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Thursday, July 1, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Mother's Day Contest WINNER
I had so much fun reading all the entries in the “Favorite Fictional Mother-Daughter” contest. Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to put their thoughts on paper. There are no “official” runners-up in this contest (since all winners on all participating blogs are getting copies of The Threadbare Heart – they should be going into the mail this week), but I thought I’d run down four of my favorite entries before I get to the Grand Prize Winner:
From the Mother-Daughter Book Club (www.motherdaughterbookclub.com). This piece made me smile because I love the Ramona books. I’d never thought much about Mrs. Quimby as a character, but this author is right: she was a pretty amazing mom, and she and Ramona had a special understanding that infused these books with goodness and warmth. I’m going to drag my girls to see this movie this summer, whether they think they’re too old or not!
“Ramona and Mrs. Quimby are my favorite fictional mother-daughter pair. I have been re-reading the books in preparation for the Ramona movie coming out this summer. I first read the Ramona books as a child. I don’t know if I noticed much about Ramona’s relationship with her mother then but I do now. The books are cozy and comforting because they present a real family with both triumphs and trials. My own family is not much different from the Quimby family. Despite the fact that the first Ramona book was published 1955 (the last book was published in 1999), Ramona’s relationship with her mother resonates with me. Cleary’s mother-daughter pair is timeless. Reading about Ramona and her mother reminds me how great it is to be loved by my mother. Mrs. Quimby is a mother who can be counted on to comfort, care for, and reason with Ramona. All these are admirable traits in a mother. Ramona had a caring, understanding mother and so do I. I’m glad that Beverly Cleary didn’t turn the Quimby family into the Cleaver family. Mrs. Quimby is a modern, liberated woman (at least from the 3rd book on!). She works outside the home and still manages to care for her family. Ramona is not a cookie cutter child. She throws tantrums. She gets into scrapes. And her mother loves her no matter what she does. The unconditional love that mothers give is so evident in the Ramona books. I can’t wait to see how Ramona’s relationship with her mother is portrayed in the movie.” -- Bridget
From Literary Mama (www.literarymama.com). The author of this piece impressed me with the depth of her knowledge of Jane Austen mothers, and then surprised me by naming a Louisa May Alcott book I’ve never even heard of (and which is now on my summer reading list --thanks, Cara!). This piece also put a lump in my throat because my daughter is about to embark on a college career 3,000 miles from home, so I know exactly what Cara means by Mrs. Milton’s loving/pushing.
“Polly and Mrs. Milton. My first thought was to scour Jane Austen for mother-daughter pairs. But Emma and Anne’s mothers died before the stories began, Catherine and Fanny had mostly off-screen mothers, having been relegated to the care of others for the duration of the novels, and Elizabeth’s mother was an embarrassment, leaving only Elinor’s mother, who was well-meaning if often ineffectual in preventing her daughters’ heartbreaks. And wait, she also relegated her daughters to the care of others for the better part of the book). I was starting to sense a theme of absentee motherhood here. So I turned to another of my long-time favorite authors, Louisa May Alcott, and she did not disappoint. Alcott’s mothers are strong, wise, and nurturing, without being suffocating. I’ve always admired Marmee, but perhaps the mother who best exemplifies my own mother would be Polly’s mother, in my favorite Alcott book, An Old-Fashioned Girl. Mrs. Milton, who we never see directly on the pages of this book, nevertheless is reflected through Polly’s actions. Her confidence and trust in allowing Polly to venture away from home, both as a girl, and again as a young woman, reminded me of my mother. My mom raised me to be independent and seize opportunities, even when the opportunity took me 3000 miles away, to attend college. And if, like Polly, I landed on my feet, I can credit it to having had a mother like Mrs. Milton, who loved me unconditionally, but knew when to nudge me out of the nest.” – Cara
From Five Minutes for Books (www.5minutesforbooks.com). This piece was just so darn sweet.
My favorite mother-daughter duo? There are so many I love, but I think that the mother and daughter from The Princess Diaries is the one that stands out to me right now. My oldest daughter (who is almost 19) and I always watch these types of movies together. Now that she's in college we don't get the opportunity to do it as often, but it's still on my mind a lot. Occasionally we'll text each other or call to say we see one of our favorites on television. I think the mother-daughter duo in The Princess Diaries is my favorite because of the type of relationship they have in allowing each other to be creative and different. They're friends, but the mother has set boundaries that she expects the daughter to abide by. The daughter may sometimes break the rules or be defiant (and what she does isn't normally that bad!), but she always comes around. Their relationship and closeness stand the test of time, maturation, distance and circumstance. It's exactly what Amber (my sweet teenager) and I have.” -- Petula
From She is Too Fond of Books (www.sheistoofondofbooks.com). I loved this piece, which incorporated so many elements in a very short space – a mother’s journey, a daughter’s memory, a magical evening out, a delicious pastry. It did a beautiful job of capturing the way a movie or a book can become a touchstone in our lives, and it gave a wonderful glimpse of the special bond mothers and daughter share. Whoever wrote this entry should be writing novels – or maybe they already are!
