The Next Big Thing

Apparently, The Next Big Thing is considered a kind of online chain letter. (The word floating around with it is "meme," but I've never really understood what that is!) I like to think of it as a reminder of how important it is to give shout-outs to writers I know and admire. Even before my novel was published, I enjoyed a circle of close writing friends, but since its publication and the opportunities that has presented, I have had the chance to make new writing friends around the country.

The idea behind The Next Big Thing is that I am tagged by a writer, and I in turn tag fellow writers – all of us write a blog post called The Next Big Thing, a Q&A in which we answer questions about a forthcoming book or work-in-progress. I was tagged twice, by Bee Ridgway and Karen Coates. I have known Karen for many years through ThingsAsian Press, the publishers of my guidebook and food memoir. Karen is an exceptional writer, whose new book, This Way More Better, is a kind of showcase of her journalistic treks through eleven Asian countries over the years. As always, her prose is accompanied by the evocative photography of her husband, Jerry Redfern. You can read more about her new book at her blog, Rambling Spoon.

Next up: Bee Ridgway. Bee and I have something wonderful in common: our agent, Alexandra Machinist. Through Alexandra (and Twitter), Bee and I have become email friends, supporters and confidantes. I have not read Bee’s upcoming debut novel, The River of No Return, but I am champing at the bit. You can be assured that on its pub date, April 23 of this year, I will dive right in. Here is a brief description: In Bee Ridgway’s wonderfully imaginative debut novel, a man and a woman travel through time in a quest to bring down a secret society that controls the past and, thus, the future. You can head to Bee’s blog to read more about her next big thing! 

Now, for the authors I am going to mercilessly tag into this game ... a couple have already been tagged by Karen and Bee, so I’m cheating a bit, but I don’t care. I love these two writers too much to not mention them here. The first is Dana Sachs, who is a longtime friend through our love of Vietnam, not to mention part of the “friend, supporter, confidante” email correspondence that Bee and I partake in. Before I met Dana, I read her memoir, House on Dream Street, about her time living in Hanoi in the early 1990s. Having lived in Vietnam myself for four years, I am fussy about how the country is depicted. I found Dana’s view to be compassionate and authentic, and so you can imagine how happy it made me to become friends with her. I’ve had the privilege to read an advance copy of her new novel, The Secrets of the Nightingale Palace, and I would like to give it the highest compliment: it’s pure Dana! She is such an elegant writer, and I read her books for their nuance. To learn more about this tale of a grandmother and her adult granddaughter crossing America to return a piece of Japanese art acquired from a friend of the grandmother’s just before the internment of the Japanese during WWII, go to Dana’s website. 

Continuing on … Janet Brown. How do I love Janet? Let me count the ways. But there’s the problem. I can’t count that high! Janet and I met as booksellers at the Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle in 1989. Back then, we were not published and while we sold books and wrote, we also dreamed big of seeing the world. Lo and behold, we both did just that. I moved to Vietnam and she moved to Thailand. The publishing result for Janet is the absolute gem of a travel memoir, Tone Deaf in Bangkok. Tightly written, sly and culturally observant in a way I associate with such superstars as Graham Greene, this book is a treasure. Her forthcoming book, Almost Home, is its worthy rival. Not only did I have the honor of reading this book, I was invited to write the introduction. Almost Home takes readers on a search for home in faraway places: Thailand, Malaysia and Hong Kong. To find out more about Janet’s writing (she’s posting some fantastic new stuff these days), check out her blog, Tone Deaf in Thailand. 

Of the two other writers I have asked to participate, one is an old friend and one is new. Tiffany Hawk and I worked together at Gayot.com many years ago, and I’m thrilled that her debut novel, Love Me Anyway, is coming out this spring. I just finished reading an advance copy of this story of love and loneliness among United Airlines flight attendants in the months that circle around 9/11 – I have so many wonderful things to say about it, much of which can be found here at my GoodReads review for the novel. 

As for my new friend, Anne-Marie Ruff and I were united on a panel at the West Hollywood Book Fair. Anne-Marie is a terrific writer. Her first novel, Through These Veins, is a smart exploration of cultural divides and scientific ethics. You can read more about her story of the discovery a plant in Africa believed to cure AIDS, and the ruthless pharmaceutical company trying to appropriate it, at her website. She’s also just finished the first draft of her new novel, Beneath the Same Heaven, which she’ll hopefully write about for The Next Big Thing. 

