition to plot and character), I doubt this book will ever be reviewed as seriously as, say, White Oleander was a few years back (another excellent book, for different reasons) or Wally Lamb’s She’s Come Undone (an awful, depressing look at an obese, sexually-preyed upon teenager on the cusp of entering college).

The book I just finished is Anyone Out There? by Marian Keyes, and based on the cover copy, I would never have picked up a book like this if it weren’t written by the never preachy, always hilarious Ms. Keyes.

Because this book, you see, is about death. More precisely, about the death of the love of one’s life. And I can handle a lot of depressing topics, but this is one I tend to steer clear of.

The genius of Anyone Out There? is in just how deep Keyes takes the reader into the main character, Anna’s, head. So deep, that even though you know her husband died (the rational side of your brain deduced it somewhere in the opening chapter), your emotional side is held completely hostage by Anna’s deep denial. When she finally utters the word ‘dead’ out loud, about a quarter into the book, you gasp. Because you didn’t want to hear it anymore that she did. You, the reader, were just as much in denial.

Also, as it goes with most literary fiction, not a whole lot happens in terms of plot, and yet, unlike most so-called literary fiction, you can’t put the damn book down. It makes you want to believe in the impossible, and yet when you get to the end, you realize that things could not have ended any other way.

Marian’s first novel, Watermelon, and her latest is genius. Now I just wish all those chick-lit bashers would take note that you don’t have to have an unsympathetic cast of characters, a thin an uninspiring plot, unusual situations, and an almost sterile distance from your subject matter to be qualified as a serious writer. Some writers actually manage to be hugely entertaining, highly relatable, and literary at the same time.

Getting Real About Money

2008-02-07T21:04:00.001-08:00

The writing business is a very solitary and insecure one, even at the best of times. It's made even more insecure with contract clauses and industry practices that keep tipping further and further in the publishers' favor. Worst still, writers themselves are a private, guarded bunch who often feel so lucky to be writing at all that they're hesitant to broach the subject of money. Those of us who've been doing this for a few years laugh at that misconception that writers are rolling in it, or even making enough to subsist. Most of us hold full or at least part-time jobs to finance our "hobby", even those of us who publish regularly.

Still, the following post from a novelist I love and admire, who was short-listed as one of Time Magazine's 50 most influential Hispanics in America, and whose debut novel was optioned for film-production by none other than Jennifer Lopez (later put on hold, then repurchased, and currently being produced by another company).

Knowing everything I know about this business, I was still taken aback by this author's account and her honesty, and also her perspective on her situation. It was incredibly brave and selfless of her to go in such depth into an issue most of us are too shy, guarded, self-conscious or afraid to discuss.

Thanks you Alisa, for your honesty.

The Thinking Chick’s Reading Guide

2008-02-05T11:27:00.000-08:00

For some reason, starting last August and lasting through to January, I took a chick lit break. Sometimes there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. And I’m worse than most in that I tend to gorge myself on one thing (like, say, authentic Lebanese shish taouks) until I can’t look at it anymore. I did it with the Oprah book club back in its early days, with Danielle Steel novels when I was twelve (although maybe in that case it wasn’t so much that I got sick of them, but that I realized they were all exactly the same sometime after I turned thirteen…), and I think I did it again with chick lit. And because I’m not much of a genre reader (I honestly believe that the thematic and writing range chick lit provides makes the label ‘genre’ very loosely applicable to it), it leaves me with slim pickin’s when I decide to get off a particular kick. Luckily, after Dona’s How to Salsa in a Sari, and Marian Keyes’s Anybody Out There, I think I’m back in the game.

So what did I do all these months, besides moping over winter and frantically racing against time to get the Cutting Loose manuscript in?

Here’s a partial reading list:

Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea

I wanted to blog about this book the second I finished it. It wasn’t particularly well-written, nor especially hard-hitting or even tightly plotted. It was nonetheless a page-turner. Think of it as the chick version of The Satanic Verses – rocketed into bestsellerdom by virtue of its subject matter and the utter stupidity of its critics.

I lived in Saudi Arabia until I was nine, though not in mind-bogglingly restrictive capital of Riyadh, but in the slightly more palatable coastal city of Jeddah (based on this, I have a theory that give any city – even one in Saudi – a beach, and you’ve automatically upped it a few notches on the coolness index)

I also read this book to get a better handle on the Ranya character I wrote in Cutting Loose (she grew up in that milieu). Because even though I wasn’t one of those “Girls of Riyadh” (too young and blessed with parents who did not consider me chattel to qualify), in the eye of my mind I can still see those girls. And they really are something else, even in the conservative Middle-East. The book was controversial because apparently the Saudi Big Wigs are upset over the suggestion that their daughters actually have feelings besides piety and devotion.

It was also an interesting study in perspective for me. I read this book, and got it. I have no issues with believability, and I didn’t think it was sensationalized or exaggerated in the least. Also, the book doesn’t give a lot of cultural background – it’s clearly intended for an Arab audience (methinks). In fact, my cousins who’d read it in the original Arabic (it was published in Lebanon and banned in Saudi Arabia – surprise, surprise), were shocked it had been translated to English.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder – what would a “Westerner” reading this think? This is different from the Princess accounts which expose an extremely narrow, rarefied world of tribal royalty. Despite its very specific subject matter, this book remains a commentary on society and male-female relationships in general. But from a perspective I’m pretty sure most of you have never been exposed to.

I would love to hear from any “Westerners” who’ve read it. I’m almost afraid to recommend it – it’s one of those books that should come with a warning label: Please do not generalize to the entire Middle East.

It was the cat’s pajamas back in August, all over the airports and bookstores, so if you’re looking for something still within the women’s fiction realm yet very different, read it, and tell me about it. I’d love to shed any light on any queries you have, or answer any “is it really like that???” type questions.

Moving on… The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein.

This is the first economics book to make me cry. I’m talking genuine misty, wipe-the-corners-of-your-eyes crying.

It’s about 650 pages of text, and maybe another couple hundred of notes. A little on the long side, but you don’t notice until around page 500.

To say it’s about economics is a little bit misleading, seeing how thorough and well-written, and yes – tightly plotted – it is. This is a work of non-fiction, but almost reads like fiction. Which goes to show, good writing is good writing, and always a joy to read, even if the subject matter is tragically real.

The introduction is set in a devastated post-Katrina New Orleans and recounts a simple scene that encapsulates what the entire book is about. The next chapter introduces the reader to a Montreal woman who went to the psychology ward of McGill University back in the fifties because she was often depressed and wanted to get a proper diagnosis. Forty years later she would successfully sue the government of Canada for having turned a blind eye to the torture techniques that were tried, tested and perfected on her, and on others, in the halls of that venerated university (it chills me to think this happened in my city, at a University I might have attended had I not gotten a scholarship somewhere else). The inhumane testing done on this woman would eventually become a torture instruction manual referred to as the Kubark manual used by the CIA, a sophisticated new kind of torture that uses the shock element rather than say, randomly plucking people’s fingernails off, to get suspects exactly where you want them.

The premise of Klein’s painfully detailed and thoroughly documented book is that over the past fifty years, this kind of coercion method was used to get whole societies to make decisions they wouldn’t otherwise make, if they didn’t happen to be in "shock", and that ultimately devastated them and their societies.

Not bad for an economics book. If you’re at all curious about why a place that looked as economically promising, almost like a fully developed economy with a healthy middle class as Argentina can suddenly and without much warning just collapse, this is a great reference. And written more like a novel than a reference book. As a bit of a history and economics geek, I personally could not put this one down, even though it was directly conflicting with my own writing schedule, and I’m going to read it again, because there was just too much information to absorb all at once.

And then there was The Upside of Down by Thomas Homer-Dixon.

This is a peculiar little book that tries to be strangely upbeat even as it details the utter collapse of society as we know it, in only the way really gung-ho scientists can be. “Gee, Irv, isn’t it fascinating how the complex-connectivity that brought us the Internet, abundant food and the cure for polio will also be at the root at the complete obliteration of civilization?” said the bespectacled, rotund man to his colleague as they examined the glowing green liquid in the glass beaker.It starts with the author’s trip to the Coliseum in Italy and concludes among the ruins of an ancient Roman temple in Baalbek, Lebanon , is chock-full of scientific notions and ratios like EROI (Energy Rate of Return) in between, and is not an especially easy read, but is absolutely fascinating (I would have never picked it up had it not won a bunch of awards in Canada).

The basic premise is that we’re screwed, and not just because we’ve depleted the cheapest and most efficient type of energy known to mankind, not just because of global warming, or overpopulation, or resource scarcity that will result in increasing political instability and terrorism, but because all these things are going to smash into each other at a time when global connectivity has never been higher. The butterfly effect to the power of a gazillion. It might have been a little bleak, to be honest, if the author wasn’t so positively giddy about that fact that it was high time our system broke down and made way for something healthier, more positive, and more sustainable. I’m not sure how he pulled off being so “zen” about the whole thing, but he did.

And then I rewarded myself for all this brainy reading by picking up Madeleine Wickham’s (AKA Sophie Kinsella) Cocktails for Three, about a trio of best friends keeping some pretty juicy secrets from each other.

Stay tuned for musings on the writing “process” tomorrow, seeing as I just completed Cutting Loose and have craft/writing on the brain.

Besos,
Nadine

New Year, New Look

2008-02-03T10:27:00.001-08:00

It wouldn’t do after three (okay, four) months of blogosphere absence to just shrug and say I was busy.

I was – finishing up my second novel, Cutting Loose (yup – it’s got a real title now!), not to mention settling into a new job in Montreal doing something wildly different from what I did in Cayman – but those would just be excuses. I’m not sure why I feel compelled to be so honest on something the entire universe has access to, but hey, I do just that every time I put pen to paper and write a scene. Why should a blog entry be any different?

I’m having some very mixed feelings on adapting back to Montreal life. And mixed feelings make good blogging pretty difficult. It makes you question – what’s the purpose of a blog in the first place? Is it a soapbox (that’s pretty much what I’ve been using it for lately)? A place for uncensored, disjointed, and totally random thoughts (kind of like how this post is turning out…), or a place that brings together people with some sort of common interest(s)?

Blogging for me has been, I think, if I look back on two and some odd years I’ve been doing this, largely a matter of mood. More direct and transparent than fiction writing, it’s still a way of connecting what’s rattling around in my head with my friends and readers.

So, as I sat in the Second Cup on the corner of Sherbrooke and Claremont, watching the frost forming at the edges of the glass of the windows and huddling tighter into my thick scarf every time someone swung the front door open and subjected me to a blast or arctic wind, it was probably a good thing that I didn’t let anyone one in to the jumbled mass of miserable thoughts rattling around in my head.

As much as I love being close to my family again, my fabulous sex-and-the-city-like life, complete with a fun, downtown apartment and weekends dolled up and out on the town, and a fun new Rachel-esque job as a buyer for a Canadian clothing chain, I haven’t managed to kick Cayman out of my system yet.

Maybe it’s the weather. When people used to ask me why I’d picked up and moved to the Islands, I always listed weather before money, and three months into an interminable winter, I realize now that this really was my main motivation. Even as I write this, I’m sitting in a cute little writing “nook” set up in my kitchen, right next to an big old window overlooking very Parisian-looking rooftops below, but… it’s snowing. Again. And as much as I’d love to pick up and go to one of those Montreal cafés and bookshops I constantly reminisced about while I was away, I just can’t bring myself to bundle up in a heavy-duty winter coat that makes me look like a miniature Yeti. The fact that it’s a Michael Kors does not make it any easier to fool myself into thinking I look remotely fashionable (or even human) every time I slide it over my shoulders. And the adorable plaid one with the bell sleeves from Zara, and the sleek black one from Guess, both hang idly in the hall closet, virtually unworn, as it has been way too cold and snowy for these “medium duty” coats.

See? A whole paragraph on the miseries of winter. So it’s probably best I haven’t been blogging.

But why now, you ask.

Well, this past month has marked a number of signposts on the old writing path that deserve to be commemorated, and that are making itch to jump back into the game.

At the turn of the New Year, not one but two of my very dear friends and critique partners – ladies whose support, opinions, and words of wisdom did so much to improve my work have seen their own babies hit the shelves.

I had the chance to see Wendy Toliver’s The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren back when it was a mere flicker in Wendy’s mind, and now it’s a full-blown novel on a shelf right here in a Montreal bookstore. I’m so proud of her, I could burst. Even though I’ve read several drafts of the manuscript, seeing it looking so… book-like… as opposed to a Word document is making me want to read it all over again. If you enjoy Young Adult fiction, or have kids who do, this is a great one – fun and well-written, and light-hearted with a dose of Greek mythology on the side.

And then there’s Dona Sarkar’s How to Salsa in a Sari. Even though it was Dona’s adult fiction, not her YA I’d helped critique, I’ve had a special place in my heart for this one. I’m usually total rubbish when it comes to titles but for some odd reason, Dona’s theme of Latin-culture-meets-Afro-Indian-culture struck a chord in me, and so when we were discussing title ideas, that one just jumped at me, with no brainstorming or excessive head-breaking needed. Now that’s I’ve read HTSIAS cover to cover, I can see why the themes hit home so much. Which brings me to my next tangent…

Cutting Loose, my second novel, a loose spin-off of Fashionably Late involving Ali’s deeply traditional cousin Ranya’s efforts to break free of the judgments of not just one but two societies, was finally finished, polished and handed in to my editor on January 8th.

This one was so completely different from Fashionably Late, on so many levels, it nearly drove me nuts.

For one thing, I’ve always had kooky, eclectic and widely ranging tastes. I’m not someone you can easily box into category, and while that sounds like a desirable, highly evolved trait to have, it can be quite annoying most of the time. Because our society is built on categories. White. Black. Brown. Anglophone. Francophone. Allophone. Brainy. Ditzy. Alternative. Mainstream.

Sometimes I want to look around at everyone around me trying to smoosh everyone and everything into a box and scream – isn’t it all relative??? At various points in my life, I’ve been slotted into every one of those categories listed above (except maybe 'black') – relative to who I was talking to.

In the Middle East, I’m white. In North America (particularly in her airports – thank you, Miami Homeland Security! I love you too!), I’m brown. In Quebec I’m technically an allophone but effectively and anglo, and in the rest of Canada I’m a Francophone. They haven’t come up with an “Arab” category in the census yet, not to my knowledge anyway, so those were always a gas to fill out.

But I’ve ranted about all of this before.

The point here, is that with Cutting Loose, since it was on contract (meaning people were actually expecting me to write something, and I had much less groveling and sucking up to do than with Fashionably Late), and since I’d proven to myself that I had at least an adequate grasp of the writing craft, I was free to take some chances with themes I really cared about.

Dona’s How to Salsa in a Sari and Cutting Loose have this in common, that you would be hard pressed to box them in. Dona’s main protagonists are, after all, African-Indian and Cuban-American. In Cutting Loose, they are Lebanese-Muslim, Palestinian-Christian (and yes, your religion has a very tangible effect on your life in the ME), and Honduran-American.

So which section of the bookstore would these novels find themselves?

Why, mainstream of course (in Dona’s case, mainstream YA). Because when you challenge people’s notion of categories and labels, sometimes you succeed in transcending them.

Congratulations Dona and Wendy – you’ll be hearing more from these ladies just as soon as I get into a more regular blogging groove, which, though not an official resolution this year, is something I really want to throw myself into this year.

(The official resolution, of course, is to hit the gym regularly and maintain my svelte, post-winter-depression body weight. If I am grateful for one thing in my life is that stress actually makes me lose weight. Thank God for small mercies)

All the best in the New Year, and for those of you in the Big Old Nasty North, hang in there, at least January is over.

xxx
Nadine

Being Palestinian: A Blessing or a Curse?

2007-09-28T12:12:00.000-07:00

Even while on assignment in Cuba last week, my Palestinian origin caused a little bit of a stir. I guess it must be like coming across a rare species of bird that's about to go extinct... there aren't very many of us, less than 10 million in the whole world.

What was special about this stir was a comment from one of the reporters, an Argentine travel writer: "I would have liked to be Palestinian," he said.

The comment didn't surprise me because it's a notion I've wrestled with my entire life. Being Palestinian: love it or loathe it?

Being Palestinian isn't like being Egyptian, or Swedish, or Saudi Arabian, or Bolivian, or even Cuban. The closest thing I can think of is being Kurdish - a large nation with history and roots in the Middle East but denied a national territory - but even that's a little different.

When you are Palestinian, your mere birth is an act of rebellion.

For decades, entire PR campaigns put forth notions that the Palestinian people had no presence in history, and therefore no claim to any land. There were simply there, and one day they would all die, and with them the idea of Palestine as a modern nation. They would join the Moabites, Canaanites, Amorites of history - people who exist only in encyclopedias. Just like McDonald's came up with "I'm loving it", slogans like "A land without people for people without a land" or Golda Meir's bewildered: "Who are the Palestinians? They did not exist." were introduced and repeated throughout most of my parents' lives and my entire childhood. It took Yasser Arafat, the first and second Intifadas, and later Hamas, to keep the idea of Palestinians of flesh and blood alive and off the dusty pages of ancient history.

When you are a Palestinian, you are a defacto rebel. Che Guevara's steely stare will adorn your walls. You will read Norman Finklestein, Noam Chomsky, Edward Said, Said Aburish and George Orwell and you will always vote the lesser of two evils. You will be asked your opinion on pretty much any political topic under the sun and will be listened to with both awe and skepticism. People will say you are biased and so can't be trusted, and yet they will recognize that something lurks behind your eyes they will never be able to see for themselves.

To be Palestinian is not only to see the world as Che Guevara, Ernest Hemingway, or Simon Bolivar might have - it's to live it every single second of your existence. It's to fight against extinction.

So the socially conscious Argentine reporter might very well have liked to have in his blood that rebel gene rather than have to run after it, cultivate it with curiosity, exposure and empathy, but would he have been prepared to be Rebellion personified, from the day of his birth until the day he died, and every day in between?

I don't know. It's a heavy burden, one I can't say I've always wanted, But given the choice, would I chose to be reborn free of it? It has its good days and its bad days, but overall, yes it's a privilege to be a part of such an important piece of history.