“My mother is 86 and is a first generation American. Both her mother and father immigrated to America at the turn of the century from Sweden. All my life, my Swedish heritage has been a part of who I am. My mother’s stories of her mother and her sisters, and the life her parents created for her and her siblings in Minnesota during the depression were as meaningful to me as fairy tales. When I was about twelve, my mother and I watched I REMEMBER MAMA with Irene Dunne on our old black and white television. I loved it. Mom cried as she listened to accents she hadn’t heard in years. I was fascinated with the families struggles during the depression, and it gave me greater insight to my own mother’s childhood. When I learned that the movie was based on a book, I went straight to the library to check it out. MAMA’S BANK ACCOUNT by Katherine Forbes was just as good as the film. Many years later, living in San Francisco on my own, I learned that ACT was doing a stage production of I REMEMBER MAMA. I didn’t hesitate at the cost, I bought the best tickets I could and surprised my mother with them. It was a Mother’s Day matinee performance; we laughed and cried with all the other mothers and daughters in the room. Afterword we went out for dinner, and finished with the meal with pastry’s and coffee, our favorite Swedish tradition.” --Lisa L.
And now, for the Grand Prize Winner….
From Booking Mama (www.bookingmama.blogspot.com). This piece blew me away the moment I read it, and it blew me away each time I read it thereafter. It’s not just that it’s poignant (although it is.) It’s that in 250 words, this author captured what is means to be a mother, and what it means to be a writer, and how those two acts of creation intertwine and enrich each other. No one else will have read about the fictional mother-daughter duo the author cites – but I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that I can’t wait to meet them!
“My favorite fictional Mother-Daughter pair is Katherine and Karsen Woods in FAMILY PIECES (an unpublished novel). Twenty-one year old Karsen loves her Midwestern family, although she can’t quite understand why her mother doesn’t care for her boyfriend of two years. When Katherine’s unexpected death leaves Karsen looking for a missing necklace charm, she soon discovers a family secret that deepens her understanding of both her mother and of what being a mother means. These characters mean the world to me as I spent two years creating them. As any writer knows, writing is not always effortless. During these years, a twelve week ultra sound left me grieving after finding there was no heart beat and the second pregnancy left my blue, lifeless son in my arms minutes after delivery; then on a helicopter on life support while I was left behind. Determined to finish my manuscript, Karsen provided a much needed release from reality. I may never see my characters brought to publication, but I can watch my now 7 month old boy flourish and feel blessed that I’ve accomplished more than any writing dream I could have imagined. My neighborhood book club has been meeting monthly for almost eight years. We’d welcome a call from Jennie anytime! And for the rum cake, I might have to eat that all by myself.” –Melissa
Congratulations, Melissa! Please email me at jennie.nash@verizon.net to set a time for me to call into your book club this summer. You’ll be receiving your books and your coupon for the rum cake as soon as I can get to the post office and send them your way. And congratulations Julie, for picking the winning entry! You’ll be receiving your Powells gift certificate asap, as well!
From the Mother-Daughter Book Club (www.motherdaughterbookclub.com). This piece made me smile because I love the Ramona books. I’d never thought much about Mrs. Quimby as a character, but this author is right: she was a pretty amazing mom, and she and Ramona had a special understanding that infused these books with goodness and warmth. I’m going to drag my girls to see this movie this summer, whether they think they’re too old or not!