Finally, I am going to be sneaky. I didn’t ask the next two writers to play The Next Big Thing game (I hate pestering friends when I know how busy they are), but I’m going to include them anyway. Donna Miscolta and I were paired on a reading stage at the Wordstock festival in Portland, and because of this, I picked up When the de la Cruz Family Danced. The story of a Filipino family in Southern California, and the mystery surrounding the father’s possible illegitimate son from a childhood sweetheart back in the Philippines, this is a thought-provoking look at family, culture and belonging. Donna's writing is so finely tuned, and I found myself reading slowly, savoring paragraphs, so I could absorb the details. Head to Donna's blog to read more about this beautiful novel. 

Last but not least, go to Courtney Miller Santo's blog to find out about her first novel, The Roots of the Olive Tree. As with Bee, Courtney and I also share the same divine agent. Courtney's book is a multi-generational tale (five generations of women!) that tackles questions of longevity and family ties. This is definitely a novel for book clubs. There is so much to talk about, with ideas ranging from the intimate (family) to the big picture (genetics). When I read this I thought how great it would be to have a book club with all the female members of my family -- the conversation would surely last for hours!

Now to the main event, the ten interview question for The Next Big Thing:

What is your working title of your novel-in-progress?

To Feed Such Hunger

Where did the idea come from for the book?

The daily, domestic lives of my friends in Saigon during the Vietnam-American war.

What genre does your book fall under?

As with my debut novel, The Map of Lost Memories, which came out last August, this new one does not fall easily into any category. There is a literary aspect. There is a mystery aspect. There is a historical aspect. How about: historical literary mystery?

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Since I’m only 130 pages into the first draft, I haven’t reached the fantasy casting stage yet! Though the main character, Lena Sundholm, is physically modeled after Jean Seberg in Bonjour Tristesse. 

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Murder, political intrigue and family secrets in the life of a culinary anthropologist in Vietnam during the mid-twentieth century.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I am represented by Alexandra Machinist of Janklow & Nesbit.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I have just started, so this is another question I can’t answer. I’m hoping to be done with the first draft by the end of summer.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I don’t have any specific comparisons, but I’m hoping to use everything I’ve learned from Graham Greene and Penelope Lively in this novel. As well, I want the book to have a large scope, spanning decades and illuminating an often-ignored side of Vietnamese/American history.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

The close friends in Vietnam mentioned above.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

At this point I’d rather not say. The story is still so raw, and I have a couple angles I hope will draw readers in from the start. But until I get them down in some firm fashion on in the first draft, I’m more comfortable keeping them to myself.

Dorland Mountain Arts Colony

Last week, I packed my bags (filled mostly with provisions and books) and headed for a land I have not visited in a very long while … the Land of No Responsibility. I was accepted for a residency at the Dorland Mountain Arts Colony in Temecula, California, where for one whole week, I would do nothing more than write. As it turned out, I wrote, read, wrote, researched, wrote, hiked, wrote, attempted to bake bread (failure!), wrote, stared at sunsets, wrote and basked in the luxury of giving over my entire mind to my new novel.

My cabin at the Dorland Mountain Arts Colony

Dorland dates back to the 1930s and sits on a beautiful, sprawling nature preserve. Due to a massive wildfire in 2004, Dorland today consists of just two brand new cabins (with more in the works) – with one artist per cabin. I attended with a close friend who is a writer and musician. Our idea was that we would work during the days and discuss what we were working on over dinner each night. In fact, I was so absorbed in my writing that we met only three of the seven nights that we were there, hiked a couple times in order to clear our heads, but otherwise kept to ourselves. After all, how often in an adult’s life can she retreat in full from the world?

Every sunset view from my front porch was captivating

No internet. No TV. Just the necessities: electricity for my laptop, a well-designed mini-kitchen, expansive views over the valley, a large writing desk, more tables for writing wherever I felt like situating myself at any given time, and a wood stove, with wood provided by the caretakers (also artists-in-residence), Robert and Janice. The couple greeted us upon arrival, to let us know they were there if we needed them, but otherwise, our privacy would be respected and our solitude ensured. True to their word, they revealed themselves only once … halfway through the week Robert came down to check on my stock of firewood and at the same time deliver a slice of homemade apple pie—tart and flavorful and perfect.