Faith, Serendipity, and Eye Candy with your Complimentary Headphones

2007-09-26T13:18:00.000-07:00

I lay my head back against the seat cushion and wince at the thought of cracking my laptop open. The latest Jane Green is burning a hole in my carry-on and frankly, I’d much rather spend three and half hours at 30,000 feet in the air with Ms. Green than with my own thoughts and the specter of a looming deadline . Suddenly, a faint smell I recognize from my childhood wafts through the cabin. I inhale sharply, the pressurized air stinging my nostrils, but I need to make sure… and sure enough, there it is, trailing behind that oh-so retro scent… the hot meal cart, complete with aluminum wrapped goodies (and not-so-goodies) but shocking just the same.

No, I wasn’t flying business class for the first time in years – this was Cubana, Cuba’s national carrier, economy class.

That Cubana, complete with a proper (free) meal, a (free) bar service, (free) headphones with which to watch Pirates of the Caribbean 3, and flight attendants who could double as cabana boys would turn out to be such a fabulous flying experience wasn’t even the most shocking part of my surreal week…

- “They’re sending you where?!”
- “Cuba, mom! A tiny little town called Baracoa…”

Just how tiny I wouldn’t know until the enormous tour bus had labored for four and a half hours across narrow, pothole-riddled roads behind ox carts, horse-drawn buggies, bicycles and entire families of wandering pigs.

Four months ago (or what it three? I can’t even remember anymore!), I sat in cubicle aaaaallll daaaaaayyyyy loooooooonnnng.

I was an accountant. It was my calling card to the world, my identity, my future. Even as I felt my soul was beginning to outgrow the label, straining against its suffocating confines, I still took perverse comfort in its shielding, sheltering walls.

But then on day, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, I pushed back against those walls and found they weren’t nearly as thick, as solid or impenetrable as they’d seemed. The world beyond was huge, unpredictable, terrifying, lonely, and unbelievable exhilarating.

Once I was a bored, listless accountant, then I was a fledgling writer, and then, one day, I’m not quite sure how, I was a travel writer, on assignment in a tiny little Cuban town, wandering through streets Columbus had founded, puttering around cathedrals Velazquez had erected and Hatuey, the first rebel of the New World, had tried to destroy, listened to stories of farmers who gave aid and refuge to Castro, Che, and their band of revolutionaries, and trekked up mountains that have stood there for millennia and watched it all.

And I got to marvel at how a tiny little airline from a tiny little island-nation suffering under a nasty ol’ trade embargo could manage to serve me a hot meal on a short trip, a free glass of wine, and hot flight attendants with chocolate-dusted skin to boot.

I guess you really never know what you’re going to get, so you might as well close your eyes, jump, and hope for the best.

Pornified or Free?

2007-09-14T09:03:00.000-07:00

My roommate and I were watching a rerun of Fahrenheit 9/11 on the CBC and we got to talking about it, and somehow the chatter degenerated (or elevated? I guess it depends on how you see it...) to the Islamic Fundamentalist movement (Islamism for short, as so far, only a small minority of Muslims adhere to the fundamentalist version, but that minority has certainly grown from irrelevance to a stand-up-and-look-at-me force over my lifetime) and women's role in it. Don't ask.

My roommate is a Christian (Catholic) Palestinian, I am a Muslim (Sunni) Palestinian. Our parents are at the exact same place on the traditionalism vs. leniency axis, which is to say they're liberal by Middle Eastern standards and fairly conservative by Western ones.

Things got thorny when we hit the subject of the veil. My roommate, Arab and traditional though her upbringing was, could not understand how I could defend the wearing of the veil.

"I look at it, and the women who are wearing it with their five kids all under the age of six, and I wonder: how are these women free, how are they not subservient?"

It's not the first time I've had to defend the veil to liberal-minded people (I don't even try with conservative Westerners). It was a common theme at my high school, every once in a while some girl insisting on wearing the veil would make it into the papers, and there would be a debate in class. You can just imagine the debate in my college feminism class (all women) where the (really, really nice) teacher just looked at me with total disbelief when I said I supported the wearing of the veil. I'm used to that look now. What was nice about that particular class was that I wasn't the only Muslim girl in attendance - the other one stared back just as defiantly into the teacher's eyes and defended the veil too. And no, she wasn't veiled herself.

So what gives? I don't actually address this issue much (or as much as I should, maybe) because to me, it's self-evident: I defend a woman's right to wear the veil so I can protect my own right not to.

It's that simple. Something about doing unto others, blah blah blah. When I lived in Saudi Arabia and debates raged the other way (about the importance of protecting our values by not 'Westernizing' ourselves too much, wearing the veil in defence of women's rights, and against the 'pornification' of women, basic modesty, etc...), I, naturally, argued that it's not society's place to dictate how a woman interprets modesty. It's an individual choice. This stand was as popular in Jeddah as the-veil-is-not-a-symbol-of-female-oppression is in Montreal : )

But the veil is a symbol of female oppression! You say. Consider this story.

The idea of elementary-aged schoolgirls willingly blowing their classmates in bathroom stalls and having the whole thing camera-phone-taped for the entire Youtube viewing world to enjoy, is something that, honestly, makes me want to opt out of parenthood altogether. Call me close-minded.

I know this is extreme.(Then again, maybe not....) Whatever it is, it's not the 'feminism' I identified with and clung to as a kid, and hoped would lead women everywhere to self-awareness and power that had been denied us from the dawn of time.

But then, I grew up.

Here's a scenario for you: You meet a guy, let's pretend he's a waiter at the restaurant you and your girlfriends are having dinner at. You make eye contact, he's cute, you think he thinks you're cute, you flirt, and end up with his phone number. You text. He texts. A casual let's-just-hang-out-with-friends date-like rendez-vous is set. You go, you flirt some more, not really thinking ahead of the margarita in front of you. He drives you home, there's that moment of is-he-going-to-kiss-me tension, but you know (c'mon - just admit it) he will. He does. It's good - really good - but you're pretty sure you don't want to come off as easy. But hey - you're single and it's been a while. But still. You invite him up and say IT'S ONLY FOR A DRINK AND YOU'RE ACTUALLY REALLY REALLY SERIOUS. He shoots you that sly grin that just makes him annoyingly sexier, and you proceed upstairs, stopping for some heavy-duty make-out sessions along the way. You fumble with the lock, you are now inside.

You offer to make that drink, but it turns out Casanova was betting that given the right finessing, you'd be putty in his hands. He kisses you, you back off, but hey - it's good and he's nice and you definitely want to see him again, and did I mention it's been a while?

And so it goes. Maybe you have sex, maybe you don't, but it certainly wasn't what you had in mind but you "adjust" your behaviour to a blend of how far you're willing to go versus what you have to do for him to possibly call the next day.

Some women might cry bloody murder at this scenario, blaming the girl for not being forceful enough or clear enough in pushing the guy away, and that it's her fault if she went further than she wanted. Others would say no means no. I think the truth is these situations are so grey that no one really knows what goes on except the two people involved. And these situations happen because women are often complicit in their own objectification: the line between I'm-wearing-this-hoochie-mama-top-because-I'm-an-empowered-woman-in-control-of-her-own-sexuality and I-just-want-boys-to-like-me-and-this-is-the-only-way-I-know-how is so muddled that it's virtually impossible to get a good grasp of the issue.

I invite you to consider that we do have a problem with female objectification in the West, one that can't be placed solely on the shoulders of men, and that we have collectively decided that no matter the cost to our self-esteem, we are not willing to sacrifice, whether freedoms or pleasure, to try and correct this. Maybe it's okay to fall prey to our own weaknesses every once in a while if it means that we can do anything we want, and don't have to depend on anyone, especially not a man, for it.

Now let me invite you to consider another way of seeing things: that the objectification of women is a serious problem in a society where its men have not been properly 'conditioned' to see women as equals. Some men accept that they are not animals and do not behave as such, but other men think that a woman who puts herself on display is in effect, offering herself up, not so differently than our cute waiter scenario, albeit in a much more generalized context.

So the women in this society willingly choose to take the veil 1)as an external sign of their devotion to their faith, 2) because they feel more empowered by their self-inflicted de-sexualization, or 3) in a war/aggression situation where their values are under assault, people will exhibit extreme patriotism to protect their way of life. Wearing the veil becomes like flying the American flag on your lawn, a middle finger to the enemy.

It's a point of view that you can agree or disagree with - I happen to think we should work on "conditioning" men into better behavior - but I can objectively look at my own weaknesses and think: how can I be so smug, so self-assured that my way is the right way, when my version of feminism has somehow produced blow-job giving girls on school buses?

The perverse, radical consequences of regimes like Afghanistan's under the Taliban, or Saudi Arabia's under the Wahhabis for women are just that: extreme distortions of what happens when a group of people gives up some of its rights. In some places, without proper controls or with a citizenry too dehumanized by war or too lulled by riches to pay attention, this is what happens.

In other words, it's not the veil's fault. Please, cut it some slack, and stop inflating its importance as a symbol of oppression, and consider some genuine causes of oppression: poverty, war, theft of natural resources, bad leadership, short-sighted consumerism.

Bright, empowered Muslim women who wear the veil as a badge of honour will shut down if they see even a hint of pity in your eyes with regards to their decision to wear the veil. It's like telling them: you are a poor, stupid, backward girl with no backbone or ability to think for herself. Now let me tell how great America is....

Just like I imagine you would shut down if you thought Muslim women were forming their opinions of Western society based on a few blow jobs on a school bus.

Reading While Black

2007-08-28T22:52:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I discovered a wonderful little blog looking at writing from the perspective of an ethnic minority. The past few days have included interviews with some of my favorite chick lit writers, as well as writers I've known from our days as struggling un-pubbeds from way back - writers like Sonia Singh (who should really write a new book soon!), Caridad Ferrer, and Julie Leto.

And today, an interview with yours truly! Head on over!

Letting Go

2007-08-22T19:33:00.000-07:00

Some of you might have noticed my somewhat extended absence from the blogosphere, and I can assure you, it’s justified: on August 1st (technically 2nd since I arrived in Pierre Elliott Trudeau airport well past midnight), I officially relocated back to Montreal.

It’s funny exactly how life chooses to sock it to you emotionally – usually when you least expect it. In my case, I’d known about the relocation for months and months now – honestly, I’d made my decision to leave the island last year but stayed on for financial reasons that are allowing me to take time off to write my next book – so I can’t say I didn’t have a chance to get used to the decision. And in the weeks leading up to the move, I did what I always said I would, quit my job early so I could divide my days between writing, the beach, and hanging out with my friends, generally just enjoying everything about Cayman I didn’t have time for when I was pulling overtime at the office.

And everyone would invariably ask: Are you ready?

‘Course I am. My stuff’s packed up, I had a massive blow-up launch party which made the local papers and doubled as a goodbye bash for me and a hundred of my friends. Any more tanning and I would have effectively become a handbag. I’ve indulged in all the island has to offer, from duty-free jewellery and designer sunglasses, to Piña Coladas by the shore, cursing out tourists and watching cruise ships sail out of the Georgetown port toward a blood-orange sunset and the calm, endless horizon.

The first time I cried a little was standing in line at the American Airlines check out counter, saying goodbye to the friends who’d come to see me off. It was only when the customs officer I was used to seeing every time I left to shop in Miami, visit family in Montreal, or travel to any other place that caught my flighty fancy, wished me good luck upon seeing the expiration date of my last work permit that the loss sucker-punched me to the gut. Even though we’d never exchanged anything beyond hellos and thank yous, we looked at each other in that suspended second, understanding that this was a real goodbye. That’s when it sunk in, after months of mental and actual preparation, that I was now one big angry red stamp in my passport away from going back to being just like everyone else. My time as a tropical Cinderella was up, just like I always knew it would be one day. But when you’re busy dancing away in the arms of adventure, ‘one day’ is just an idea, one that has very little to do with you.

Of course, we always idealize in hindsight. But not all our rosy memories are illusions – in the case of my stint in the Caribbean, most were not. After I’d gotten over the adaptation hump (the first six months), it was pretty smooth sailing for the next four and a half years. I went places I couldn’t have gone to on a Montreal salary, met adventure-seekers like me from all over the world, made the kind of friendships that made me wish I’d met those people back in high school, visited Cuba to my heart’s content, shopped in London and Miami for lack of malls on the islands (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it), and had time to write my first novel. Even hurricane Ivan, with all the upheaval it wreaked on our lives, made me understand what it is for a community to pull together in times of mass disaster, and Cayman, scarred and pitiable though it was in those months, was never closer to my heart. Sometime around then, I unconsciously stopped meaning Montreal when I said ‘home’.

The second sucker-punch came upon my very tardy arrival into Montreal, when I looked at the Canadian customs officers and confessed my repatriation.

“Welcome back” she said, with a big, warm smile.

More tears.

It’s been twenty days now, and every day the Cayman experience feels more and more like a distant dream, which really, it was. The Islands are a transient place. They’re an idea, an ideal, a wasps’ nest of small frustrations, a heaven and a haven. Jimmy Buffet has built an empire on their mystique and sang, quite eloquently, about how expatriates to these tiny drifting rafts of humanity are free to come and play paradise with the natives for a while, but will never become a part of island life. They look at us as one might look at a passing storm, with reason. We sweep into town with our running and rushing and modernizing, we complain and adapt and improve and take what we want and leave what we don’t want, and they just sit back and do things as they always have, secure in the knowledge that every storm passes, and every day will go back to stretching out hot and lazy just like the all the ones before, and all the ones to come.

And while my mark on the islands will not be felt any deeper than a footprint in the sand, I will never forget them.

Goodbye Cayman

Title Contest!

2007-07-23T10:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm a bad, bad blogger - I did promise you a contest so here it is. Actually, it's more of a giving-you-incentive-to-help-me-out-contest. I don't know by what stroke of genius I managed to come up with a title I loved with Fashionably Late, but I'm not feeling the title magic this time around. Here's what I've come up with, perhaps you can give me the top three eye-catching titles from the below list, and you can enter a draw to win..... wait for it.... an art print direct from Cuba!!! I've just come back from an art scouting trip there (hence the no blogging), so I can make good on this. Please don't forget to include your name (or some kind of identifier) if you're posting anonymously.

Here's your prize:

It's a flat watercolour so I promise to be prompt in sending it to you (I learned my lesson with the coco taxi debacle). I don't have a ruler handy, but (and I included some trade paperbacks in the pic for your reference), it looks like a 6" x 8".

And the titles are:

Loose Ends
Cutting Loose
On the Loose
Loosely Translated
Losing It
Loose Girls
Coming Loose
The Loose Girls Club

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Fashionably Unwed
Fashionably Deluded
Fashionably Jilted
Fashionably Jaded
Fashionably Unsettled

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Lipstick Rebellion
Rebels in High Heels
Fashionistas Without a Cause

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Adventures in Limboland
Accidentally Unwed
A Season in the Sun

***
I don't want to give away too much of the plot, but I will say that the book is a spin off of Fashionably Late, the tale of one of the characters who figures out that her relationship is well, not quite what it seemed, and runs off to somewhere HOT (not Cuba!) to figure out her life. Her behaviour is very un-good-girl-like considering her strict background, hence the "loose", and in this new life of hers, she meets two other girls who've made their own lives on their own terms, away from their families... Good luck!

Dallas Baby!

2007-07-18T07:12:00.000-07:00

Dallas was F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C (well, except for the food, but I suspect that was more RWA's fault than the city's...)

As always, conferences are hugely inspiring, and among things, the vibe there flies in face of the published-writer-as-rockstar stereotype. Nora Roberts, recently named one of America's top 100 entertainers (not writers - entertainers) grabbed a seat across from me at the bar, another NYT bestselling author was walking around with her dress caught somewhere on her hips... it's all very democratic. And cathartic for the unpublished. So if you're serious about your writing but are terrified of feeling like a guppy swimming alongside sharks, don't be. I met my agent at my first ever conference (which was also in Dallas), picked up Gods knows how many tips on the craft, and cartloads of free books every time (I didn't get as many this time but what I did get I love).

The highlights of this year for me (besides catching up with my writing chicas) have to be the impromptu speech of writing multicultural lit and the St. Martin's/TOR signing.

Allow me to explain. Last year my agent gave a workshop/panel about writing multicultural chick lit, moderated by the lovely Michelle Yu, one of the authors of China Dolls. My book wasn't out then, so I wasn't approached for the panel. Then, a few months after that, Michelle did contact me about a multicultural chick lit panel asking me if I would like to participate. Naturally I was all over it, but (and here's the crux of the matter...) I ASSUMED (what do they say about assuming making an ass out of you and me?...)that this was the same type of panel as last year, and that it was organized by my agent. So, I followed up with my agent, NOT Michelle (stupid, stupid, stupid Nadine) before the conference. My agent kindly informed me that she would be doing her workshops on her own this year, without a panel (I can imagine her scratching her head and wondering what the heck I was talking about).

So I promptly forgot about this panel business.

Until Thursday morning, at the conference registration, where I was handed a 'speaker' badge. Ha ha.

Then I met my agent, and we managed to piece together what had happened.

Fortunately this story has a happy ending: during that period of time when I did think I was going to give a speech about writing multicultural fiction, I did actually think about what I would say, what I think the key commandments are, etc. So I wasn't completely unprepared. I met with Michelle & Blossom and we tweaked our presentation, and were joined by the scholarly Cathy Yardley, author of Will Write for Shoes among other works, and all was well that ended well. I'm actually very pleased with the panel, and we're going to be back bigger and stronger (and with handouts this time!) in San Fransisco next year.

The other awesome thing about the Nationals was... drum roll please... my signing! My editor totally pulled through and arranged for boxes and boxes of Fashionably Late to be waiting for me, together with a lovely gentleman who was charged with explaining the process to me and making me feel cared for. I love you Paul!!!

The signing itself could not have gone better, I had a fantastic turnout with lots and lots of positive comments like: I love your cover, or I've heard about your book (nothing, by the way, is sweeter to a writer's ears than hearing that someone has heard about your book... sometimes it feels like all the PR noise you're trying to make may as well be coming out of Siberia).

The best moment? On the plane back from Dallas a middle-aged nurse from North Carolina struck up a conversation with me where I revealed that I was a pubbed writer, and when I produced a copy of FL, she looked at it and said: "Oh I recognize this... I think I saw it at the airport..."

Finally, stay tuned for tomorrow, when I'll be announcing a new contest!!! (and I promise you a very cool prize).

The Seventy Day Challenge

2007-07-09T10:00:00.001-07:00

I ran across this post on Diana's site, and I'm thrilled I did - it's EXACTLY the kind of kick-in-the-pants I need. My average output over the past 15 days has been just short of 1,000 words/day which is woefully short of my 2,000 words/day goal I set for myself when I decided to write full-time.