“Ramona and Mrs. Quimby are my favorite fictional mother-daughter pair. I have been re-reading the books in preparation for the Ramona movie coming out this summer. I first read the Ramona books as a child. I don’t know if I noticed much about Ramona’s relationship with her mother then but I do now. The books are cozy and comforting because they present a real family with both triumphs and trials. My own family is not much different from the Quimby family. Despite the fact that the first Ramona book was published 1955 (the last book was published in 1999), Ramona’s relationship with her mother resonates with me. Cleary’s mother-daughter pair is timeless. Reading about Ramona and her mother reminds me how great it is to be loved by my mother. Mrs. Quimby is a mother who can be counted on to comfort, care for, and reason with Ramona. All these are admirable traits in a mother. Ramona had a caring, understanding mother and so do I. I’m glad that Beverly Cleary didn’t turn the Quimby family into the Cleaver family. Mrs. Quimby is a modern, liberated woman (at least from the 3rd book on!). She works outside the home and still manages to care for her family. Ramona is not a cookie cutter child. She throws tantrums. She gets into scrapes. And her mother loves her no matter what she does. The unconditional love that mothers give is so evident in the Ramona books. I can’t wait to see how Ramona’s relationship with her mother is portrayed in the movie.” -- Bridget
From Literary Mama (www.literarymama.com). The author of this piece impressed me with the depth of her knowledge of Jane Austen mothers, and then surprised me by naming a Louisa May Alcott book I’ve never even heard of (and which is now on my summer reading list --thanks, Cara!). This piece also put a lump in my throat because my daughter is about to embark on a college career 3,000 miles from home, so I know exactly what Cara means by Mrs. Milton’s loving/pushing.
“Polly and Mrs. Milton. My first thought was to scour Jane Austen for mother-daughter pairs. But Emma and Anne’s mothers died before the stories began, Catherine and Fanny had mostly off-screen mothers, having been relegated to the care of others for the duration of the novels, and Elizabeth’s mother was an embarrassment, leaving only Elinor’s mother, who was well-meaning if often ineffectual in preventing her daughters’ heartbreaks. And wait, she also relegated her daughters to the care of others for the better part of the book). I was starting to sense a theme of absentee motherhood here. So I turned to another of my long-time favorite authors, Louisa May Alcott, and she did not disappoint. Alcott’s mothers are strong, wise, and nurturing, without being suffocating. I’ve always admired Marmee, but perhaps the mother who best exemplifies my own mother would be Polly’s mother, in my favorite Alcott book, An Old-Fashioned Girl. Mrs. Milton, who we never see directly on the pages of this book, nevertheless is reflected through Polly’s actions. Her confidence and trust in allowing Polly to venture away from home, both as a girl, and again as a young woman, reminded me of my mother. My mom raised me to be independent and seize opportunities, even when the opportunity took me 3000 miles away, to attend college. And if, like Polly, I landed on my feet, I can credit it to having had a mother like Mrs. Milton, who loved me unconditionally, but knew when to nudge me out of the nest.” – Cara
From Five Minutes for Books (www.5minutesforbooks.com). This piece was just so darn sweet.
My favorite mother-daughter duo? There are so many I love, but I think that the mother and daughter from The Princess Diaries is the one that stands out to me right now. My oldest daughter (who is almost 19) and I always watch these types of movies together. Now that she's in college we don't get the opportunity to do it as often, but it's still on my mind a lot. Occasionally we'll text each other or call to say we see one of our favorites on television. I think the mother-daughter duo in The Princess Diaries is my favorite because of the type of relationship they have in allowing each other to be creative and different. They're friends, but the mother has set boundaries that she expects the daughter to abide by. The daughter may sometimes break the rules or be defiant (and what she does isn't normally that bad!), but she always comes around. Their relationship and closeness stand the test of time, maturation, distance and circumstance. It's exactly what Amber (my sweet teenager) and I have.” -- Petula
From She is Too Fond of Books (www.sheistoofondofbooks.com). I loved this piece, which incorporated so many elements in a very short space – a mother’s journey, a daughter’s memory, a magical evening out, a delicious pastry. It did a beautiful job of capturing the way a movie or a book can become a touchstone in our lives, and it gave a wonderful glimpse of the special bond mothers and daughter share. Whoever wrote this entry should be writing novels – or maybe they already are!
“My mother is 86 and is a first generation American. Both her mother and father immigrated to America at the turn of the century from Sweden. All my life, my Swedish heritage has been a part of who I am. My mother’s stories of her mother and her sisters, and the life her parents created for her and her siblings in Minnesota during the depression were as meaningful to me as fairy tales. When I was about twelve, my mother and I watched I REMEMBER MAMA with Irene Dunne on our old black and white television. I loved it. Mom cried as she listened to accents she hadn’t heard in years. I was fascinated with the families struggles during the depression, and it gave me greater insight to my own mother’s childhood. When I learned that the movie was based on a book, I went straight to the library to check it out. MAMA’S BANK ACCOUNT by Katherine Forbes was just as good as the film. Many years later, living in San Francisco on my own, I learned that ACT was doing a stage production of I REMEMBER MAMA. I didn’t hesitate at the cost, I bought the best tickets I could and surprised my mother with them. It was a Mother’s Day matinee performance; we laughed and cried with all the other mothers and daughters in the room. Afterword we went out for dinner, and finished with the meal with pastry’s and coffee, our favorite Swedish tradition.” --Lisa L.
And now, for the Grand Prize Winner….
From Booking Mama (www.bookingmama.blogspot.com). This piece blew me away the moment I read it, and it blew me away each time I read it thereafter. It’s not just that it’s poignant (although it is.) It’s that in 250 words, this author captured what is means to be a mother, and what it means to be a writer, and how those two acts of creation intertwine and enrich each other. No one else will have read about the fictional mother-daughter duo the author cites – but I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that I can’t wait to meet them!
“My favorite fictional Mother-Daughter pair is Katherine and Karsen Woods in FAMILY PIECES (an unpublished novel). Twenty-one year old Karsen loves her Midwestern family, although she can’t quite understand why her mother doesn’t care for her boyfriend of two years. When Katherine’s unexpected death leaves Karsen looking for a missing necklace charm, she soon discovers a family secret that deepens her understanding of both her mother and of what being a mother means. These characters mean the world to me as I spent two years creating them. As any writer knows, writing is not always effortless. During these years, a twelve week ultra sound left me grieving after finding there was no heart beat and the second pregnancy left my blue, lifeless son in my arms minutes after delivery; then on a helicopter on life support while I was left behind. Determined to finish my manuscript, Karsen provided a much needed release from reality. I may never see my characters brought to publication, but I can watch my now 7 month old boy flourish and feel blessed that I’ve accomplished more than any writing dream I could have imagined. My neighborhood book club has been meeting monthly for almost eight years. We’d welcome a call from Jennie anytime! And for the rum cake, I might have to eat that all by myself.” –Melissa
Congratulations, Melissa! Please email me at jennie.nash@verizon.net to set a time for me to call into your book club this summer. You’ll be receiving your books and your coupon for the rum cake as soon as I can get to the post office and send them your way. And congratulations Julie, for picking the winning entry! You’ll be receiving your Powells gift certificate asap, as well!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Threadbare Heart Twitter Giveaway
It's publication day for The Threadbare Heart (woo hoo!) and I'm giving away 5 signed copies of the novel to randomly selected twitter followers.
All you have to do to enter is follow me at @jennienash and tweet (or re-tweet) the following: "Enter to win signed copy of The Threadbare Heart. Follow @jennienash and RT."
Later tonight, I'll use the random number generator at random.org to pick the winners.
If you don't win -- or even if you DO -- there are other ways to win books! Enter the fantastic Mother's Day mini-essay contest going on RIGHT NOW. You can win a "Book Club in a Box," which is 10 books, a visit with the author and cake!! For details, check out this post.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
New Book in the World
I sat in the living room of a young woman in Houston this afternoon, in front of stacks of my brand new novel, The Threadbare Heart. The book doesn't officially come out until next Wednesday, but my publicist arranged to have books for this event (thank you Erin!) so there we were with the books. It was such a thrill to send those books out into the world in the hands of eager readers. Being a writer is a wonderful thing -- but the loop is not complete until a reader engages with the story. Today, I felt that first spark of connection -- that glimmer of faith that my story will have a life. I loved it!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Threadbare Heart: Chapter 1
LILY
Love was the one thing Lily always thought she did better than her mother. She believed that she knew exactly what love took, what it cost, and what it meant, and she thought of her long marriage to Tom as proof of it. But in the short period of time between Christmas and the start of fire season, everything she understood about love unraveled, the way jeans do at the hem, the way tweed does so that it reveals the intricate relationship of the warp and the weft, and she realized how very little she knew about the way love worked. People naturally assumed, after everything that happened, that it was a bitter revelation, but they were wrong.
“Would you do it all again, knowing what you know now?” her mother, Eleanor, asked. Eleanor was, at that moment, seventy-five years old, about to be married again herself, and hoping that this time she might get it right.
“In a heartbeat,” Lily said—not only because she believed it, but because she knew it was what her mother needed to hear.
It had started, simply enough, in December of 2007 in a bookstore in Burlington, Vermont. She and Tom still had a few weeks of classes left to teach before the end of the semester—he in biology, she in math—and they had come into town to meet some old friends for dinner.
“I didn’t get you a Christmas gift,” Tom said. “Again.”