So there were a few "life" events, like moving house, Canada Day, the impending 'moving countries' (back to Canada) and of course Dallas conference, still, I realize these are all just excuses. I know, because when I actually DO start writing, after surfing the net for ages and reading a thousand blogs, I'm pretty good. And when I get inspired (like yesterday, being hit on by a balding Indian waiter who was convinced I too was Indian and was denying it only because I didn't want to flirt back with him - which I didn't, but I wasn't aware this was a crime) I can write pages and pages on the back of whatever's handy. In yesterday's case, it was the back cover of a copy of Newsweek.

So here's my goal: 2,000 words/day for 60 days, every day, including the day I fly back to Montreal (Aug 1) and conference (though I will commit to a reduced workload for conference - 500 words/day).

So there. Now off to write today's output!

Blame it on the Booze, But…

2007-07-07T16:52:00.000-07:00

I had a very heartwarming moment a few nights ago standing in line at the local post-clubbing, all-night greasy food eatery. Every city has one – in Montreal it’s the Amir on the corner of Crescent and de la Montagne (yes it’s Lebanese food, so you may be tempted to scream ‘biased’ but I promise you it’s the absolute BEST food you can get at four o’clock in the morning – the mixed-ethnicity, long lines should be evidence enough).

Anyway, Grand Cayman has a similar fine dining spot which seems to do most of business between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m.

On the night in question, I happened to be waiting in line behind a couple who I’m guessing were vaguely acquainted before, but who’d just hooked up that night. The gentleman was a good ol’ Texas white boy – as white as white Midwestern/Southern American college kids get – and the young woman was an Indian-American (there’s a med school here in Cayman populated mostly by American kids. Don’t ask me why).

They were talking about some classmates. The girl said “You know Mohammed?”

And what Monsieur White Texan replied just made my heart melt. He said: “Dude - there’s, like, eight Mohammeds in my class – that’s the most random name you can give me… was it short Mohammed, or tall skinny Mohammed, or…”

There’s wasn’t a hint of racism in his voice, the voice of this young white future doctor, this American citizen who would one day vote, and who I can only hope will be in a position to tell a**holes who try and make him fear ‘Mohammeds’ as terrorists just where they can shove their bigotry. Right there in front of me was the kind of American you never read about in the news, or see on TV: regular, smart, educated, traveled American who has eight Mohammeds in his med school classes, and who’d just hooked up with a hot Indian girl.

Like I said, maybe it was the vodka red bulls, but I wanted to cry…

Dallas Signing Confirmed!

2007-07-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the late notice but I just found out myself... I'm going to be signing at the RWA Nationals in Dallas this year, in the St. Martin's giveaway room!

I am SO psyched about this! If you're planning on attending then conference, then please pop on over and say hi. If you happen to have bought your copy of FL already, then please bring it along - I'll be happy to sign it for you! (and give you a nifty FL bookmark too)

Romantic Times Review!

2007-07-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

Here's a nice little review Fashionably Late got from Romantic Times in the mainstream reviews section... 4 stars out of a possible 4 and a half, chicas!!!

It's actually one of my favorite ones so far - which is to say it's one that makes me see my own writing in a new light (trust me people, when you've read your manuscript so many times your eyeballs feel like they might fall out of their sockets at the mere thought of one more read, a fresh perspective is nothing short of miraculous). Here it is:

Fashionably Late is a great coming-of-age story that is written in the first person, drawing the reader into the characters’ lives. The strength of the story is in the author’s ability to allow the characters to share their heritage, beliefs, and to grow with and despite their differences. Readers from any culture will identify with the characters in this story. Geographical differences and customs are explained in such a way that the reader is educated and entertained at the same time.

A huge fear driving my writing is that the three friends - Ali, Sophie and Yasmin - weren't differentiated enough. One thing I'd read in craft books was that you had to make sure you could tell which character was speaking even if you didn't have the dialogue tag to help. Boy did I worry about that. So to see this kind of review really warms up the heart : )

Also, I've started blogging on Amazon. The posts will be less frequent and less, um, how do I say this? Acerbic? Outspoken?... than the ones here. So if you can't get enough blog goodness, head on over to Amazon.com and look up Fashionably Late. If you've read the book, then don't be shy to give it a review while you're there : )

Stop the Clash of Civilizations

2007-06-29T13:20:00.001-07:00

I've been reading quite a bit about this supposed "clash of civilizations" lately, ostensibly between Western and Islamic civilizations. What I hate about this discussion, especially when framed this way, is its complete refusal to see how much perception (as opposed to reality) plays a part. Yes, it would seem that both civilizations want nothing to do with each other, but, and call me crazy here, isn't that sort of to be expected when one country is getting the crap bombed out of it, and the other side is terrorized by all kinds of fears, real and imagined?

So people that promulgate the myth that the end is nigh because these two civilzations have nothing in common... to these people I say: really? Have you actually thought about what you're saying? Do you think the other side are martians, or people just like you, and that perhaps they might respond to a measure of respect?

This video does a good job of responding to those people.

Guest Blogging

2007-06-26T08:28:00.001-07:00

It's been a big day already folks, and it's not even lunchtime!

I got my interview questions from Atmosphere today - Air Transat's in-flight magazine.

For those of you who aren't familiar with this carrier, it's a Quebec-based vacation charter airline, meaning you usually get nifty all-inclusive packages with them to "destination spots" all over the Caribbean and even some Euro locales as well.

It's the airline Ali and her fearless band of daiquiri-swishing gal pals were originally destined to take (as would have been fitting), but then at the last minute, I put them on Air Canada instead because I figured that's what an American audience would expect.

And then Air Transat came a' knockin' to do an interview with me because what with my bilingualism and Caribbean themes, we're a nice match.

Now do you see why writing the truth is always better than an imitation of it? I can't imagine what kind of spread I would have gotten in Atmosphere if I'd gone with my instincts and kept the more correct Air Transat. Small, small detail, but the Universe chooses mysterious ways with which to bite you in the ass. Oh well.

And, dear faithful blog readers, you're in for a double-whammy today as I'm guest blogging over at the lovely Dona's. Do drop by the comments section and tell us what your favorite multi-culti themed literature is.

Hasta Luego,
Nadine

Publishers Weekly

2007-06-25T09:12:00.000-07:00

Check this out from Publishers Weekly, posted today on Amazon!

FASHIONABLY LATE
Nadine Dajani. Forge, $14.95 paper (400p) ISBN 9780765317421

Plucky, 20-something, Lebanese-Canadian Aline Hallaby has a promising career at one of Montreal's "Big Four" accounting firms; a marriage proposal from her nice (if unexciting) boyfriend; and a closet filled with Cavalli, Chloe, and Christian Louboutin. When she fails her final professional certification exam, the once-dutiful Arab girl plunges headlong into a quarter-life crisis, fleeing to Cuba for a week of heady rebellion (mojitos, men, participation in a beauty pageant) with her two closest friends. There, Ali is forced to decide if she will continue to live according to the expectations of her traditional Muslim parents, or chase her own dreams. The question of how Ali should live is a provocative one, and Dajani's wit, warmth and insight shine through in turning over its nuances, but there are few surprises to be found in how Ali answers it. (June)

How much fun are reviews? I've been lucky so far that nothing too damaging has come my way, but I'm also pretty pleased with myself that I'm managing to take the criticism in stride when it does come. So PW doesn't think the ending is enough of a surprise? Well, I'm more into endings that make sense given the context of the story, that give insight and show growth, as opposed to wild plot shenanigans. In a romance you know the hero and heroine will get together, and in a mystery you know the killer will be found out, in a women's fic you know the status quo who no longer be tenable and something about the protag will change: it's the 'how' that keeps you reading. And the characterization. This is what comes more naturally to me, the characterization in my novels.

But, I'm an advocate of doing the most with your strengths and also working hard on your weaknesses. With that in mind, I started doing the exercises in Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook by Donald Maass, and I have to tell you guys, it's a fabulous little tome. Light on actual wording (so you're not tempted to just read and not think about your own writing), it's heavy on giving you practical exercises you can use to test your WIP. Though it might be cumbersome to do 100% of them, it's a great tool to help you with aspects of your writing you struggle with. And it gave me plenty of insight into my current plot.

Fashionably Late Around Town

2007-06-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

So much to blog about today... and so much time?

Yesterday was a Cayman Islands bank holiday, which really, I shouldn't have "taken" seeing as I an NO LONGER AN ACCOUNTANT but my friends were all off and wanted to go to the beach, so what the heck?

I've also been enjoying long, uninterrupted (by guilt or otherwise) stretches of reading this past weekend, and can say, right now at least, that the itch has been scratched - I was wallowing in self-pity for a while, racked with guilt over needing to do one thing or the other, taking at least a little bit advantage of the fact I live on a Caribbean island and actually going to the beach for heaven's sakes, that I really haven't indulged my reading urge of late. Like a workaholic parent, I threw money at the problem, in lieu of time, buying every book I was dying to reading, and watching it languish on my shelves. No more. We'll see how long this euphoric state lasts, but I'm confident I'm turning a page here... stop laughing.

The other promise I've made of late (to myself and my publicist)concerns this blogging regularly thing... I recall throwing at-least-once-a-week out there once. It's not that I have nothing to say (HA! my friends are wishing for the day), but it's been pretty much the same problem as reading, as in if I have one iota of free time it should be spent writing, not working out, reading, making salads, or even blogging.

So here we are, leaf turned. Though I will try and make these posts more frequent, and less verbose.

Let me start out by saying I think I've found my dream publicist. My in-house publicist is wonderful as well, but I think independent publicists and in-house ones are different breeds of publicist and shouldn't be compared. I'll be delving into that with more detail in my next installment of The Promo Diaries, for Chick Chat, the Chick Lit Writers' online chapter. Maybe with some organization, I'll get those articles up on my website one day, since I hope all you writer chicks out there will learn from my promo mistakes. Or at least get a good laugh out of them.

Heather was lovely enough to alert me to this accidental picture of Fashionably Late in a primo spot out there in California. CALIFORNIA, chicas. For a Lebanese/ Montrealer/Cayman Islander, Calie may as well be Mars. I should probably write Megan and thank her for the unintentional promo (right back at you babe: Megan Crane's book, Frenemies, just came out recently, and you can read all about it here).

The weekend I went to Miami, I'd remembered to bring along my digital camera, but not the battery, which I'd left in its charger back home. Very smart. So I can't share with you pictures of FL's appearances on tables across the Miami area, but here are some pics from Montreal...

Here it is at Paragraph, a great indie bookstore that mainly serves students at the McGill University campus across the street. If you're ever in Montreal, this is one of those well-kept local secrets - super cute bookstore with state-of-the-art adjacent cafe, on the corner of gorgeous McGill University & Sherbrooke streets, a strangely serene place for such a busy part of town. Oh, and it overlooks the lovely Mount Royal park (imagine Central Park in NYC, but bigger, carpeted in dense foliage, and on a steep hill with spectacular views of the city below)

...and at Indigo (Canada's version of Borders)

...and here's another shot at Indigo (kudos to the marketing department at TOR/Forge who were spot on with the cover: notice how well it goes with the "summer reading" theme...

...and finally, the piece de resistance, at the "New Fiction" table at Chapters (Canada's B&N)

If you happen to catch FL anywhere yourselves, please do give me a shout, as you have no idea (or maybe you do, all the more reason!) of how incredibly thrilling it is to hear.

Besos,
Nadine

The Time Has Come…

2007-06-14T08:46:00.000-07:00

It’s been almost two weeks since the launch of Fashionably Late and it’s time to break the silence and start gushing. Not as easy as you would think…

When I was cramming really, really hard for my CMA (management accounting) exams, giving up every conceivable iota of free time to do something that brought me about as much pleasure as carving out my eardrums with a spoon, my CMA ‘coach’ stood in front of the class one fine day and proceeded to tell us this: when the exam would be behind us, we would miss the sense of purpose that only excruciatingly hard work in the pursuit of a singular goal can give.

The guy next to me turned and shrugged, one eyebrow cocked at a is-this-broad-freakin’-kidding-me??? angle.

Well, the exam came to pass, and I wish I could say my coach was somewhat right, that I felt some of the malaise associated with the achievement of one’s highest goals, but I was just really happy I had gotten my life back, that I’d passed, and that the nightmares had finally stopped.

Writing a book is different.

Is it because I’m older and supposedly wiser this time around? Or that instead of being pushed into this goal by the mobster twins, Fear and Loathing, I actually entered into this contract with myself freely, willingly, with nothing but hope and a little bit of stress, the positive kind, in my heart?

Maybe.

But there you have it. There is some malaise that comes with the passing of yet another signpost on the serpentine, surprising road that is Life. And over the past couple of weeks, since my last blog post, by turn I’ve felt euphoria, dread, elation, nervousness, pride, morbidity, an incredible sense of achievement, and a looming existential crisis.

Is this what I’m meant to be doing? Waiting for the Idea Muse, synthesizing her bouts of creativity into something workable, committing to the enormous project of writing a novel on nothing but faith (especially challenging to me, as I am really not a ‘faith’ kind of person), seeing it through, embarking on the shameless self-promotion ride, bracing myself for the ensuing praise and criticism (which, as I’m now understanding, are two sides of the same coin – you can’t let yourself get too high on either, or you will become a slave to them).

Since the launch of Fashionably Late, I’ve appeared in the local Cayman Islands newspapers, and am getting “spotted” about town – by the barristas at my favorite coffee shop who now know why I spent so much time in their café, the travel agent who vaguely remembers me from my various drop-ins in the office but now knows exactly who I am, people I’ve worked with in the past who used to offer a cursory ‘hello’ now looking – really looking – into my face and offering heartfelt congratulations.

Of course, with my belonging to the no-nonsense banking world, there have also been some encounters of the kind I’d always feared – from the same people who I imagine look down at homemakers and waitresses and anyone who isn’t being paid huge sums of money for sitting behind a desk as being somehow unworthy, not quite grown-up enough, and maybe a little simple minded, as though they couldn’t hack it in the real world.

I was very, very afraid of those encounters, because I used to be one of those people. Kind of like the virulent anti-gay senators, congressmen and mega-church preachers whose homophobic crusades turn out to be inspired by a deep self-loathing, a shameful penchant to what they declare to be so depraved and disgusting.

I was a creative person who wished she could just be normal.

And out of all the gifts, encounters with new, interesting people, new experiences, new feelings I’ve gained since the release of FL, this is the most precious: self-acceptance.

Okay, so that was the “morbidity” and “existential crisis” segment of our post. On to the fun part: the party!

It was unbelievably good. The kind of good I didn’t allow myself to hope for. Nearly everyone who’d RSVP’d showed up, so about 90 people, the food – which was going to be a surprise for me since I didn’t set the menu, merely pointed in the direction of noveau-Mediterranean if you will – was spectacular. Creative, original, and finger-lickin’ good. The music was so good that in the midst of the Paris-Hilton-grade glamour of signing books and having twenty different flashes going off in tandem, I was itching to get on the dance floor. And this after having given Jae, my wonderful friend-cum-event-planner-cum-DJ this very helpful suggestion: “I want a contemporary Cuban sound with a Middle-Eastern/techno baseline… Oh – and lots of hip hop, Nelly Furtato/Sexy Back kinda vibe. Do you see what I’m saying?”

And, by God, Jae did it.

We even had a foosball table in a corner which kept those gentlemen (I use the term loosely) with little inclination for salsa/baladi/house/Nelly Furtato remixes happily occupied, as they puffed on their complimentary Romeo y Julieta cigars.

The ladies’ gift bags were a hit. I’m now free to reveal what was in them: three mini-martini bottles (Cocktails by Jenn is the brand – pre-mixed sweet little concoctions which are heavy on the vodka) of assorted flavors, a mojito scented soap created especially for Fashionably Late by a local artisan, Cayman Soap Co., gorgeous earrings (in an equally gorgeous little “flower” pouch I found online) individually handcrafted - all 60 of them - by my really good friend Dara (who will not listen to me and pursue her jewelry design ambitions seriously even though she’s brilliant), and lip gloss.

The community support for this party was so amazing that a local Cuban art gallery donated a painting, and one of the big jewelers, Island Companies, donated a gorgeous Sorrelli necklace, both to be raffled off to raise money for Cayman’s libraries. The most incredible support of all was that it was my current employer, an international bank, who helped make it all come true. A sign that in the hearts of even the most straight-laced financiers lays a yearning for the artistic? Or just plain kindness?

I signed more than sixty books, had a few mojitos, and then danced the night away. It was absolutely magical.

Here I am, before the madness, with the books...

A glimpse of the venue, this time with guests...

In the thick of things...

This time with Lil'sis who played the part of raffle drawing organizer and general keep-company'er extraordinaire...

Gift bags and raffle prizes...

Los tigres of the night, not to mention the evening's principal salseros...

Me, and the hot, all-male staff I'd requested for the evening (it's my party, and I don't have to stare at a buxom barmaid's scantily-clad cleavage if I don't want to, dammit!)

The debauchery begins...

...and ensues...

and the lovely ladies who helped me make this dream come true

Fashionably Late OFFICIAL RELEASE DATE!!!

2007-05-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I should have been all over this and this post should have been up bright and early this morning, but it’s crazy times around here…

Last night a friend threw a BBQ in honor of my other friend who had come all the way over from London for the launch party. As if that weren't exciting enough, about halfway through the evening the doorbell rings and who’s there but my single oldest friend in the world. She’d flown in from Montreal, just for the party, and had managed to keep it a complete surprise. Everyone was in on it and managed to keep the secret for at least a month, so kudos to all my peeps (you too mom! I'm very impressed).

Is it a wonder that in all this flurry of activity, the party (tomorrow!!!), the surprise jet-setting friend drop-ins, the spa appointments, the gift bag production lines, the last minute party details, not to mention that I’m not off of work until tomorrow, that the official launch date of the book nearly passed me by??? Hard to believe but true. I’m not even sure I would have noticed had my little brother not set up a Facebook group called “Buy My Sister’s Book or Die”. Gotta love little brothers. And technology.

So, if after this huge lead-up of over a year you’re still curious about FL, you can finally head on over to the bookstore and get it! (Unless of course you live in Miami, then you’ll have to wait until I can sign your copy this weekend!!)

As for our giveaway winner – Reel Fanatic, congratulations!!! Just send me your address and your copy will be sent from Miami this weekend.

Thanks for all your support guys! I may not blog for the rest of the week, but I’ll be back on Monday with news of the party, and lots of pics!

Contest Announcement!!!

2007-05-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

I’m sinking lower into in bad blogger (uh – try terrible) territory, and this mere DAYS BEFORE THE LAUNCH OF FASHIONABLY LATE!!!

This is ridiculous.

I think I may just have to give away a copy of FL just to redeem myself. And I will make it as easy as humanly possible. Just leave me a comment, write down anything you want, anything in the world, like say, AAARRRRGGGHHHHH!!! and I’ll put your name in a hat and have one of my friends pick one. And you have until Monday morning to leave your comment, too.

Before I move on to a completely unrelated topic, I would like to sneak in the tiniest little bit of shameless self promotion and remind you of my reading/signing at Books & Books in Coral Gables, Miami, Sunday June 3rd. I will bring goodies from the launch party, but I won’t say what just yet…

I’ll also be dropping by a bunch of Miami-area Barnes & Noble stores to do some stock signings, so if you’d like your very own autographed copy of FL and happen to live near a B&N (or Books & Books), here’s your chance!

In other exciting news, the launch party is in a mere SIX DAYS, and the source of my nervousness and excitement for the past month and a half will finally come to pass… lots of pics will be up on the blog in the ensuing days, as promised.

And finally, I’m being interviewed for June’s Chick Chat, and, time permitting, I’ll be contributing an article about promotion in there as well. If you’re not a member of the online Chick Lit Writers of the World RWA chapter, then watch this space – I’ll try to get the interview posted here as well.

Now do you see why I haven’t been blogging?

Okay – time for the rant of the day.

I’ve been seeing previews on TV for an upcoming movie with Catherine Zeta-Jones and Aaron Eckhart called No Reservations and thinking about the original German version, Mostly Marta, which has led me to wonder if perhaps the different stylistic approaches to what is essentially the exact same story, explain something about the way we North Americans see the world.

For those of you who haven’t heard of Mostly Marta (and I don’t blame you if you haven’t – if I didn’t haunt the foreign films section of my local Blockbusters, I wouldn’t have either), it’s the story of a brilliant yet borderline bipolar, loner chef (Marta) working at a swanky restaurant. Calamity strikes when Marta’s only connection to the world outside her kitchen, her single-mom sister, dies in a car crash leaving Marta as sole guardian to her young niece. Marta has no clue what to do with her niece – enter hot, sensual, rival chef who tries to bring out the humanity in Marta.

From my brief description above, this sounds like a typical, predictable romantic comedy with its only twist that it’s set against kitchen politics – cute sounding, but probably forgettable. And hinging mostly on the theater-packing power of the lead actors.

The original Mostly Marta though, caught my attention with its DVD cover depicting a spread of gourmet food, and, being a cooking show addict, I had to check it out. And then the characters charmed me despite (or is it because of?) their utter banality. Marta could have been my neighbor - no airbrushing of her midsection, no flashy wardrobe, no score to give me cues when to laugh or cry - in other words, nothing to distract me from the acting and basic story itself. German Marta did not need to be Catherine-Zeta-Jones-grade stunning to captivate me (in fact, I have a hard time seeing how someone who looks like Catherine will pull off the cold, bitter, no-love-life loner role…) and the leading man, while sexy, isn’t your typical heartthrob. And since the entire movie is German with English subtitles, I can’t say it was a scriptwriter’s tour de force either.

So what was it? That elusive je ne sais quoi that happens when you do your best to de-glamorize life and write real characters going through perfectly believable emotions and life experiences? Besides the mother dying right at the beginning, I can’t say there were any slap-in-the-face type turning points – it was all very subtle. I think it was mostly about connecting, in the most subtle, basic way.

And then I saw the previews for No Reservations, complete with clichéd pretty boy hero, stunning-yet-bafflingly-reluctant damsel in psychological distress, and the gag-inducing sentimental music cue.

My question is: why must we North Americans Disney-fy life? What is our brand of happiness (or the brand that has taken over our pop culture, at least) all pomp and fireworks not to mention replete with shiny, beautiful, and just about perfect people?

Maybe that’s why we’re constantly feeling like we can’t measure up…

You could argue the studios have to do that to make sure the lowest denominator of taste is catered to but that sort of begs the question: what came first, movies that don't trust audiences will identify to what's real as opposed to what's glossy and idealized, or do most people prefer more Disney-fication and less realism in their lives?

… in completely unrelated news, IMDB has listed “Rachel’s Holiday” as being under negotiation, with Catherine Zeta-Jones the only star on board so far. Can you see Catherine as Rachel Walsh, a coke addict who suffers from seriously low self-esteem? Me neither, but I’m thrilled to see (fingers crossed!) one of Marian Keyes’s fantastic novels adapted for the silver screen.

Single Mama Drama

2007-05-09T11:18:00.000-07:00

1. Drop off Fashionably Late artwork at label place for gift bag labels
2. Buy sticky labels for invitations
3. Drop off sticky labels at printing place, beg and plead that they print them ASAP as party is in a mere 3 weeks
4. Drop off FL ARC for reporter at local paper

... and that was just lunch. I'm in a mind to nap under my desk.

For all my moaning and complaining, here's a timely article about people who have it quite a bit worse, namely unwed moms and how most of them didn't get pregnant the Angelina Jolie way.

What I'm reading: On Writing by Stephen King. I'd always heard this was one of the best but its non-traditional format turned me off - I wanted writing advice and I wanted it NOW! No time for stories about Stephen's older brother Dave and his humble upbringing. Well, turns out it was my loss, because this is a little gem of both literature and how-to craft guidebook.

Top Ten Tuesday: The True Meaning of “Sunny Day” to this Chick

2007-05-08T14:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve been tagged! By none other than The Dona (hey – if you can have The Donald and The Dude, why not The Dona?)

So today it dons on me that in a mere three weeks – that’s right people, 21 days – I will be reading from Fashionably Late to a Miami audience.

Fashionably Late. Miami. Moi.

It’s almost too much to handle. This is like one of those fantasies you indulge in when you’re stuck on chapter twenty-three of your virtually-no-hope-to-be-pubbed magnum opus and you start mentally rehearsing the acceptance speech of your RITA award instead of getting your subplots to cooperate.

I feel like going back in time and telling pre-pubbed me not to feel so guilty about the daydreams, that daydreams coupled with many hours at the keyboard (some painful, others that fly by) wondering “what the heck am I doing here, and WHY???” is the stuff magic is made of.

Being able to think back to the daydreams and look at how far you’ve come IS magic.

So, if any of you faithful blog readers happen to be in the Miami area on Sunday June 3rd between 3 and 4:30pm, then you need to be dropping by the same bookstore Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez raves about in her latest, Make Him Look Good, Books & Books Coral Gables.

I am oozing awe. I’ll stop talking about it now before I jinx myself.

Now, about this Tuesday’s topic… yes, I live in the Cayman Islands where nine and a half out of every ten days are likely to be sunny (on the flip side, that half day is for hurricanes), but I moved here because I’m a true-blue sun bunny. So no complaints… but… with all this wonderful weather, you start taking sunny days and all summer connotations for granted. So I’m going to take myself back five years to a time and place where summer was an event more awaited and celebrated than Christmas… Montreal.

Montrealers WORSHIP summer. It’s like we hide all winter long (and in Montreal, boy is winter lo-o-ong…) and burst out of our cocoons with the first green bud to show up on the first maple tree to bloom. Like wearing t-shirts in plus 5 weather (that 5 Celsius, y’all… somebody translate please!). Summer is more than a season for us, it’s an industry, a state of mind, an end to the Winter Blues, its…

1) Tim Horton’s Iced Coffees. Tim Horton is Canada’s answer to Dunkin’ Donuts but only like, a bazillion times better.

2) A meal at one of Montreal’s thousands of outdoor terraces. Any meal, in any neighborhood. I know lots of cities do this now, but this tradition comes to us straight from Paris baby, where artistes would sip their cafés au lait on scraps of sidewalk masquerading as a “terrace” and lament about the miserable state of the world. Nowadays this is a bona fide marketing strategy.

3) Cutting work early so you can get to aforementioned outdoor meal as quickly as possible.

4) Hitting the bars/clubs in short skirts, flimsy tops, open-toed sandals, and best of all… no coats!

5) Sundresses. Denim sundresses, short yellow sundresses, white eyelet sundresses, sundresses from K-Mart or sundresses from Kookai. Whatever. It all works.

6) McDonald’s 49 cent soft ice-cream cones and the special counter open only in the summertime, where you can by them right off Ste. Catherine’s street. I bet they’re a dollar now.

7) Weddings. Everywhere I look, in the paper, blocking traffic, blaring car horns, the magazines, you name it.

8) Festivals. The Just for Laughs fest (yours truly’s favorite), the jazz fest, the film fest, the fireworks fest…

9) La Ronde. This is Montreal’s lone amusement part, as venerable and traditional as Shepard’s Pie. There was some talk of Six Flags buying it way back when and I’m not sure if this has happened in my long absence… When I still lived in the city, I never missed one summer without hitting La Ronde. Even worked there when I was 18!

10) Becoming Canadian. My family traveled to Montreal on an “emigration scouting trip” back in 1986. That summer was one of the best of my entire (admittedly short) life, holding up to such other summers as ones spent in Greece, Spain, Lebanon, and Jordan. I remember standing in front of a fountain in Marineland (Canada’s version of Sea World), tossing a penny in, and making a wish: that we would move to Canada forever and ever.

The Countdown Begins…

2007-05-04T07:30:00.000-07:00

Once again I’ve sunken into bad blogger territory, and this just 25 days till the release of Fashionably Late!!!

Why am I being so bad you ask? Two words. Launch party. I decided to hold it here in Cayman since that’s where I’ve been living and working for the past five years, and where I thought I’d be able to round up the biggest amount of people willing to get together and get sloshed using a book launch for an excuse (any excuse is a good one).

I keed, I keed… since this is such a small, tightly-knit community, people down here are among the most supportive I’ve ever met, and ninety of them are coming out to celebrate with me on May 30th!

And yes, of COURSE I have the dress picked out already. It’s a deep aqua blue short kimono dress by Geren Ford (purchased from the fabulous Shopbop.com… I wouldn’t have survived living abroad without them).

I had so much fun planning this party, from the venue to the food down to the gift bags – I would seriously consider a career in this is it weren’t for my complete inability to stick to a budget!

Don’t worry – I promise you lots and lots of pics in a months’ time. In the meantime, here’s a sneak peak at the invite:

Site Update!!!

2007-04-26T16:39:00.000-07:00

Woo Hoo!!!

I did it. Finally. Or rather, my webmaster did (thank you Shawnna!)

The point is, I've got a spiffy new "Intro" page with a listing of my upcoming tour dates (with details to follow) in case you happen to be in Miami the weekend of June 2nd - 3rd, or Grand Cayman on June 9th (hey - y'never know)

I've also posted my CJAD interview, in case some of you non-Montreal dwelling faithful blog readers would like to listen in.

So pop by at nadinedajani.com and tell me what you think!

What I'm reading now: The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters by Elisabeth Robinson which I have to say is borderline genius. Any aspiring writer should pick this up as Ms. Robinson is very adept at actually making us laugh out loud one moment (and I am not prone to laughing out loud) and then promptly tugging at our heart strings the next.

Onwards!…. Er,….Backwards!

2007-04-19T10:31:00.000-07:00

In no other country that I can think of, do abortion and gun ownership rights decide elections. (Dictatorships do not count as they are dictatorships, and who the heck knows how people in dictatorships really feel about abortion, guns, or thong underpants for that matter?) Can you think of any?

In light of what happened in Virginia Tech this week, some might argue it makes sense to put all other issues on the backburner, like say the fact that Iraq has seen it’s deadliest day yet since the “surge” at 168 fatalities in one singe day this week for example, in favor of exploiting – er – exploring this tragedy to its fullest extent.

Because senseless tragedies, the kind we can’t really do anything about or explain (to quote Chris Rock on this one: “Whatever happened to CRAZY???), and Britney Spears’ panties or lack thereof, are so much more mesmerizing than issues that we can actually DO something about, like, say, the fact that Roe vs Wade was effectively repealed for a huge segment of women this week, with no caveat to protect the mother’s health.

I think that last bit bears repeating. NO caveat, no out, no exceptions for women for whom a pregnancy might potentially be harmful, or perhaps even deadly down the line.

So Borat’s joke about horses and crawling insects being above women in the chain of relative importance to society has kinda, sorta come true in the US this week, and the US can now proudly join the ranks of dictatorships that also have laws telling women exactly where their opinion figures in matters that concern how they live their lives.

Here’s my question: where are the women of the US in all of this? 51% of the population and all I hear from that side of the fence is the sound of crickets.

I have my own opinion (surprise!) on the issue and I know you have yours. That’s not my problem. My problem is that the face value of “freedoms” that are supposedly being fought for are being slowly hacked away and no one makes a peep. Not a sound.

Maybe Vogue will do a feature on the subject in a month or two, which I will read while a man looks at me and rolls his eyes at my frivolous choice of reading material.

At least now you can say someone told you.

Top Ten Tuesday: Movies

2007-04-04T11:29:00.000-07:00

I’m seeing a pattern with my Top Ten Tuesdays in that they would be more aptly called Top Ten Wednesdays. If you won’t tell, neither will I…

First off, Monday’s interview went GREAT! I advise anyone who ever has the chance to do this to just go for it – you’ll be surprised at how much fun it is. I nearly backed out I was so nervous, and just minutes before hand I was convinced my voice had left me. But when the phone rang and I heard: “Nadine, you there? Great – you’re on in five” there was suddenly no more room for nervousness.

And then a guy came on who sounded, well, just like a radio announcer would came on (shocking, huh? I don’t what I was expecting him to sound like… my uncle Mahmood, perhaps?) and the adrenalin kicked in and I was off!

I have to say that it takes more to be a radio announcer than meets the eye – I was worried my natural tendency to digress would lead me down some seriously off-topic paths but both Merv and Paris steered the interview so well it felt like they were doing the selling for me. The hook was basically this: how the heck does an accountant write a book and actually sell it??? They made it sound like I climbed Mt. Everest in a day, but hey, I wasn’t going to complain. We spent some time discussing how a Montrealer ends up in the Cayman Islands, and then back to the subject of the book, and, surprise, surprise, how much of it was autobiographical. We finished off by mentioning tour cities to come.

Really, really great experience. I’m planning to post the recording on my website, stay tuned for that announcement.

And now, our list of the day. I’ve noticed that my favorite movies tended to be a) period pieces, and/or b) have awesome soundtracks/singing, and/or c) star actors whom I adore in pretty much any movie they’re in. Also, I really hate black & white movies. Sorry. The year “When Harry Met Sally” came out, I was eight. This, along with Disney’s Little Mermaid, which was the first time Disney introduced a spunky, take-charge heroine, are what I consider “classics”.

Here we go, in no particular order:

1) Pretty Woman – can’t say that the acting in this one is genius, or even the writing, but when you hear something being referred to as a “magical experience”, I think this is the kind of experience in question.

2) Greencard – Ah, mon Gérard… the man is an unlikely hunk a’ burnin’ love, but one nonetheless. Is it his raw, savage persona beside Andie McDowell’s demure, vegan one that accounts for the sparks, or Gérard’s crushing “… Monaco… No, Monteverde… I alwayz forget zat one…” that get me every time?

3) Groundhog Day – I can recite this one backwards in Bangladeshi while hopping on one foot. That’s how many times I’ve seen this movie, which amounts to about 5 scenes running in a loop. A great study in character development in an environment where nothing but the main character changes. A masterpiece.

4) Cyrano de Bergerac – more hunk a’ burnin’ love o’ Gérand, this time with the added bonus of eye-Candy Vincent Perez and period costumes. And France. And poetry. Oo-la-la.

5) When Harry Met Sally – does this one really need an introduction?

6) Quick Change – I think Bill Murray is one of the funniest actors ever. This one kills me every time I watch it.

7) Disney’s Aladdin – You know you’ve made it as an ethnic minority in when Disney validates your existence with a character modeled after you. Plus, now people have a convenient point of reference when they’re trying to figure out which “celebrity” I look like (and you think I’m kidding…)

8) Labyrinth – I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen one in a long time, but it was so mesmerizing that even after all these years I remember it. Plus, had no idea who the hot bad guy was at the time, but am very impressed with my seven-year-old’s taste in men.

9) Pride & Prejudice, BBC version – this is my go-to anti-depression movie. Dunno why… is it the period costume? Mrs. Bennet’s strangely irritating-yet-soothingly-maternal on-screen presence? Darcy in culottes and sideburns? Or that the goodness lasts a whole six hours? Who knows.

10) Four Weddings and a Funeral – Let’s face it, Hugh Grant suffers from some serious typecasting. But who can argue with his best role as the town cad ever? Or the cad with a heart of gold, shall we say?

That’s it for me folks!

My First Interview!

2007-04-01T10:44:00.000-07:00

Two major posts in one weekend - are happening at a dizzying pace or what?

Paris Mansouri, one-time senior editor for the Egyptian fashion magazine Enigma, contributor for CBC as well as a Host Hunt hopeful, a reality show based on the quest for a new host for one of Canada's most renowned fashion exports, Fashion File has asked me to be a guest on Montreal's CJAD!

I'd be freaking out except I still can't believe this straight-out-of-a-movie turn of events.

Paris co-hosts the cutting-edge-of-cool pop entertainment radio show with Merv and Chris who will probably be quizzing me about how an accountant could pull off writing a book about fashion, Cuba, love in the tropics, with a pinch of Middle-Eastern spice thrown in for laughs.

The best part? You can tune in online at CJAD.com sometime after 9 PM Eastern time and listen to my very first radio interview. Be kind. I'm learning.

And don't hesitate to write and tell me how much I rocked/sounded like a total dufus/killed/put you to sleep.

Oh, and Paris is GIVING AWAY the VERY FIRST COPY OF FASHIONABLY LATE to the first caller to get the answer to a FL-trivia question right (I am told no prior knowledge of rocket science will be needed to get this right)

So tune in. Please. If only for the comedy factor involved in witnessing an author's first attempts at self promotion. Hey, I didn't call this blog Confessions of a Newbie Novelist for nuthin'!

Connecting

2007-03-31T14:07:00.000-07:00

Things seem to be going at lightening speed for me these days. I thought the pre-publication period is supposed to be the calm before the storm... instead it's turning out to be crazy. Good crazy. Excellent crazy, in fact, but crazy nonetheless.