Lily smiled. After twenty-six years of marriage, what was there to get each other? She had recently brought home Tom’s favorite cinnamon bread from the bakery because she knew how much he liked to toast it for breakfast, and he had replaced the broken birdfeeder that hung from the big elm tree outside the kitchen window because he knew how much it delighted Lily when the jays came, and the woodpeckers, and the cardinals. These small gestures gave them as much surprise and indulgence as they needed. “Then we’re even,” she said.
“And we’ll have less to haul out to
“I don’t have anything yet to give to Brooke,” Lily said. “It’s as if I never had a two-year-old. I can’t remember what two-year-olds like.”
“Cardboard boxes,” Tom said. “Don’t you remember the way Luke used to pile all his pillows in boxes, and sleep in there? And how Ryan made that castle in the basement?”
She laughed. “I’d forgotten that.”
“We could get her a book,” Tom said. They were coming upon the Burlington Bookshop. There were pine boughs encircling the window and the sound of jingle bells as someone came out the door.
“A book would be good,” Lily said. She stopped in front of the shop, Tom held the door for her, and they went in. They each meandered through the tables and the stacks, drawn in by titles and covers as if by a magnetic field. Lily got pulled toward a table where the cookbooks were displayed. She loved the idea of cooking—and the fact that there could be an entire cookbook featuring nothing but tacos or mushrooms or cupcakes—but she wasn’t much of a cook herself. She made soups and stews, salads and sandwiches. When the boys were home, she would roast a chicken with herbs from Tom’s garden, but she didn’t need a recipe for that. She wandered over to a section of art books, and picked up one on master quilters. She sat in a chair, and lost herself in the photos of intricately made quilts that looked like pointillist paintings, and abstract murals, and in the words of the artists who spoke about layering fabric and layering time.
The owner of the shop came quietly up to her. “Can I bring you a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked.
Lily looked up, surprised to find herself in a bookstore and not in an art gallery.
“It’s Lake Champlain,” the man said, referring to the brand of artisianal chocolate. “Aztec spice.”
“Sure,” Lily said. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
But chocolate was, in fact, a dangerous thing. She had been struck with debilitating headaches when she got pregnant with Ryan, at age twenty-six and they had never gone away. Over the years, in an effort at self-preservation, she had figured out exactly what triggered them: the glare of lights from oncoming traffic, chocolate, strawberries, bananas, aspartame, sleeplessness, and red wine. She learned the combinations that would cause the most damage, the inherent risks of every offending food or situation, and then she set out systematically to avoid them. She politely declined strawberry daiquiris and walnut brownies, late-night parties and late-start movies, night driving, and aged cheese. Far from feeling deprived, she felt that she had become master of her migraines, and she had a strange affection for the strict logic of it, and the power she wielded.
That night, however, she’d already had two glasses of sauvignon blanc at dinner. She felt happy—so much a part of the holiday, and the warmth of the store, and the charm of the town where she and Tom had lived for so long—that she couldn’t imagine anything going wrong. She couldn’t imagine a headache. What harm could a bit of chocolate do? She accepted the mug gratefully, and took a sip.
A few minutes later, Tom caught site of Lily across the store—his wife, curled up in a soft chair like a child, a book in her lap, her brow knit together in concentration—and he was overcome with a rush of love. He had picked out some books for their granddaughter, and he approached Lily to show her his discoveries. When he got up closer, he smelled the chocolate and the hot spice of the drink Lily held in her hand. He bent down next to her chair.
“What are you doing?” he whispered—his voice a quiet demand.
“Reading about quilts,” she said, turning the book so that he could see what she was seeing, “Look at these colors.”
“But you’re drinking hot chocolate.” He knew what would happen if Lily got a migraine: she would turn inward toward the pain, hold her head in her hands, lie down in the dark, and hope that if she lay perfectly still, she could keep the pain at bay. An hour later, or three, or maybe in the middle of the night, she would be crouched on the bathroom floor, crying out in pain, begging for mercy, begging for him to help. And he would help, because that’s what Tom did. He would hold her. He would get her ice. He would remind her to breathe.
“I’ll be okay,” she said.
“You don’t know that, Lily,”
“Tom,” she whispered. “Please. I’ll be okay.”
“I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Then I’ll deal with the consequences.”
“No,” he said, standing up and speaking too loud now for a bookstore, “I’ll deal with the consequences. I will. Your headache will be my problem.”
She stared up at him. He had never spoken to her like this before. “Can we talk about this later?” she whispered. “Outside?”
“I’m not going to stand here and watch you drink that,” he said.
She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath through her nose. It smelled of dark chocolate and chili, but in that breath she also sensed vulnerability—her body’s vulnerability in its fifty-first year, and the vulnerability that came from loving another human being. She was bound to Tom, beholden to him, and there were good things that came from that, and compromises, too. She wordlessly set the hot chocolate down on the table.