Thursday evening, while working late at the office, the phone rang. I answered the phone with a simple 'hello' because who but a family member would be calling at that hour, wondering when I was coming home, or maybe asking me to pick up dinner on the way.

Well. It wasn't a family member. It wasn't a client either. It was a girl I'd gone to high school with, and who I hadn't seen for some fifteen years (she'd transferred to another school her second year there).

She's now a journalist, and was working on some Middle-Eastern themed writing projects when someone mentioned to her that a friend of a friend of a friend's daughter had written a book with a Middle-Eastern protag as well, and her name was Nadine something. I can't believe that after all these years, this girl managed to remember someone she'd gone to school with over a decade ago, and only for one year. She googled me (ah, Google.... I love you), saw my picture, and remembered me.

And then she found me, and was nice, brave, considerate and audacious enough to contact me. It was amazing. I've found out that since high school she'd traveled around in the Middle East, worked with all kinds of media, and sounds like an all-round fascinating person.

How small is this world? Seriously?? And how awesome is the Internet? I wonder what kind of connections I'll be making once the books is out...

Stay tuned for book launch party details (eeeekk!!!) and more SUPER exciting news (especially if you happen to live in Miami, hint-hint), coming soon!

Top Ten Rewarding Experiences … But First, An Announcement

2007-03-29T16:12:00.000-07:00

I’ve been holding back this info for a while because of confidentiality issues at work, but the cat’s now out of the bag and I’ve got nothing to hold me back.

Ahem.

I’m taking the first blind leap since moving to the Cayman Islands in 2002, and taking a sabbatical to write my next two contracted novels.

Now that this is officially out there for everyone to see, I guess I can start believing it. OMG.

To say that this is the day I’ve been dreaming about since I first started writing is an understatement, but it’s very unnerving nonetheless… Can I stand myself enough to weather several hours a day with little to no human contact after years of being an office drone? Can I actually stick to a budget? All I can say is: I’m glad Target and H&M have finally come to Montreal as I fear those are the only places I’ll be shopping at for the next little while. Maybe I’ll learn the fine art of freelancing while I’m at it, or take a class or something to keep me sane – who knows? The sky is the limit!

On to our Top Ten du jour:

10. Looking down at a flat (ish) belly after two weeks of carb depravation and hitting the gym with some semblance of regularity.
This is probably the only thing that gets me to the gym. Health, shmealth, I dream of flat abs. Sue me.

9. Balancing my cash on the first shot.
C’mon, you knew that an accounting related moment of Zen would make it in here. Those of you who have ever attempted this will share my private, dorky joy. Most of you will simply roll your eyes at your computer screens while mouthing “loser”. It’s okay, part and parcel with being an accountant.

8. Talking myself out of a silly purchase.
Make no mistake, this hardly ever happens. But those days when I manage to make it out of the jewelry shop/Sunglasses Hut/BCBG without putting down some dough are gold.

7. Heaving a sigh of exhaustion after a very productive day.
A business teacher once revealed in class that workers spend an average of two hours out of every day doing absolutely nothing (and this was back before the Internet had invaded every desktop in the land). I’ve since found out that this depends largely on your particular job, and how much window-gazing it will allow you. Still, on those days when I manage to make every nanosecond count, it feels pretty good.

6. Learning to do something for myself, instead of asking someone else to help me.
Like figuring out Blogger, zip drives and how to use Windows Vista. Still pending: assembling IKEA furniture, and HTML.

5. Picking up a new skill (related to point 8, but not quite the same).
I’ve been lucky to have several bosses throughout my career who’ve imparted healthy criticism and good advice. Still, every once in a while, you get a doozy. Like the one who, upon learning I was taking an evening Spanish class thought apt to ask: “Why the heck would you do that?”
Why indeed, when I could be sitting on my couch, watching Seinfeld reruns and munching the night away?
Learning to Salsa, and writing a novel fall also under this category.

4. Putting faith in my subconscious and watching it pull through.
Do you ever do this? Politely ask your mind to do something – come up with the perfect opening sentence, a character flaw or a plot twist, then go off and do the dishes or whatever, and then – POOF! Right there, in the middle of your morning shower or rush hour traffic, your brain delivers. This is the very best kind of payoff you get from creative endeavors: a glimpse into the untapped power of the human brain, that wild, shady area we can’t reign in or understand… This is why creative anything is so scary – you have to give yourself license to go nuts and have faith it will all work out in the end.

3. Resisting the call of television and sitting in front of my laptop instead.
Whether I get one page done or ten, it’s always a glorious feeling to resist the urge to vegetate in front of the TV after a long day at work.

2. Hearing about the successes of fellow writers in the trenches.
To think that once upon a time we gazed upon our published sisters and brothers as though they were gods, and then, little by little, and many rejections and a few milestones later, we were among them. It’s that much sweeter when you have friends to share the journey with you.

1. Watching the look on my parents’ face when they saw the dedication of my book for the first time. More than the launch party, more than interviews and glowing reviews and contracts for other books, this was the fantasy I indulged in the most for all the years leading up the publication of Fashionably Late.

Watch This Space!

2007-03-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

Dona tagged me this morning for this week’s Top Ten Tuesday, which happens to be the top most rewarding experiences…which I’ve got, promise!

Unfortunately, this is a very crazy day of the month here at work, so, I’m passing on the torch to… MAUREEN McGOWAN – you’ve been tagged, missy – until I can patch together five consecutive minutes to get my post up.

See you all soon!

Oh Chick Lit, How I Love Thee

2007-03-22T06:54:00.000-07:00

My little brother is currently visiting in my neck of the woods – er, sandbar – and I caught him blasting a song from a popular Disney soundtrack the other day.

“Don’t let your friends catch you listening to that crap,” I cautioned, even though I could probably recite any song Disney has come up with in the past fifty years backwards on a dime.

“What? You think I care what anyone else thinks? I’ll listen to whatever I want,” he quipped, without the tiniest hint of arrogance. It was pure, unabashed, king-of-the-world confidence talking.

In the spirit of confidence and courage in the face of what group-think no longer deems cool, I wish to re-affirm my love of Chick Lit. Not each and every single chick lit novel that ever made it onto the shelves, not the non-chick lit derivatives masquerading as chick lit (for a profound love of shoes does not a chick lit make), not even contemporary romances with a chick lit slant. For me, if it ain’t about a bad-ass chick finding herself in this big bad world, it ain’t chick lit.

After reading a bit in other genres after a l-o-o-o-ng stint of chick lit only reading, I realized I’d gotten used to the irreverent, in-your-face honesty of the chick lit novel, and other genres just feel like they’re holding out on me. What a good chick lit delivers like no other genre out there is a profoundly relatable experience for me as a woman living, working, watching TV, and being generally confused in the world today. Even if I’m not a shopaholic, have not slept with my best friend’s finacé, am not an Irish single woman suffering from depression, or have recently been fired from my waitressing/PR girl/second assistant to the stars/nanny/whatever job.

Are there lots of cardboard chick lit characters out there? Sure. Tons. Especially when there are so many of these novels to choose from. But I don’t care what anybody tells me – it’s the very irreverence of this genre that will ensure it sticks around for a long time to come.

Just in case I haven’t convinced you, I’m going to share with you, right here on this blog, quotes from some of the most famous chick lit novels out there, courtesy of my nifty new Chick Lit desk calendar (with the author’s permission, of course). I love this thing. Every day I have to keep myself from reading ahead, otherwise I’d be on November now. The best part is finding brilliant quotes from books I haven’t read but that are sitting in my towering TBR pile and thinking: DUDE – I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO GO OUT AND BUY THIS THING!

Case in point, this little nugget of wisdom from Mr Maybe by Jane Green. Ahem:

“Not that I want a one-night stand with Nick, just maybe a few weeks of delicious sex before saying goodbye with no broken hearts. One-night stands aren’t my style. I don’t think they’re anyone’s style, are they? Sure, we’ve all done it, but even when you can’t stand them, even when it’s just a drunken mistake after a party, you still want them to call, don’t you, even if it’s just so you can turn round and tell them you never want to see them again. It’s an ego thing. Definitely. I don’t want you, but I want you to want me anyway.”

Wasn't that fun?

Who Wants to be Goliath?

2007-03-16T12:05:00.000-07:00

One fine day, back when I was in third grade, my then best friend Maggie brought an illustrated children’s bible to class. Maggie was one of those kids who just couldn’t help being a rebel: she was a freckled, flaming strawberry blonde in a sea of raven-haired Middle-Easterners and South-East Asians, and she was Palestinian to boot.

Seeing as we were a private Muslim girl’s school in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, a collective gasp went up at sight of the offending bible. As far as Maggie was concerned, it was a storybook. The rest of the class thought it might qualify as an instrument of the Devil. We settled the dispute by taking the object to our Islam teacher and asking her to weigh in on the debate.

“There’s nothing wrong in reading the Bible,” she said, “but you have to wait until you’re older.”

This was very cryptic advice to our seven-year-old ears. What was so cool about the Bible that we could only read it when we older? What did our parents understand that we didn’t? Watching 300 yesterday, I was reminded of that little nugget of wisdom imparted to my friends and me all those years ago.

300 is a cinematographic and visual triumph. It’s supposed to be modeled after comic book art, but what I saw in scene after scene reminded me more of fine art than comic strips. Two scenes stand out – one where murdered villagers are strung on a huge tree in a mess of limbs and shadows. Sounds gross, but was actually very Dali-esque, or even Garden of Earthly Delights-ish. In another scene where the good guys are scattered across the ground, the way their armor is strapped to their bodies and the splash of crimson from their capes delineating their figures, you’d think you were looking at a renaissance fresco or a work of stained glass in a church.

300 was also hugely entertaining despite the lack of a discernable plot, the blood-and-guts fest, and the cheese factor that only a good old we-the-good-guys-against-you-the-bad-guys movie can deliver. In other words, this may very well be the only movie ever made that both Bill O’Reilly and I can enjoy.

The problem? 300’s “message” was a like a crispy millefeuille, with layer upon layer of delicately stacked propaganda held together with a stickly sweet custard of myth and xenophobia.

Let’s see if you can guess what this movie is about from a brief plot synopsis: King Leonidas is think-with-my-gut kinda guy, who has little use for politics and weaklings. He doesn’t consider a short fuse as a shortcoming in his role as the Papa Smurf of Sparta, and his ruling philosophy can be summarized in a nifty little motto which would fit nicely onto a license plate should the need arise in a few millennia: Live free or die.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it. So, when a Persian emissary drops into town one day, the king, ever answerable to his gut as his personal motto, shoves the messenger into a bottomless pit knowing that this will provoke the Persian army into invading Sparta and probably the rest of Greece. The king does this knowing that there are only two possible outcomes: total obliteration of Sparta, or victory, and victory in this context implies a miracle of some sort. The king flouts Sparta’s laws and internal controls, which have been designed to prevent a king from leading the populace down an unpopular warpath, and goes with but the blessings of his gut and his queen, to fight the forces of evil and darkness, i.e. the Iranians – er, sorry, Persians.

Sound familiar?

Never mind that the director’s “vision” of Persians includes masses of foot soldiers with their heads wrapped in rags, bringing to mind a term Ann Coulter has been brandying about lately, and of black-as-soot generals, as opposed to the hunky, blue-eyed, all-white cast of Spartan warriors. I wasn’t expecting 300 to have the subtle nuance of Babel, or the raw message of Blood Diamond, but when Zack Snyder, the director, saw fit to have the ragheads fight on the same side as masked “immortals” and other assorted creatures from the depths of Hell, I thought that was taking the “message” a little too far.

[SPOILER ALERT]

The clincher, of course, was having our bearded, blue-eyed King Leonidas die in a pose worthy of Jesus in the throes of His Ultimate Sacrifice, pierced by the same sort of arrows that would have killed Saint Sebastian, the scene looking like it might have been hanging on a wall in the Louvre or the Prado rather than something being projected on a screen.

[SPOLIER OVER]

But that’s still not the part of the “message” I had a problem with.

The trouble with this movie and its timing, is the seduction of the underdog myth, where “few stood against many”. Whether the battle between the Spartans and the Persians is historically accurate or not is moot. What was unmistakable about 300 was the projection of Western values and faces on “the few” and that of the “Others” (insert name of whatever enemy we may be fighting at the moment here) on “the many”.

Our movie screens, television sets and popular myths are full of David-vs-Goliath stories. But who wants to be Goliath? I bet even Goliath managed to convince himself he was really David, fighting for his ideals and way of life. I bet all the old crusty Philistines got together and decided to launch a PR campaign that would convince their population the Judeans and other Semitic tribes were plotting to take over the world and that the only answer is a preemptive strike using their secret weapon: Goliath.

This is where 300 flirts with danger: bringing together a gore-fest that appeals to young audiences, scavenging in the graveyard of history for an appropriate vessel to carry the message, and marrying fantasy with reality to forge a nouveau-legend eerily reminiscent of our times.

As writers we know that this is the stuff of great fiction: making us relate to a situation that feels utterly alien. But as thinking people we have to ask ourselves, is Goliath really Goliath, or is David Goliath? Who is it exactly that we are relating to, and why are we made to feel like we should relate?

Maybe that’s what has President Ahmadinjad’s knickers all in a bunch.

Even believing Muslims can appreciate the Bible as literature, as non-Muslims can appreciate the Qu’ran. Yet both of these texts impart their own particular view of the world, which they fully intend the reader to take as Gospel, so to speak.

Maybe a storybook is just a storybook, and maybe a movie is just a movie. But then again, maybe not.

Tickled Pink (and not because of the laptop either)

2007-03-04T11:41:00.001-08:00

Opened the old inbox today and found this lovely quote from none other than Chick Lit/YA I-bow-down-to-her bestselling author, Sarah Mlynowski:

The most stylish accessory at the beach this summer is sure to be Nadine Dajani's Fashionably Late. This sexy and smart debut will leave you laughing, cheering, and trying to book a trip to Cuba.

Thank you Sarah!

How Not to Write

2007-03-02T11:36:00.000-08:00

Keep buying new gizmos, telling yourself: "No, really... I just have to have this cooler-than-cool blush pink, razor thin laptop and THEN I'll write... promise!"

No you won't. Take it from me. But that's not to say that this new baby has not added much joy - not to mention attention - to my life. The Vaio C-Series in pink may very well be the cutest laptop in history. I thought my white ibook was (and am still loathe to part with it) but I was wrong. I used to get a few "your laptop is so cute" comments with the ibook, but this is a whole other level. Some people see the pink and smirk (not in the nice, kind of sexy way) but most just marvel.

And yet, you have to be seriously deranged to go out of your way to order a custom built laptop in pink, make your US-dwelling friend buy it for you because Sony won't sell to non US-residents online, rather than just walk into a store and buy a *normal* one like everyone else. Or better yet, just keep using your perfectly good ibook until it dies, which looks like never. Still, it's pink, says I. I must be the holy grail of the marketing industry. People in stuffy boardrooms armed with PowerPoint presentations and focus group data have me in mind when they go up to the engineers and say: make it pink. At which point I'm sure the engineers (who have spent countless hours and time away from their video games and chess clubs to come up with the most technologically advanced machines they can imagine)roll their eyes and think marketing people are retarded. Little do they know, marketing people are in fact the boy-geniuses of the new economy. I did not purchase this computer for its technical prowess. Come to think of it, this computer may have no technical prowess to speak of. But, you know, it's pink.

Other ways to guarantee you will never write (especially if you happen to have hit a bit of a wall in your WIP) is to hook your machine up the Internet, otherwise known as the World's Most Efficient Means of Procrastination Ever. Way more effective than television. Sometimes TV sucks (how much E!TV can one person take before they go mad and set themselves on fire?). TV is a fleeting fling, the Internet is forever.

Speaking of the internet, I caught a snippet of last night's Back to the Future Marathon. It was a scene from part II where Marty McFly gets a glimpse of his future deadbeat self, his bratty kids, and his futuristic middle-class home. The future's speediest means of communication according to Steven Spielberg's 80s self? Fax machines in every room. Hilarious. I am told that the only reason HP & co. still manufacture fax machines is to serve the developping world, which hasn't fully caught up to the wonders of the Internet yet. It's amazing to think that the Internet has only been ubiquitous for ten years or so. Can you imagine your life without it now?

What I'm reading now: Going Coastal by Wendy French

Next on the list: A Long Way Gone, Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah. The author was on Jon Stewart not too long ago, and is an exceptionally remarkable man (not to mention, total hottie). I cannot wait to read this one.

After that, a chick-lit I've been wanting to read forever. How Nancy Drew Saved My Life by Lauren Baratz-Logted. I also was a huge fan of Nancy Drew. The series was one of the first I ever read as a kid.

And now? Back to the writing.

The Procrastination Continues...

2007-02-22T09:25:00.000-08:00

I had this great post planned about my recent trip to Miami, complete with a list of excuses as to why I couldn't squeeze in any checking e-mail/blogging time. However, seeing as this post has been in the "edit" stage since last week (I think... I worked both Saturday and Sunday so the line between weeks is blurring... the calendar says Tuesday but my body swears it's Friday) I decided to go ahead and post the highlights, and if it's not the most brilliant post ever, oh well.

I love Miami. If you were only to hang around the airport and then head straight to South Beach, you would think yourself in a place that's a cross between South America and France. It would never cross your mind you were in the States. Even the use of the flag is quite sparse compared to other American cities I've been to. Walking around and eavesdropping on all the Spanish and French conversations around me (yes - French. In Target I overheard a bunch of Parisian tourists ooing and aaahing over some Issac Mizrahi for Target stuff. Parisian, fashion-capital-of-the-world dwellers in Target. Buying clothes), strolling along the very Côte-d'Azure-like Ocean Drive, with it's roller-blading parks and beaches to one side, and trattoria-style eateries on the other, not to mention the phenomenal shopping, is my idea of heaven.

It's almost a blessing that there are hardly any decent shops here in Cayman because it justifies my occasional popovers across the pond.

On this particular popover, I happened to catch this flick:

If you're a writer and you like chick lit and rom coms DO NOT MISS THIS ONE! If only to see Hugh Grant in a George Michael-esque get-up, shaking his bon-bon enough times to make you feel like a cigarette after the movie. Drew Barrymore, if not at her acting best, is a believable writer who we can identify with, and it's nice to see creative angst dramatized on screen. The video around which the whole script is anchored, "Pop Goes My Heart" is absolutely hilarious. There's not much I can tell you about the plot that you wouldn't have gleaned already from the previews so I won’t linger much longer on this topic other than to repeat: do yourself a favor and see this one if you need a change from the message-heavy Oscar offerings this year. Besides the hilarity, tight pants on Hugh Grant, and 80’s soundtrack, it’s also a pretty good light chick lit/romance characterization study. You could easily, if you were so inclined, break it down into a three act structure complete with well-motivated hero/heroine character arcs, black moments, etc. Being the writer-geek that I am, I won't say the thought didn't cross my mind...

Other memorable moments from this trip include the discovery of Sawgrass Mills outlet mall. I have a deep aversion to outlet malls which probably stems from tragic childhood memories searching through racks and racks of junk labeled “Tommy Hilfiger” and “Calvin Klein” which somehow bore no resemblance whatsoever to anything I’d seen at the mall, past or present. Sawgrass Mills is a complete other universe of outlet shopping. Case in point: a very cute Miss Sixty top for $10, marked down from $100. No visible defects, and a cornucopia of sizes. No changing hurridly behind two racks of clothing and digging through piles of rubbish either – except for the prices and the word “Outlet” describing the mall, you’d never know you were in one.

Besides that, it's been work, work and more work. Which brings me to the big questions: To write full-time, or not to write full-time.

They say that you can ALWAYS carve out time to write if you really wanted to, and you don't have to quit your day job. That may be so, but consider this: the day job ate up 52 hours this week, excluding lunch hour and commuting time. I'm not one of those writers who can do 15 minutes here and there. It takes me that much just to get into the mood. Besides the required 2 - 3 writing hours I need to put in daily, I've a book to promote and just a few months left to do it in. Yes, I probably could make some time to write while working full-time, but I'd have to give up the gym, cooking, reading, and any semblance of a social life.

I've got a big decision to make...

Top Ten Chick Lit Picks, Scrunchies, and How Not to Write a Book

2007-02-13T07:33:00.000-08:00

I’m deviating a little from Top Ten Tuesday today by posting someone else’s top ten. Most influential chick lit books that is. Karin Gillespie posted this list on her blog earlier, but I thought it deserved a mention here too (if only to provide you with a great chick lit website… I’ve been wandering cyberspace aimlessly, searching for such a site since the very unfortunate demise of Rian Montgomery’s excellent chicklitbooks.com)

So, what do you think? I’ve read six and half-read two (Sex & the City; In her Shoes). How about you?

I’ve been meaning to read Nick Hornby for ages. I haven’t seen High Fidelity the movie (bows head in shame) but I loved About A Boy to pieces. Will this list finally get me to do it? I’m hopeful, but realistic. With my TBR pile growing into mythical proportions, it’s highly unlikely I will get around to this in 2007 unless someone makes me.

I can’t believe Thirtynothing made the cut… I LOVED, ABSOLUTELY LOVED that book. Plus it was one of the very first chick lits I read (which, come to think about it, may be why I loved it so much in the first place), back in the dark ages of the genre when you had to search through heaps of books, reading back cover blurb after back cover blurb (publishers hadn’t discovered the wonders of bright pastel colored covers yet) to find something that might be “chick lit” (the term was only being bandied about in small, under-the-radar circles). The novel sort of follows the framework of a romance in that it alternates hero and heroine points of view, but what’s written would make a staunch, dyed-in-the-wool traditional romance reader pinch her nose in disgust. Just the opening scene describing a one-night stand is classic. And it’s chock full of that biting British wit that turned me onto Chick Lit in the first place.

Now I’d like to interrupt this blog for a public service announcement concerning the Dixie Chicks, who, in my humble opinion, embody all that chicks should stand for. It isn’t about whether you hate George Bush or not, it’s about speaking your conscience even if what your conscience has to say happens not to be so popular… at the time (people who indulge in this sort of behavior are notorious for getting the last laugh. If they’re lucky, it will happen in their lifetime). I’m not a country music fan but all this hoopla surrounding the Dixie Chicks (not to mention how they’ve turned the big-hair-and-enough-glitter-to-fill-five-barns female country singer cliché on its head) is making me very curious about their music. Plus I’m in the mood for something a little more wholesome for the soul than my steady diet of reggaeton.

Now, what does all this have to do with scrunchies? Well, to be honest, nothing, but I couldn’t resist bragging (this one’s for you too Dona!). It seems that if you hold on to any trend long enough you will in fact be rewarded with a comeback. Check this out my friends. Dona, Sienna, Mary-Kate and I have joined the ranks of women who are defying Carrie Bradshaw’s universal diss of scrunchies, and donning them with pride. Anyone can turn any fashion item into a fashion faux pas, so I still say wearing a scrunchie with a fancy suit to a NYC restaurant (like the woman in that infamous SATC episode) is a huge fashion DON’T. But to accessorize today’s legging-and-oversized-tunics combos? Pourquoi pas? Just make sure they’re not made out of denim or are covered with Hello Kittie motifs.

Onto our final topic (how’s that for a transition?), in an effort to motivate you in case you are as stuck in your writing as I am at the moment, I’ve just stumbled on a great blog by writer Maureen Johnson, and her montage of the writing process (with a deadline looming) is priceless. And man is this a crazy process. I cannot tell you where my brainstorming of this current book is taking me. I think if I don’t decide on a course of action and go with it, I could be plotting and planning forever.

Has anyone figured out how to decide on a path when you’ve brainstormed yourself into a maze? I’d love to know…

The Oscars Bandwagon

2007-02-09T15:05:00.000-08:00

Every year I promise myself to watch most of the movies up for Oscars so I can actually debate the merits of one over the other instead of cheering on the only one I happened to have seen but alas I’ve failed again.

So, let me rant about the three movies I did manage to see, that are getting a nod.

Little Miss Sunshine. The girls over at booksboysbuzz.com have done a great job blogging about this one, and it really was one of the best movies of the year. Not sure if the kid deserves an Oscar though… I’d give it to the screenwriter, maybe the director, and quite possibly Steve Carell (who brings comic genius to every role he plays, including cartoon voices). Greg Kinnear was great, as always (LOVED him in The Matador – another hilarious movie that flirts with the dark side – and succeeds). Toni Colette was also fabulous (isn’t she always?) as was the sulky teenager and the coked-up grandfather.

But here’s the deal: I think all these actors are genuinely talented to begin with, so it was really this rich, subtle, nuanced and very well written story that gave them an opportunity to shine. As writers, we could probably learn a a lot from a movie that takes the most ordinary of families and mundane of circumstances to Oscar level entertainment.

Dreamgirls. Do NOT get me started. Hated it, hated hated it (before you hate ME I’ll tell you where this venom comes from. I think if threre weren’t any Oscar buzz around this movie, I would’ve said it was cute and mildy entertaining, not a total waste of $10. The costumes were beyond fabulous. I really felt I was in the 50s, 60s, 70s (loved those 70s…) and 80s. I loved how Beyoncé’s voice was constantly getting dissed – kudos to her for putting up with it. But Jennifer Hudson??? Just because it was her first time acting does not mean she deserves an Oscar. These aren’t the A-for-effort awards. She WAS good for a first timer, but not once in that whole movie did she move me, touch me, or elevate my thinking to another level, like say, Eddie Murphy, who did in fact deliver an Oscar worthy nuanced and layered performance (you really saw his character change over the span of the movie… can’t say the same for Hudson’s).

Blood Diamond. Now THIS is a movie that deserves an Oscar, if only for shining the spotlight on a difficult subject. That everything else is so great about it is gravy: the tight screenplay, the sweeping, breathtaking shots of Africa, and every single actor, from the little boy who gets kidnapped and recruited into a rebel guerilla to Leo’s incredible body and spot-on Zimbawean accent (yes, lots of people from Zimbabwae and South Africa living here in the Caymans, so I can judge).

The criticism I’m hearing about this movie is that it was too violent. I can’t tell you how much this annoys me. Life isn’t a slightly grittier version of Disneyland, people. Most continents are riddled with very serious, ugly, life-threatning problems. Diamonds are just one of them (one guy in the movie, looking at the dead bodies littering the street after a rebel raid, remarks: “Thank God we don’t have oil”. Coming from the Middle-East, I find that pretty ironic). It’s important tobe exposed to these issues. How else are you going to learn to put things into perspective? Not watching a movie depicting people getting limbs machete’d off in the name of the “blood diamonds” is not a stand a violence in the movies. It’s just wilful ignorence. To be honest, there are scenes where I had to look away, butit didn’t take anything away from the experience. I learned so much. Like, for instance, did you know that the big diamond cartels – such as De Beers – used to buy up those “conflict diamonds” that rebels obtained illegally (i.e horrifically) so the flood of cheap diamonds would not bring down their market price?

Let me put it another way: rebel gangs raid villages in Africa, ensalve people into working the diamond mines, try and sell these mined diamonds on the free market so they can purchase weapons, a big company like De Beers buys them up so that diamonds, a commodity like wheat, oil and gold, stays at a certain (high) price. Doesn’t that make you mad??? The only people who aren’t getting a totally raw deal out of this sordid mess are the companies that rake in profits from bling-bling loving schelps like us (I’m convinced De Beers came up with the ‘two-months’ salary rule).

What those people who didn’t like Blood Diamond under the pretext of “violence” missed is that at the end, after all the spilled guts and gangs and drugs and corruption, Blood Diamond was actually uplifting. It sent a very powerful message. That ordinary people like us, can and do make a difference, with every thought, every action, and every purchase.

The movie is set a few years ago, just before a special law was passed which specifically addressed the misery surrounding the trade of “conflict diamonds” on the free market. As a result of this international law (which is just a few years old, remember), only 15% of diamonds on the market nowadays are thought to be “conflict diamonds”. That’s still a high number, but think how high it would have been if regular people hadn’t been made aware of, and then enraged at what their money was buying.

To me, the key message wasn’t “don’t buy diamonds”, it was “you can and do make a difference”. Just think about how positive, how empowering this is.

If that doesn’t convince you to see Blood Diamond, maybe this will: Leonardo DiCaprio has never looked hotter.

Top Ten Tuesday

2007-02-06T13:18:00.000-08:00

I was tagged earlier today by Dona, so here goes.

Top Ten Totally Random Things You Don’t Know About Moi…

1. I did most of my traveling before age 10, tagging along with my parents to places like Greece and Spain. That all came to an end when we immigrated to Canada, and I was actually of age to remember something of my travels.

2. I speak four languages: English, French, Arabic, and Spanish (my hands-down favorite is Spanish)

3. My mother is an amazing dancer who used to do all kinds of interpretive new-agey dance routines in college that would make a shy accountant like me cringe. Much to her dismay, I was afflicted with two left feet during my entire childhood and teenage years (since Arab women belly dance when they get together – don’t ask – my total lack of gracefulness was there for the entire Turkish-coffee-sipping community to see). Then I went to Cuba and fell in love with salsa music. I can now dance circles around my mother. Oh, Revenge, how sweet thou art.

4. I am a soup person. Specifically, “cream of” anything soup. If I could eat only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be soup. Or cheese.

5. My senior high school year boyfriend planned on majoring in accounting while I was convinced I would go into marketing. I made fun of his academic aspirations on a regular basis. I am now an accountant.

6. I taught myself fashion illustration at the age of 11 by tracing Katy Keen comics (anyone remember her?) I got pretty darn good at it too, and I was THIS CLOSE to picking fashion design as a career path. Please don’t ask how I went from that to accounting.

7. I have a secret, shameful love of scrunchies (sorry, SJP). Nothing feels nearly as good in my super-dry, over-processed long hair. At least I live on a rock in the middle of the ocean where nobody cares.

8. I used to be “tall for my age” (I’m now barely 5’2”). In my defense, I am taller than Shakira (who stands at 4’11”) and am about the same height as Selma Hayek, Penelope Cruz and Paula Abdul, so there.

9. I hated everything about Dreamgirls except the costumes.

10. I am late for absolutely everything. Most people I know were rolling over in laughter when they found out the title of my first novel, FASHIONABLY LATE (which, if you ask my friends, should be changed to SHAMEFULLY LATE).

Shannon Mckelden, you're up!

Amazing News...

2007-02-04T15:29:00.000-08:00

The news I've been waiting for almost a year now finally came a few days ago... thanks to my amazing, Arabic-speaking Midwestern, world-traveling editor Paul, I have a contract for two more books with TOR/Forge!!!! Weeeeeeee!!!!!

Having one book on the shelves is incredible enough, but THREE???!!! I feel blessed beyond reason. I have no idea what I've done or what lucky star I was born under to have this amazing opportunity, but here's how I plan to make the absolute best of it: I am officially putting an end to my pessimism, and believing in myself and my abilities.

Alisa VR blogged about writers' apparent predisposition to melancholy, depression, and general pessimism. It makes sense to me, this phenomenon. Writers are observers, people who sit just a little outside the circle of normality, people who question everything and are full of wonder. Well, if ignorance is bliss then truth-seeking must be a little taxing on the soul. And while some people can push away uncomfortable thoughts to the backs of their minds with a a bit of help from sports or shopping or work or whatever, I think what makes writers different is that they can't. The inquisitiveness just keeps coming back, together with the feelings of unease that come with it. Add to that the fact that a writer's journey is paved with rejection. It's enough to discourage anyone. And if you've attained some measure of success, the pressure doesn't magically disappear: you're then plagued with the belief that the first time was a fluke, and that you'll never manage to pull it off again.

No more. I'm going to believe that I'll be able t pull this off, and give writing the place it deserves in my life - not just a hobby, but a very serious, worthy pursuit.

...And what kind of good news would be complete without a little splurge? Check this out:

Brave New World… of Cartoons

2007-02-01T15:50:00.000-08:00

With Life taking a turn down Stress Lane lately (it’s more like Stress highway, really) I’ve been turning to cartoons for my escapist comedy fix. Mostly because the local Blockbusters has laid siege to my late-twenty-something sensibilities by stocking a spate of movies starring, among other people I never want to hear about ever again, Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan. (Jon Stewart, in a recent interview with Robin Wright Penn summarized his take on The Problem with Hollywood with this little golden nugget: less Lindsey Lohan, more Robin Wright Penn”).

I have to say, it seems like cartoons nowadays are willing to go where other Hollywood blockbusters fear to tread, that is, escapism sprinkled with a dusting of tell-it-like-it-is social criticism. Considering these movies are big with families, they reach a sizeable chuck of the average (North) American family, unlike the indies, (informative, entertaining, but not nearly as accessible to or sought after by, wide audiences).

Take the movie I watched last night, Over The Hedge. Fabulous. Loved it. If you like Steve Carell’s antics on The Office, you’ll love his rendition of the “idiot savant, minus the savant” Hammy the hyperactive squirrel. Besides the tight plot, hilarious punch lines, sweet characterization and impressive 3-D animation, there’s a clever little embedded message about waste. Specifically how much we humans generate of it. I especially loved how the message was integral to the plot, not an afterthought. Aspiring writers could learn a lot from that.

The gist of the plot is this: creatures of a forest (a turtle, a father-daughter possum duo, a family of hedgehogs, a skunk, and aforementioned hyper squirrel) wake up from hibernation one year only to find that an “oasis of tranquility” suburb has sprung up around them over the winter. Their world is now separated from that of the humans by a mysterious hedge, which they call “Steve” (for lack of a better idea). Enter a renegade, n’er-do-well worldly raccoon who educates them about the empire of the humans, fur-less creatures whose whole lives revolve around food. Transporting it, storing it, freezing it, cooking it, having it delivered, consuming it, and, of critical interest to our furry protagonists, throwing most of it away. Thus begins the ideological struggle between the innovator raccoon who gets the animals addicted to Doritos and Coca Cola, and the old-school turtle preaching the virtues of a diet of bark, leaves, and nuts.

The message here isn’t too subtle, but it’s still a worthy one, and not just to kids who prefer to leave the veggies on their plate untouched.

I waste. A lot. But here’s the deal: if I ate everything that was put in front of me in a restaurant, if I ordered Whoppers instead of Whopper Jrs., and ordered the combo every time someone behind a cash register offered it to me (and let’s not even mention supersizing), I would be obese. Not fat, Obese. There’s been a lot written about this so I won’t go too far with this but, as you may have observed, the more fresh, high quality your food is (like say fruits, veggies, and fresh lean meat), the more expensive it is (compare how much it would cost to make a burger, fries and salad out of scratch with buying a McDonald’s combo meal). So obesity is partially an economic class issue as well (which, in America, makes it a race issue to boot). Add on the Wal-Mart effect which I blogged about a few weeks ago (i.e. bringing down prices – including the price of our food – by bringing down quality), and you have a cartoon with a seemingly simple message that actually goes a long, long way. The kind of “waste” addressed in Over the Hedge isn’t the kind your mama warned you about when she made you eat your broccoli and carrots. It’s the kind of “waste” we as a society have accepted to live with in order to protect our individual right to a high-fat burger, a cheap salmon fillet, or a chicken nuggets made from mutant, diseased chickens. And then people wonder why they’re constantly fighting losing battles with their expanding waistlines. Yes, individual responsibility is vital, but so is recognizing when the odds are stacked against you (more so if you have the misfortunes of being poor and/or a member of a disadvantaged minority). Over the Hedge, people. It’s mindless escapism minus the mindless.

The other cartoon I saw recently has been getting some heat from conservative pundits who’ve called it “left-wing propaganda”. I’m referring to Happy Feet, the penguin movie (penguins are having a great decade in Hollywood, wouldn’t you say?).

Though global warming is never actually addressed full on, it’s in every scene, behind every plot twist. In the cracked ice-sheets, the cascading snow off of cliffs, the floating bits off icebergs that carry Mumble the penguin away from his family. And, here too, the human obsession with hoarding food (thus disrupting food chains which ultimately leads to mass extinction across many species) drives the plot.

I’m loving how it’s mostly cartoons and “fake”-news shows like Jon Stewart and Colbert who are raising awareness – in a way that appeals to the masses – about some of the most pressing issues of our times.

PS - Some very exciting writing news are on the way... stay tuned!

Sad Stereotyping From a Beloved Author

2007-01-16T15:13:00.000-08:00

Two posts in one day – I’m on a roll.