“I found something for Brooke,” Tom said. “A collection of Richard Scarry books. Isn’t that perfect?”
“Well,” Lily said, “it was perfect for the boys, but for a girl? I don’t know.” She remembered how Ryan and Luke would pore over the pages of their Richard Scarry books, naming each truck and airplane, each job undertaken by one of the enterprising townsfolk, but she wasn’t sure whether the books would have the same appeal to a little girl. Ryan and Olivia had moved to
“Everyone loves Mr. Fix-It and Sergeant Murphy,” Tom said.
It was true; they did. But the whole thing made her suddenly tired—the whole business of being a wife, a grandmother, a daughter about to go home for the holidays. She wanted to get out of the shop and go home. “Okay,” she said. “Fine.” She figured that she would have enough time to sew something for Brooke, maybe a little flannel blanket for her bear. She’d pieced together a quilt when Brooke was born—nine log cabin blocks in a riot of colors and patterns sewn in a square. Perhaps she would make a dress or a pillow from some of the floral prints she had in her stash.
“You’re right,” she said. “Let’s get the Richard Scarry books. And I’m going to get this quilt book. It can be my Christmas present.”
He smiled. “I’m going to get this gardening book,” he said. “It can be mine.”
When they were back out in the cold, Tom began to talk about the book he had just purchased. It was a treatise on the importance of preserving heirloom seeds. The author was arguing for the beauty and integrity of food grown without intervention. Lily listened, and agreed that it was a timely and necessary argument, but she was waiting for a pause in the story, a chance to make a different point. When Tom seemed finished talking, she said, “What did you mean when you said, ‘Your headache will be my problem’?”
“Just what it sounds like,” Tom said. “You can be cavalier about chocolate or wine or whatever, but I’m the one who has to deal with it.”
“I’m the one who’ll have the headache.”
Tom shifted his feet on the snowy ground. He looked off into the dark night. “You think it’s been easy for me all these years?” he asked. “To stand by watching?”
“Well, no,” she said. “Of course not.” None of it was easy—watching someone have doubt or have the flu, watching them lose their nerve or lose their parents. Even just watching Tom’s hair turn gray, or watching his skin become more susceptible to the cold, dry air, or watching his knee become stiffer by degrees. It was all hard. All of it.
“You think I enjoy hearing you beg for the pain to stop, hearing you moan about wanting to die?” Tom said.
She stopped. She could see her breath forming in the cold air in front of her face. She had had only a few migraines a year these past several years. She had begun to think, in fact, that maybe she was becoming immune to headaches, that maybe this was something that got better as she got older. She had begun to think that she could risk a hot mug of hot chocolate. Tom’s display of doubt rubbed up against her hard-won hope and caught her off guard. “I didn’t know how much it was bothering you,” she said.
Tom laughed—a kind of snort that meant, How on earth could you not know?
“I don’t get this sudden concern, Tom,” she said. “What’s going on?”
He shrugged. They were older now. Their boys were grown and gone now. Things that used to flit past Tom like clouds or birds bothered him now. Things he used to handle without much thought now seemed insurmountable. Lily’s headaches were something he had handled for years without complaint. But the last few times, they had grabbed hold of him in a way that frightened him. He had imagined Lily spiraling farther down into pain than she had ever gone before, spiraling so far away that she was out of reach. It made him think about her dying and his being alone. That wasn’t something he felt like he could endure.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m sorry I said anything. Let’s get out of the cold.”
But Lily knew that it wasn’t nothing. She had lived with Tom for a long time. As they moved through December, through their classes and departmental parties, through final exams and holiday cheer, she had a feeling of unease. She thought, for a while, that it was the fact that they were going through their first holiday season with no children in the house. Things were so quiet, and so strange without the boys, and she noticed that Tom was taking extra long treks in the snow by himself, and coming back to the house pensive instead of exhilarated. Perhaps he missed the kids more than she knew. Later, she thought that the unease was due to the fact that when she and Tom came back from vacation neither of them would be teaching a full course load. She had won a grant to update her textbook and he had been tapped to help the university write a plan for transitioning to an integrated science curriculum. Maybe they were both just feeling a little untethered.
When she looked back at it all, however, and tried to figure out when everything began to unravel, she would go back to that moment in the bookstore when her sense of contentedness was so quickly replaced by a feeling of unease. One minute she was sipping hot chocolate like any holiday reveler, reading about fabric and design, knowing that her husband was happily wandering the bookstore aisles, and the next moment, she felt the full weight of the ordinary dangers of the world—chocolate, a holiday in her mother’s house, marriage itself.
Friday, April 16, 2010
"Fiction Comes to Life" Quilting Contest
Dear Readers and Quilters,
I’m thrilled to announce the start of the “Fiction Comes to Life” contest, sponsored by Keepsake Quilting. The Threadbare Heart is novel is about, among other things, the way that fabric can speak so powerfully about our lives – about the things we love, the things we lose, and the things we may regret never doing. The main character, Lily Gilbert, loses a lifetime of fabric in a Santa Barbara wildfire. When she ventures into a fabric store for the first time after the tragedy, she imagines a quilt she never made:
Lily wandered through the aisles, stopping at bolts of fabric that caught her eye, considering the possibilities. There were burnout velvets, Italian wool so fine they felt like silk, silk in a cacophony of color, weight, and texture. Every bolt offered something new to Lily’s imagination—a coat, a skirt, a dress—and every possibility reminded her of a piece of fabric she had lost in the fire. There was so much fabric and so many things she had never made!
She thought that she could list them all on her yellow pad of paper—Hattie’s gray tweed that had not become a jacket, the sage green flea market silk that had not become a skirt, the white dotted Swiss that she had bought in Boston when she thought she might have a little girl. She had one Rubbermaid tub that was stuffed with swatches of printed cotton in different shades of blue. There were stripes, dots, florals, swirls, and geometric prints, and taken all together, they had looked like the sea. Lily had always thought that she would make a beautiful quilt with all that blue. She would design the horizon, the sky and the water, and somehow, it would cease to look like bits of cotton stitched together, and would look, instead, exactly the way the beach did on a clear summer day.
“I should have done it,” she said, and she realized too late that she had spoken out loud.
Keepsake Quilting has specially selected a fabric Medley™ of 5 fat quarters that evoke the beach on a clear summer day. (You may purchase the Medley at Keepsake Quilting for $13.99.) The challenge is to use at least 3 of the Medley fabrics, and at least 3 fabrics from your own stash to make the quilt Lily never made. In addition, we’d like you to write up to 500 words about the fabrics you use from your stash – where they came from, what they mean to you, why you chose them for this project—and we’d like you to name your quilt. The finished quilt should be 30" x 30".
Quilts will be judged by members of the Keepsake Quilting staff and me, author Jennie Nash, in early July. All entries must arrive at Keepsake Quilting by July 1, 2010. You can get all the details about where to ship when you purchase your “Fiction Comes to Life” Fat Quarters – and you are not required to purchase or even read The Threadbare Heart to enter the contest, although I think you might really like it. (You can purchase The Threadbare Heart at amazon, Barnes and Noble, Borders or your favorite local independent bookstore. It's paperback, so it's affordable!)
The maker of the winning quilt will receive a $150 gift certificate from Keepsake Quilting; a "Book Club in a Box" kit, featuring 10 signed copies of The Threadbare Heart; an hour-long phone chat with author Jennie Nash so that you can gather your friends together to discuss the book and bring Jennie into the conversation; and a gift certificate for a delicious "Rum Cake by Kelli" to serve at your book reading event. The winning quilt will be displayed at the Keepsake Quilting shop in Center Harbor, New Hampshire, on Jennie Nash's website, and on The Story of My Stash blog at the Quilting Club of America, AND IF THE DESIGN IS ORIGINAL, MAY BE CONSIDERED FOR A KEEP-SAKE QUILTING QUILT KIT. Five runners up will each receive $25 gift certificates from Keepsake Quilting and a signed copy of The Threadbare Heart.
Please spread the word about this contest -- and my book -- to all your quilt-loving friends! Send them to this blog, to the QCA forum where I'm going to announce the contest, as well, or to my website, which is www.jennienash.com. You can read the first chapter of The Threadbare Heart on my site.
And FINALLY, since this blog post marks the start of the "Fiction Comes to Life" contest, I think we should gather some stories about the start of your life in sewing. I'd love to hear what you remember about your very first experience with sewing. How old were you, where were you, what was going on? Visit "The Story of My Stash" -- my blog at the Quilters Club of America -- to share your store.