But this one couldn’t wait. I was really, really saddened last night when upon the blog of one of my favorite, most cherished chick lit (or any lit, really) writers ever were chapters from a novel-in-progress which edged a little too close for my comfort toward the negative Arab-man stereotype (the only way I’ve seen Arab women portrayed in literature is downtrodden and miserable, or saintly and sacrificing, or else forcing other women into submission because that’s all they’ve ever know… pretty one-dimensional stuff). I took this particularly hard because this is an author who’s inspired me very much with the way she’s called the American media on their racial stereotypes, and the way they’ve subverted meaningful debate by asking all the wrong, inflammatory, and stupid questions.

I won’t go too far with this, but there were some things about this Arab character that were somewhat anti-stereotypical in that at least he wasn’t a terrorist (which, I started worrying about when I saw he was being represented as filthy rich and sketchy). He was a well-educated though woefully ill-equipped-in-bed character who takes our beloved member-of-a-misrepresented-minority heroine to bed under dubious circumstances (which make us wonder for a second if she was drugged, or about-to-be drugged), bangs her rather unceremoniously, and then tells her that not only is he married, but to several women. It turns out our protagonist picked a polygamist, teeny-weeny penised Arab man - from a very fashionable Gulf country (as in accessible, modern, a staunch US ally, and a burgeoning tourist destination) – for her fling.

I thought we were done with the filthy-oil-rich-polygamist, (and Oh-so-80s) cliché. Replaced by the much more twenty-first century poverty-stricken-terrorist-wretch stereotype. This, from sub-par literature, I have no problem with. Everyone gets stereotyped against, from drug-dealing Latinos and thick-accented maids, to Noble Savage (or just plain savage) Native Americans. But this particular author had expended much energy on dispelling certain stereotypes in her body of work, so maybe that’s why I took the don’t-you-stereotype-me-but-I-can-do-it-all-I-want blow so much to heart.

Here’s the thing with Muslim polygamy, in case you were curious. It exists, so I wouldn’t hesitate to use it in one of my own novels, if I thought it served the plot, and – here’s the key point – if I presented it correctly. Otherwise it’s just perpetuating hateful these-people-are-wacko type stereotypes.

A note on explaining things: explaining is not excusing, or even forgiving. It’s just making an effort to get where something comes from, put it in context. The desert was a very polygamous place when Mohammed showed up, circa 600 AD. Mohammed himself took several wives in the name of forming alliances after his first wife – to whom he remained faithful – died. These were also times of much war and little charity. Widows and orphans were left to fend for themselves, as at that time, women, whether in the Middle East or Europe, had about as many rights as domestic animals did. Maybe less. Mohammed would have known all about that, being an orphan himself. So when he gained following and power, he put a cap on the number of wives a man could take (4), and gave those wives several key rights that it would take European women many, many, many hundreds more years to catch up to, namely: divorce, inheritance, property, dowry (payable TO the bride’s family as collateral in case of divorce – an alimony of sorts – not BY them).

Fast forward 1,400 years. One of the major tenants of Islam is that the Qur’an is the literal, written word of God (disclaimer: I believe ALL organized religions are bullshit. I’m just reporting on this as a socio-anthropological phenomenon). There is no room for doubt in Islam (unlike the Bible which is said to be the “inspired” word of God – we know there are several versions of the Bible, several interpretations, hence all the different denominations of Christianity. Not so with the Qur’an. The schism between Sunni and Shia Islam is political, not theological).

This makes it absolutely impossible for practicing Muslims to challenge their spiritual beliefs (which probably explains most of our problems right there). So no amendments or footnotes to the Qur’an to the effect of: “You know what, we thought about this four wives thing and it’s just way too fifth century…” It may as well have been written in stone.

With the advent of secularism in the Muslim world, what many Muslim countries have done in the past century is simply outlaw polygamy (e.g. Lebanon, Tunisia, among others). But, as you very well know, the custom is alive and well in countries that practice the Sharia’h (or Qur’anic) law verbatim (notably Saudi Arabia, the US’s most important ally in the Middle East). Nonetheless, polygamy, wherever it is practiced, is mainly limited to:

A) The insanely rich, like royalty and nobility – they tend to be very traditional, and can afford to dole out four identical Manolo Blahniks at a time;
B) The insanely poor, as nothing multiplied or divided by four is still nothing
C) The very old fashioned country folk who are still working the land (where have 4 times as many sons to tend the land, and 4 times more likelihood a couple will pull through infant mortality, is a plus)

The only instances of polygamy you will see amongst educated, modern, middle-class people are where a sleazy guy is “cheating” on his wife by taking a wife #2, equated in Arabic pop culture to taking a mistress. Neither wife would know the other exists, and should they find out, they’d treat the guy as though he’d cheated. No difference. Most of Arabic soap opera drama is based on this type of conflict, whereas you’d never see outright cheating on TV – that’s just a little too indecent for our religion-seeped souls.

My grandfather was, strictly-speaking, a polygamist but I didn’t know it until I was in my late teens. I just thought he was a confirmed bachelor after two failed attempts at marriage. His family chose my grandmother for him (illiterate 13 year-old Syrian woman from the countryside) when he was young himself. He wasn’t really interested in her seeing as he was educated and rapidly rising up the ranks as a businessman in booming Saudi Arabia. I don’t know if he had already separated from her when he met the woman who’d become his second wife, but for all intents and purposes, he separated from my grandmother, and was then with this other woman (whom he also separated from before I was born – hence why I thought he was unmarried). It never occurred to me that my grandparents never divorced, but I’m pretty sure that my poor, illiterate country-bumpkin grandmother would have infinitely preferred this fate over that of being a divorcee.

So there you have it – it is possible, I suppose, to pick up a thrice-married Arab man in a seedy tourist bar, as this author portrayed in her draft. But if he were royalty (scenario A), he’s more likely to be gallivanting around a casino in Monaco. Men from scenarios B and C are as likely to be found in said bar as the Earth is to be hit by a meteorite in the next three seconds. Oil-rich Emirs don’t grow on trees, despite what the Harlequins of yore told us. There are some 11,000-odd Saudi Princes and Princesses out there who squander their country’s natural resources at the expense of their citizens’ educations, infrastructure, and future. They deserve all the bad press they get. But what about the other 299,989,000 Arabs out there for whom polygamy is nothing more than a shadow of a long-gone past? If a liberal, anti-discrimination, deeply intelligent, outspoken media critic won’t attempt a nuanced picture of Arabs then I’m at my wits’ end.

I’m all for entertainment, and you can pick your bad guys out of any ethnicity you want. But it’s transcending stereotype through effective characterization that elevates your work to greatness. I thought this writer’s first few novels were the stuff of greatness, and I really hope that this ‘draft’ is just that – a raw draft – and that somehow the rest of the story makes up for this overplayed cliché.

New Voices in YA Chick Lit

2007-01-16T10:01:00.000-08:00

I attempted to set up my first booksigning this weekend. I’m not sure about this, but I may be planning a little too far ahead. I may have to start culling some of my sisters in writings’ expertise… it’s a bit a maze sometimes, all this promotion stuff. But the lovely thing about living in Cayman is that there are basically two bookstores, the owners of one, The Book Nook, are some of the loveliest people I’ve ever met. One day, shortly after I sold, I ordered Publicize Your Book by Jacqueline Deval from them. It being a family-run sort of place (like many businesses here), Barbara, half of the dynamo team that runs the shop, pulled the book from behind the counter when it arriveda week later and looked up at me, impressed. “You wrote a book?!”

It’s been love ever since. Every time I’m in the store, every single customer in there with me gets an introduction and, ever since I gave Barbara an ARC, a sales pitch as well though the book isn’t even out yet. They’ve suffered the long-drawn agony of waiting for Fashionably Late to hit the shelves along with me since they knew about the sale even before some of my relatives did. They still can’t believe it takes that long to publish a book (and they’re in the business!) but their enthusiasm hasn’t dimmed one bit. So naturally, The Book Nook on Grand Cayman Island is where I’ll be holding my first signing in June. Yay me!

Okay, now for some major news… one that I have already hinted about just after Christmas… two of my best writing friends EVER, two of the kindest, most supportive, considerate girls I’ve met on this journey… got the call!!!!! THE call.

Wendy Toliver is the proud author of The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren (working title), a book about a band geek who turns into a Siren on her sixteenth birthday. It’s slated for publication by Simon Pulse in their romantic comedy line in fall of 2007. If you liked Venus Envy, you’ll love this YA take on mythology meets incredulous, reluctant heroines. Shannon’s Venus is alive and well in Roxy’s insanely beautiful (or just plain insane, depending on your point of view…) Grandma Perkins, who’s more of a Daryl Hannah in Splash! than Angela Lansbury. And Roxy herself is a younger, scarred by the Proud Crowd rather than embezzling ex-boyfriends, Rachel.

And as if that weren’t sweet enough, How To Salsa in a Sari by the lovely Dona Sarkar has been bought by Harlequin for their YA line (ask her where she got that snazzy title, he he)Dona has written lots before, like the wonderful Desi Divas – don't you love that title? – about three Indian-American girls and one wannabe Indian American girl juggling life, love, career, and crazy parents in Seattle… maybe now that Grey’s Anatomy put Seattle on the romantic drama/comedy map, we’ll see a demand for books based in Seattle? Who knows how this mysterious “demand” thing works? As far as I know, How To Salsa in a Sari is a Latino West meets Indian East tale where two families from these different backgrounds come together, forcing two very different girls to become stepsisters. Are you surprised it sold? I’m not.

What I find fascinating is that these two authors both started out as chick lit writers, weathered the ‘chick lit is SO not selling’ storm, and have now sold in YA. And they’re not alone… Just off the top of my head I can think of Alisa VR with her Haters, Beth Kendrick’ Life as a Poser who have branched out to Young Adult. And then there are authors I know who have gone the complete other way towards very sexy chick lit (not that anyone’s calling it chick lit, mind you).

Have any of these authors changed their tone? The feistyness of their leading chicas? Their label or pop-culture-references-dropping?

Nope.

In fact, I’m willing to bet you these are the stylistic elements that made them rise above the pack and sell today. Because writing the gut wrenching, emotional, lay-it-on-the-line-and-make-me-FEEL-it style is tough, people. It’s what makes chick lit closer to mainstream than romance (like say, an Emily Giffin or Jennifer Weiner novel).

So perhaps it’s not authors and their so-called ‘formulaic writing’ that killed the chick lit phenomenon…but the publishers themselves? Maybe they just had one too many pastel pink stiletto-plastered covers designed for their (and our) own good.

The cover of Fashionably Late was almost one of those cartooney ones (which I liked very much actually, because let me tell something… that girl shown may have been a cartoon, but she was Arabic, the way you might see an Arab at the mall without really knowing that’s who she is, just knowing she has a not-from-here-maybe-Greek-maybe-Italian-maybe-Latina-but-not-really air about her, and it felt mighty good to represent and be represented. Positively. For once.). The cover Tor/Forge eventually went with was pretty much the polar opposite of this, and though I was confused by it at first, I’m absolutely thrilled with it now. Because no one will be able to “box” my writing because of it. Some readers might recognize the chick lit elements in it and pronounce it Chick Lit. Others will see the grappling-with-immigration struggle and see it as mainstream. Still others might appreciate it as an off-the-beaten-track travelogue, or an unconventional romance. It’s all of these things, which is why we should resist putting things in tightly confined boxes when they should free to become whatever the reader’s imagination wants them to become. Chick lit is in the eye of the beholder. And it’s certainly not dead.

Grey's Anatomy and The Problem with Men

2007-01-05T12:29:00.000-08:00

I realize it may be a little late to post about this seeing as I saw the original blog entry several weeks ago, but I was busy and then I forgot. Perhaps I was unconsciously saving my rant for a light news week, or delaying having to post up my doomed New Year’s resolutions for the world to see. Whatever.

The blog entry in question was composed by a seemingly bitter young man who, like anyone who wants to avoid difficult answers, set up a poll on huffingtonpost.com asking females at large this: if you had to choose between George and Alex, who would you pick?

The George referred to in this case is, of course, the affable, cuddly and hopelessly relationship-challenged George of Grey’s Anatomy, and Alex, the womanizing cad of the same show.

Honestly.

So women’s choices boil down to this: a sexy but cheating jerk, or a clueless nice guy. Huh.

What happened to the guys on the show who are actually getting some? Like say, Burke and Shepard?

I suppose the blogger may have purposely limited the choice as a means of trying to get down to the ‘essence’ of women’s nature, like, what are our true, deepest, core desires? To be loved as we are, or to be satisfied in bed? If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say that poor guy had just gotten dumped and decided to vent his disdain for womankind on the blogosphere.

I wonder if what the poor blogger meant to say was that we women are never happy because we aspire to snagging guys like Shepard and Burke while overlooking the puppy-eyed, tongue-tied, lost little boy panting at our feet (I’m assuming the author identifies with George since he explained at length that only a hedonistic, emotionally-challenged woman would go for Alex).

Grow up, whatever your name is. Women don’t want little boys (like George. I’m not buying the whole Callie storyline, btw.) Or frat boys (like Alex). Women want men. Like Burke and Shepard. Confident sans the machismo, in-control without being domineering, and tender when it counts. And being good in the sack never hurt either.

Good luck, my friend.

New Year Resolution - Part 1

2007-01-04T14:27:00.000-08:00

This New Year’s day I was invited to a brunch where I didn’t know too many people (Champagne brunching followed by some passing out drunk on the beach is quite the holiday tradition ‘round these parts, especially for us ‘Holiday orphans’, that is, expats who can’t go home and have to contend with each others’ company on the island for the festive season).

Anyway, I had absolutely no intention of opening my mouth and causing a stir (as opening my mouth inevitable does). I just wanted to talk weather and enjoy my mimosas in peace and goodwill. Alas, the Universe had other plans.

I’d just finished reading The Wal-Mart Effect (as you faithful blog readers know), and, with the most innocent of intentions, I started telling my (one) acquaintance at the table about it since we like to talk non-fiction books. My friend is a successful business entrepreneur, quasi venture capitalist, and free market theory is God to him, so he had an opinion on the book I’d just read. As part of some good-natured brunch banter, I opined back, and then a few other people joined in, and before I knew it, Middle East politics were dragged into the fray and “just out of curiosity, where are you from?” popped up.

Hilarious.

There were two running jokes at the table, the first, that I consciously tried to hold my tongue under the pretext that my new year’s resolution is to stop shouting politics/economics at people during civilized gatherings (but it was hard to quell the steam rising out of my ears), and two, I kept referring to this one guy arguing with me ‘sir’ which someone else at the table finally called me out on: that my ‘sir’ was disguising some seething contempt. Humph. In my defense, A) I’d never met the guy before in my life, and B) He looked like he had children my age (okay, okay, small children. I still have to remind myself I’m not fifteen anymore). I thought ‘sir’ was appropriate (and maybe just a teeny little bit contemptful… whatever).

Anyway, the point to all this is that it was brought up in this discussion, as with most others I’ve had, that people feel like I know a whole lot more (and am biased, but that’s a whole other post) on some topics that they do, some even admit that you can never know a whole lot just by watching CNN or Fox News, and that molding miscellaneous factoids into an argument that makes sense is either a talent or a product of the mystical “knowing a whole lot”.

It’s really not all that complicated. Maybe I am n fact biased here, because I am, first and foremost, a reader. I think to read is to be curious about life, people, everything around you. And whether you like it or not, you’ll learn something. True, knowledge without wisdom can be dangerous, but lots of reading = lots of knowledge + time = some wisdom, a little bit at a time.

There are no absolute answers in life, people (as in, Is Wal-Mart evil?) but there are connectors in our brains, and the more we read (it’s hard for TV to do this unless you are watching a documentary, because TV tends to give you sound bites without the necessary context), the more we can connect the dots, and eventually (hopefully) form better, more well-rounded arguments.

Case in point: remember in my last post when I mentioned reading Ines of My Soul, and The Wal-Mart Effect? Two completely and totally unrelated books. And yet, while one covers (briefly) the enslavement (mainly to work in gold and silver mines) of the native peoples of Chile, The Wal-Mart Effect explains, using as an example the impoverished of Chile, how Wal-Mart makes everything cheap. And I was able to use all that in my argument. I wish all the things I learned at school were as easy to remember (and understand!) as all the knowledge I get from books.

So let’s all resolve to read lots more in 2007!

Epilogue: ‘Sir’ and I walked away from the brunch table friends.

New Year Joy

2006-12-31T08:34:00.000-08:00

First things first: HAPPY NEW YEAR to all of you and may you get to enjoy in 2007 the fruits of all your hard work, your passions and your dreams. I happen to know one such person, who, just on the eve of the holiday season, received the best news a writer could hope for, but I'm going to wait to tell you guys until I have her permission to post. All I can say is, you totally deserve this and I couldn't be happier!!!(you know who you are...)

I have to say on this eve of the New Year that there's been quite some excitement in our household as well. I went home for the holidays for the first time in five years and was greeted with a deceptive plus six degree Celsius (which is pretty warm for December 22nd) only to wake up to 25 cm of snow (that's about a foot... I think... let's just saw "a whole lotta") on the morning of December 26th. So I didn't have a white Christmas, but I had a lovely, chilly, slushy, but white Boxing Day (that's the peculiar name we citizens of the Commonwealth have for December 26th).

Ok, the excitement... my lovey editor Paul had a bunch of copies of the Fashionably Late ARC sent to my parents' address in Montreal, so I got to come home to this:

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

My friend and I even took a copy to our local bookstore and put it on a shelf next to the new releases just to see what it would look like (yes, very dorky, I know). But it was definitely a huge thrill. Even more thrilling was watching my parents' eyes light up when they saw the novel was dedicated to them. I'm not one of those types to believe in "positive visualization" or whatever picturing yourself achieving something as a means of actually achieving it is called, but that moment was one I had played over and over in my head, those years I had been working on FL. Next step... visualize myself finishing novel #2...

And that's not all... check this out.

How crazy is that??? I had no idea it would be up on Amazon (and Chapters.ca for you Canucks out there) so soon!!! It was my mother-in-law who discovered this and is now, officially, the first person to have ordered Fashionably Late! (Merci, J!!)

I also did a lot of catching up on my reading these past few days as nothing beats staying in with a cup of hot tea white it's drizzling frozen rain outside... there was also a lot of airport time which most people dread, but you know what? I LOVE airport time (provided you're not running around from counter to counter because you were bumped off your flight, and/or your luggage has gone AWOL, and/or your flight's been delayed five hours, or, better yet, indefinitely) No, my friends, this Christmas flying experience was all-around fabulous. It started with a certain someone in my traveling party (who knows who he is and should be ashamed) dragging me to the "US Citizens Only" line with an air of confidence and implacability which I mistook for knowing what the hell he was doing. I was wrong. First question we were asked when we presented our Canadian passports to the Department of Homeland Security officer was "why are you in my line", and when the certain guilty party feigned not knowing what the customs officer was talking about, I began planning how I'd get word to my family that I'd be missing Christmas because I had been thrown in a Guantanamo Bay jail cell indefinitely. After some "it wasn't my idea! It wasn't my idea!"'s from yours truly, the kindly officer let us go without throwing us back into the sorry hordes of the International Visitors line-ups with a "hey, it's Christmas" (God bless that wonderful man).

After that we were free to enjoy all the consumerist joys of America that are denied to us in the Cayman Islands, like Borders and Starbucks. And I got hours of guilt-free, maybe-I-should-be-doing-something-more-productive reading.

So here's what I read these past few days:

Ines of My Soul by Isabel Allende. This is supposedly not one of her best, but I adored it. You will too if you're into historical fiction that's more historical than fiction (or at least, it reads that way) and if you like swashbuckling adventure. There's a lot of romance here (just like in Zorro) but unlike historical romances, it's not the point. The point is the adventure, and in this case, the adventure is the conquest of Chile and Peru to a lesser extent). I think Allende was trying to be as fair as possible to both sides by getting into the minds of both the native peoples and the conquistadors, but as with stories of great injustices and suffering, like say slavery or the colonialism, "bad guys" do emerge, and their motivations: gold, greed, glory, evangelizing, just aren't enough to make them human. At least not to me, and I've always been a sucker for novels like Roots (which this was NOT - it was from the POV of Ines, a conquistadora). All in all, it was a page-turner most of the time, and it made me want to read Allende's backlist.

The Wal-Mart Effect by Charles Fishman. Maybe it's the geeky business grad in me, but multinationals that shape our lives fascinate me (I told you I was on a non-ficion kick...). This particular Wal-Mart critique (and there have been many) is that it really doesn't have an agenda beyond explaining, as scientifically as possible, how Wal-Mart has changed commerce in out times. When I say 'our times' we're talking so recently that many things I learned at business school are woefully outdated now that Wal-Mart's on the scene. It's not Wal-Mart bashing, nor praising really, but it's a great study of the phenomenon.

The Greatest Story Ever Sold by Frank Rich. This one's about the Iraq war. Now, I know that the biggie out there on this subject is Bob Woodward's State of Denial, but forgive me if he's not my go-to guy on matters of the Bush administration since he's published two Bush suck-up books (Plan of Attack, Bush at War) previous to this one where it would seem he finally saw the light (and now, apparently, Bush won't talk to him anymore...) Frank Rich has been critical of the Iraq war from day one, so no "flip-flopping" here to borrow a page from Bush propaganda tactics. I won't say I loved it: it was dry reading at times (but hey, it's politics, not chick lit), and to me personally, I didn't really learn anything new. What I wanted the most, I didn't get, which was a deep look into the WHY of this whole ordeal, when this book was 250 pages of HOW. he author skims over possible motivations in two pages which wasn't good enough for me, but I guess this was outside the scope of the book (just look at the title). He does however string all the milestones of the war from 9/11 to the present day so you can clearly see how the American people were made to think the Iraq War was a good idea. So good reading if you're confused about the whole thing and want some clearing up of the facts, without too much opinion thrown in.

... I think I've overdue for some good ol'chick lit, what do you think??? I just got my hands on the fabulous Shannon McKeldon's Venus Envy and can't wait to dig in!

Have a great New Year everybody!

IT'S HERE!!!!!!

2006-12-17T11:20:00.000-08:00

Well... what do you guys think?

Definitely a move away from the 'chick' covers we're warned are taking a nosedive, but I do love that blue water so... very vacation-y, wouldn't you say? Now I just have to cross my fingers and hope Barnes & Noble, Borders, Chapters, Indigo et al. like it too...

Exciting Times in Hi-Tech Beauty

2006-12-13T13:37:00.000-08:00

The Cayman Islands are many things, but one thing they most definitely are not is avant-garde. So imagine my surprise, when one fine day as I lay on my esthetician’s worktable, slick wax paper crackling under my back, I happen to look over to one side in an effort to get my mind off the mind-bending pain I was being subjected to, and what do I see? A sign for a brand-spanking new procedure I had just read about in Marie-Claire (the UK edition, no less) and had thought to myself when I read it: “man, wouldn’t I love to get this done if only I didn’t live on this rock”.

I won’t tell you what this procedure is quite yet as I'm thrilled to report I’ll be getting it done this Thursday, just in time for my Christmas party (so in case some people from the office are reading this... let’s see how perceptive you are!)

Hint: yes, the effects will be visible to the naked eye, but I highly doubt anyone will be able to pinpoint exactly what I’ve done to myself. More hints: it should actually be fun, unlike, say, laser treatments and chemical peels. It’s in the same fun-ness league as getting your hair dyed a drastic new color. It’s also very avant-gardiste indeed (and very, very frivolous, as in I-can’t-believe-this-is-what-you-spend-your-hard-earned-money-on, make no mistake about it), and I’m pretty sure most of you haven’t heard about it yet. Then again, I do live on a rock in the middle of the ocean, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you laughed me out of the blogosphere after I disclose the results this weekend (we’ve know about it for ages daahrling, do try and keep up!)

Any lucky guessers out there? And I do promise to give you a full report, this weekend after my office Christmas party.

On the book front, I’ve got a surprise coming up for you… I just have to get the green light from my editor, and it’ll be up on my blog asap!

PS: I do apologize for not being able to post a picture of my Jimmy Choo obsession in my last entry… I have a hate-hate relationship with Blogger right now

Unthrifty Kind of Mood

2006-12-08T13:54:00.000-08:00

It is absolutely impossible to be thrifty around Christmas time, no matter how hard you try. Maybe it’s just me.

Every year I get burned with the January sales, and, since I’m all the way in the Cayman Islands, the Land Before Malls, and am not planning a no-holds-barred pre-Christmas shopping trip this year, I figure it’s the perfect time to try and save my pennies for the inevitable post-Holiday retail slump where I can stock up on useless-but-pretty things to my heart’s desire. I’ve been doing pretty well, though yesterday, I finally succumbed to temptation.

I walked into a bookstore, and walked away eighty bucks poorer. Sigh. Three hardcover books, two non-fiction, (I’ve been seriously neglecting my non-fiction of late, and I do love it so. It’s just not the kind of thing that’s relaxing to read after a long rough day at work but I blame my burst of enthusiasm on two documentary DVDs I rented last weekend), and one historical fact/fiction medley, Inés of My Soul by Isabel Allende. I read her Zorro, and it kinda, sorta felt like a cross between Gabriel Garcia Marqués (but with less magic-realism weirdness) and Alexandre Dumas (with less can’t-put-it-down swash-buckliness) but all-together a superb novel. I hope Inés of My Soul will be in the same vein.

Did I stop at the bookstore? Nope. Proceeded to walk over to the ONE designer clothing store on the island, and fell in love (actually, it was more like ‘like’ but desperation and self-denial will do that to a girl) with a brownish-red (tag says ‘clay’) and white print BCBG wrap dress, reminiscent of the Diane von Furstenberg I put Ali (the main character in Fashionably Late) in in the novel (I would like to take the opportunity to point out that I am very jealous of Ali’s wardrobe, and have vowed to catch up with her by the time my launch party rolls around this June).

I did also try on a gorgeous little black silk/satin/sequins number which would have been PERFECT for my upcoming Christmas party but decided to leave my crimes at the BCBG dress, which didn’t quite break the bank (the LBD however, would have).

At least I still haven’t succumbed to the hypnotic retail power of these Jimmy Choos, though I have been lusting after them for five month now, and counting (ahem, friends, family….)

What do you think?

(I'd post an image but blogger won't let me : ( Any help would be appreciated...)

Muslim Elected to Congress... and the Ensuing Hoopla

2006-12-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

I just couldn’t resist jumping all over this one.

DISCLAMER: I am Muslim. By birth. In practical terms, I’m probably what some might call an evangelical atheist, in that I have a passionate belief in science and logic as opposed to wild leaps of the imagination to explain the (as of yet) unexplainable. In the words of my newfound idol, Dr. Richard Dawkins, “God may very well exist, but would be vastly beyond what has ever been imagined by any theologian or prophet the world has ever known” (apologies for the paraphrasing).

I can assure you this is a genes/pre-ordained personality thing as I was not brought up by hippies. In fact, when I was around 6 or 7, having seen some footage of the sixties and early seventies and somehow having made the link that this was my parents’ era, I thought apt to ask: “Mommy, did you used to be a hippie?” to which I received a very dirty look and a “Shame on you!” [spit, spit].

So no, I was not brought up by Godless hippies. I was however raised in the uber-repressive Saudi Arabia, but lest you think my atheism is merely a personal conduit for rebellion against “the system”, it’s really not: my parents are both quite liberal and perfectly reasonable (despite not being hippies). My mother is “practicing” in the personal, compassionate sort of way that compels her to buy Jesus calendars from nuns because well, they’re nuns and who can say no to nuns?, while my father is extremely well-versed in the Qur’an having studied it at grammar school but has decided over the years that it’s pretty much all gobbledygook.

So there you have it.

Now, with that in mind, I’d like us to look at this article I read this morning. There have been several instances while living in Canada where I’ve had to swear on the bible. Like the time I was working in the States and was unable to get back to Canada in time to vote in our election, but wanted to vote anyway, so I had to do it ahead of the election and swear that on the particular date of the election, I could not be in Canada. I guess I could have made a big stink and refused to swear on anything but the Qur’an, but (please see disclaimer above) I went along because really don’t care. Really, REALLY don’t care. The respectful thing to do would have been to say that to have someone like me swear on the bible would be an insult not to me, but to Christianity, because when you make people who don’t believe in something swear by it just to humor you, their doing just that, humoring you. They are not respecting you. Respect would be having enough faith in you that they feel confident they can tell you that as far as they are concerned, religious book X is gobbledygook, and swearing by it would be an insult to both parties not to mention the integrity of the ritual. But really, they don’t have all that much respect for the ritual at all (or you) and they go along with it anyway. And so the charade continues.

So, when a newly elected official to a United States body of government respectfully declines to swear on the bible, you should take it not as s sign of disrespect for the bible or the traditions of the US, but as quite the opposite. It is in fact a sign of respect for the institutions and rituals of United States system of governance. And yes, I’ve heard the “this is America, and Americans are Christians and if you don’t like it leave” argument told to me (just substitute “Canada” for “America”) more times than I can count. I’m glad the author of the post chose to include this handy quote from the constitution: Article VI, section 3, "...no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the United States."

Darn those liberal Founders indeed!

How I Met Orlando Bloom... (I promise, I did)

2006-12-03T17:47:00.000-08:00

I’ve been promising for ages to post my Orlando Bloom encounter story, but between proofreads, proposals, and month-end trading, it just hasn’t happened. Seeing as the proposal has now been handed in, the proofreads done (and the sheer amount of proofreading required before the publication of a novel should be the subject of its own post…) and with month-end (nearly) behind me, I should probably get to it, before the details of the story becoming blurry even to me…

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you’ll have heard me say just how small this island is. Well, when the indie movie Haven was released not too long ago, directed by the Cayman Islands’ very own Frank E. Flowers, everyone here was very excited. After all, probably half of the inhabitants of Grand Cayman are, knowingly or not, extras in the movie (like, say, a bouncer at one of our nightclubs who figures as a drug dealer…). And of course, those of us who didn’t get a chance to bump into Orlando while he was down here filming (like moi, unfortunately) were hoping for a second chance if he decided to come down here to promote Haven, which he did, a few weeks ago…

Unlike most of our celebrity sightings news, this one was splashed all over the newspapers (well… the one newspaper) and word spread pretty quickly that Orlando would be at the Ritz on this given Friday night (the Ritz having obliterated any other see-and-be-seen locale since it opened last year).

So my sister, myself, and everyone I know who hasn’t retired from the party circuit yet, got decked out in our denim-and-fabulous-heels-and-tops best and dropped by the Ritz cocktail lounge in the hopes that the rumors were true.

The Ritz cocktail lounge was somewhat but not much more crowded than it usually is on a Friday night, but there was definitely something different in the air… I read a newspaper article once that described Julia Roberts’ presence in a Montreal restaurant where the patrons were stunned to be seated in the same eatery as the star, but had the class not to mob her – the only evidence that she was there was the almost palpable feeling that everyone was holding their collective breath. This is exactly how the Ritz lounge felt like that night, with Orlando Bloom, in jeans, a t-shirt and a fedora over his tied-back hair sitting on the same sofa I’d plopped into on other Fridays, with his small entourage.

Of course we all gawked while trying hard to pretend we weren’t doing just that. My brave friend asked if she could take a picture with him (the response: “if I said yes, luv, it’d never stop”) and me just thrilled to be in spitting distance from him.

The festivities continued at a local club which had just opened and where it’s important to note a certain bartender works, one who is very good friends with my sister.

Orlando and his party occupied the VIP lounge located on the second floor, the entrance of which was guarded by a pair of bouncers.

My sister, our friends and I were happy to boogie on the first floor, and not in any desperate state to try and sneak up to the second floor. My sister then slipped away to get a drink, and I didn’t see her for the next twenty minutes, at which point the words out of her mouth were: “do you wanna meet Orlando?”.

Turns out her bartender friend had asked her just the same question when she walked up to the bar, and then dragged her up the staff stairs to the VIP area, and thrust her in Orlando’s face. And then left. Orlando was a total gentleman, said hi, while my sister was momentarily star-struck and couldn’t think of anything better to say than ask him his opinion about the situation in the Middle East. This seemed to throw Orlando off, and he stumbled his way through a manufactured answer but the ice was broken. They chatted, and twenty minutes later, my sister remembered that she’d left us all downstairs.

She apologized and said she had to get back to her friends, to which Orlando graciously answered: “why don’t you bring them up here?”

“Because there are two bouncers at the VIP entrance.” She said.

“Just say you’re with me.”

To which my sister cocked an eyebrow and retorted, : “um… yes, I’ll just say I’m with Orlando…”

Turns out Mr. Bloom has a sense of humor and recognized the absurdity of his own words. He went downstairs with her and instructed the bouncers to let her, and anyone who came with her, back upstairs when she was ready.

And that’s when she came to get me. Had it been someone else, I would have been a bit skeptical at thought they had somehow cozied up with a celeb in the span of 20 minutes, but if you knew my sister, you would have believed her too when she dragged you past the bouncers, up the stairs, tapped Orlando on the shoulder and said: “this is my sister, Nadine.”

What’s the protocol in these situations? What do you say? He was very nice and normal, and instead of “I love your work” or “so nice to meet you” I asked him if he was planning to do any diving while he was in town to which he replied he would love to but wouldn’t have the chance. We shook hands, and I wished him a pleasant stay in the Cayman Islands.

And that’s how I met Mr. Orlando Bloom. Not very glam, but there you have it. It was exciting, but I’m more excited my proofreads are over.

Why I Should Try Really Really Hard not to Hate On Playboy

2006-11-12T17:34:00.000-08:00

Because way too many people hate on fabulous publications like Marie-Claire that should in fact be lauded for making essential knowledge and hard-hitting journalism accessible to normal people. (I’m not suggesting that people who read, say, The Economist exclusively aren’t normal, but I wouldn’t want to go bar-hopping with them, would you?)

It’s important – nay, critical – to learn how to deliver a message to your target audience in such a way that said audience will give you the time of day. Lots of people like to complain about the garbage that Hollywood spews out on a regular basis, but when was the last time any of you sat through a whole episode on Meet the Press. Seriously? (Do you even know what I’m talking about?)

It’s not your fault. I can’t sit through that crap even though I care so much about politics I go into an epileptic seizure when an unsuspecting bystander makes the mistake of asking me my opinion on the subject. I’ve always thought that getting informed is crucial to civilized life, but man can it be boring and so damned dry sometimes!

Here’s the thing though: it really doesn’t have to be. Enter Marie-Claire (and yes, sigh, Playboy, which is known for serving respected journalism and literature as a side to its main offering of boobs and butts. Sorry)

Enter, also, authors. There’s a common thread I’ve identified among all the great books I can remember reading lately: Dirty Girls’ Social Club, Ishmael, A Short Story of Nearly Everything. They’ve taught me something. Painlessly.

The first book in this list is a popular women’s fiction novel that tells in very entertaining fashion, the story of six very different American Latinas. It sneaks Knowledge into your unsuspecting brain like Flinstones vitamins into kids’ welcoming mouths. You didn’t ask for knowledge. You asked for a sexy, raunchy, fashion-label-filled story about young(ish) contemporary women, dammit. Instead you learned that Latinas come in many more shades and economic backgrounds than you see on the evening news, that there is such a thing as a Cuban Jew, that Mexican politics are about as relevant to the Dominicans and Puerto Ricans of Boston as Manchester United’s latest victory over Arsenal is to you (i.e. not in the least). And you were completely unsuspecting of this learning until the next time you saw a Latina and caught yourself wondering if she was a Puerto Rican with citizenship rights, a Dominican with none, a Cuban who fled Cuba before Castro had a chance to nationalize her family’s sugar plantation or one whose family was poor and got a house and health care out of the Revolution.

In other words, you became sensitive to the world’s many textures, and it didn’t hurt one bit.

Now, I know that not every magazine needs to be a Marie-Claire. Sometimes you really just want to know what those eleven best-kept sex secrets are (even though you have a sneaky suspicion they highly resemble last month’s six best ways to keep your man happy, but whatever) instead of why women are being hunted and killed in Darfur. And sometimes the latest Kate Husdon blockbuster does more to sooth the soul than a debate about the rise of religious fundamentalism on BBC America.

So, dear readers, when you think to yourself you should really try to get a grasp on the campaign contributions reform bill but can’t get through the boring, jargon-riddled article in The Economist and then feel guilty, pick up a Marie-Claire instead, and be thankful that you can catch up on those pesky human-interest issues Fox News doesn’t like to talk about AND get your fashion fix at the same time.

Or, if you’re a guy, I guess you can pick up a Playboy. It’s better than giving up on the whole getting informed thing.

And for you authors, think about how immortality can be achieved through truth. You don’t have to be writing about Darfur to write true. Just pick up Alisa’s Dirty Girls’ Social Club and you’ll see.