I’m thrilled to announce the start of the “Fiction Comes to Life” contest, sponsored by Keepsake Quilting. The Threadbare Heart is novel is about, among other things, the way that fabric can speak so powerfully about our lives – about the things we love, the things we lose, and the things we may regret never doing. The main character, Lily Gilbert, loses a lifetime of fabric in a Santa Barbara wildfire. When she ventures into a fabric store for the first time after the tragedy, she imagines a quilt she never made:
Lily wandered through the aisles, stopping at bolts of fabric that caught her eye, considering the possibilities. There were burnout velvets, Italian wool so fine they felt like silk, silk in a cacophony of color, weight, and texture. Every bolt offered something new to Lily’s imagination—a coat, a skirt, a dress—and every possibility reminded her of a piece of fabric she had lost in the fire. There was so much fabric and so many things she had never made!
She thought that she could list them all on her yellow pad of paper—Hattie’s gray tweed that had not become a jacket, the sage green flea market silk that had not become a skirt, the white dotted Swiss that she had bought in Boston when she thought she might have a little girl. She had one Rubbermaid tub that was stuffed with swatches of printed cotton in different shades of blue. There were stripes, dots, florals, swirls, and geometric prints, and taken all together, they had looked like the sea. Lily had always thought that she would make a beautiful quilt with all that blue. She would design the horizon, the sky and the water, and somehow, it would cease to look like bits of cotton stitched together, and would look, instead, exactly the way the beach did on a clear summer day.
“I should have done it,” she said, and she realized too late that she had spoken out loud.
Keepsake Quilting has specially selected a fabric Medley™ of 5 fat quarters that evoke the beach on a clear summer day. (You may purchase the Medley at Keepsake Quilting for $13.99.) The challenge is to use at least 3 of the Medley fabrics, and at least 3 fabrics from your own stash to make the quilt Lily never made. In addition, we’d like you to write up to 500 words about the fabrics you use from your stash – where they came from, what they mean to you, why you chose them for this project—and we’d like you to name your quilt. The finished quilt should be 30" x 30".
Quilts will be judged by members of the Keepsake Quilting staff and me, author Jennie Nash, in early July. All entries must arrive at Keepsake Quilting by July 1, 2010. You can get all the details about where to ship when you purchase your “Fiction Comes to Life” Fat Quarters – and you are not required to purchase or even read The Threadbare Heart to enter the contest, although I think you might really like it. (You can purchase The Threadbare Heart at amazon, Barnes and Noble, Borders or your favorite local independent bookstore. It's paperback, so it's affordable!)
The maker of the winning quilt will receive a $150 gift certificate from Keepsake Quilting; a "Book Club in a Box" kit, featuring 10 signed copies of The Threadbare Heart; an hour-long phone chat with author Jennie Nash so that you can gather your friends together to discuss the book and bring Jennie into the conversation; and a gift certificate for a delicious "Rum Cake by Kelli" to serve at your book reading event. The winning quilt will be displayed at the Keepsake Quilting shop in Center Harbor, New Hampshire, on Jennie Nash's website, and on The Story of My Stash blog at the Quilting Club of America, AND IF THE DESIGN IS ORIGINAL, MAY BE CONSIDERED FOR A KEEP-SAKE QUILTING QUILT KIT. Five runners up will each receive $25 gift certificates from Keepsake Quilting and a signed copy of The Threadbare Heart.
Please spread the word about this contest -- and my book -- to all your quilt-loving friends! Send them to this blog, to the QCA forum where I'm going to announce the contest, as well, or to my website, which is www.jennienash.com. You can read the first chapter of The Threadbare Heart on my site.
And FINALLY, since this blog post marks the start of the "Fiction Comes to Life" contest, I think we should gather some stories about the start of your life in sewing. I'd love to hear what you remember about your very first experience with sewing. How old were you, where were you, what was going on? Visit "The Story of My Stash" -- my blog at the Quilters Club of America -- to share your store.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tim O'Brian, Storyteller
I don't go out very much. I have two teenage daughters and I tend to want to be where they are -- even if where they are is on their way home, or on their way out, or alone behind their bedroom doors. But tonight, I just learned (on twitter) that Tim O'Brian is speaking at the Los Angeles Public Library in honor of the 20th anniversary of The Things They Carried -- and I am not there. I'm bereft. I adore that book. It's one of the best books I've ever read on writing. It is one of my favorite books of all time. So I just jumped onto Tim's website -- and there are so many riches there, and I can't get them into this blog because I have a brand new computer and something isn't working right. How hard can it be to cut and paste? Apparently hard enough...
So I'm not listening to Tim O'Brian and I'm not sharing any of his amazing insights on storytelling from his website and I think it just might be time for bed!
So I'm not listening to Tim O'Brian and I'm not sharing any of his amazing insights on storytelling from his website and I think it just might be time for bed!
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