Rain & writing midway through the week

The first morning of the residency, I felt a bit disoriented. I did not have to check my emails. I did not have to check a clock to figure out how much time I had to write before I needed to start work or take care of countless other daily commitments. As I got started, I could feel myself writing as if with a harness on. I eased in on my beloved Smith-Corona Coronet, because the sound of the keys always gives me a boost. Then I transitioned to my computer, and as the chapter I was working on began to head in a new, exciting direction, I could feel the restraints falling away. I could also feel myself being watched.

Room with a view ... of my daily muse!

I looked up, and there outside my window, just a few feet from my desk, was a deer, checking up on me before leaning down to nuzzle a patch of grass. Two more joined in the feast, and in a moment that can only be described as spiritual, a weight lifted off me. I love my life, but it’s a busy life, and throughout my week at Dorland I learned how to untangle myself from the restrictions on my writing that I’d become too accustomed to and slip into a rhythm in which I could write at any time, at any hour, for as long or as short a stretch as I wanted. And when I was not writing, I learned that I did not have to give my mind over to anything else.

Another day, another gorgeous sunset

Upon arrival at Dorland, I felt a kind of euphoria. The morning I had to leave, I sat down in my rocking chair in front of my beautiful view and sobbed. Not because I was sad to go, but because writing with such freedom for a whole week had been cathartic. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed it. Allowing myself that kind of unfettered liberty had been a way of believing in myself as a “real writer.” Funny how someone who has had a novel published by a major publisher doesn’t come to that belief naturally. I realized that attending a colony such as this one was about more than setting aside time to work.  It was about creating a balance of external and internal space. It was about giving myself permission to take myself seriously. It was about returning to the reason I started writing in the first place: it gives me so much pleasure.

 Dorland, thank you. I hope to return soon.

Declaration of Independents

The holidays are approaching, there's no better gift than a book, and there's no better place to buy a book than an independent bookstore. In tribute to the many wonderful indie bookshops I have worked at and frequented over the years, I offer the following ...

As my debut novel, The Map of Lost Memories, entered the production phase at Random House, I was assigned the task of helping to find writers to blurb it. Blurbs are those lovely, self-contained snippets on the backs of novels, in which known authors assure readers that a book is “evocative” or a “tour de force.” Desperately wanting my own novel to be declared “compelling” and “unputdownable,” I contacted everyone I knew who knew someone who had published a novel.

I also made some big leaps, writing to überfamous authors such as Michael Ondaatje and Ann Patchett. The latter was easy since I could send my request to her newly opened Parnassus Books in Nashville. Of course, I didn’t expect blurbs from such heavy hitters. But if you’re going to dream, dream big, kid! Right?

I also didn’t expect to open my mailbox one day and find a postcard depicting a vintage Penguin paperback cover of D.H. Lawrence’s The Lost Girl. On the back of it was something I hadn’t seen come out of my mailbox in years, other than briefly in thank you cards—handwriting! The postcard contained a thoughtful note declining to read my novel for a blurb and ending with, “I will look forward to selling your book when it comes out this summer. Good luck and all good wishes. Ann Patchett.”

Perhaps it seems that this rejection would have disappointed me. But I can only imagine how busy Ms. Patchett must be, writing exceptional novels, tending her bookshop and deflecting pleas from people like me. And to say that I was touched is an understatement. I was moved, not just emotionally, but in my thoughts back to another place and time: the five years that I worked as an independent bookseller at the Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle.

At this store (before the arrival of the Internet), I discovered how a brick-and-mortar shop can serve as an anchor for a community. It can be a gathering place as well as a place where ideas are discussed and explored. I spent many an evening with customers, sharing my passion for Graham Greene or being introduced to the gustatory pleasures of MFK Fisher … exchanges that dipped and soared with the revelations and educations those books contained. My fellow booksellers and I loved authors, those magical creatures who took words—simple words—and molded them into conversations that could be passed around the world. What an honor it was to be able to play such a crucial role in keeping those conversations alive.

Later, after four years in Vietnam, I moved to L.A. I was making my living as a writer by this point, but I missed being in a bookshop, so I took a Saturday job at Traveler’s Bookcase, a wonderful little travel bookshop that is still a home away from home for me. Next door was a companion store called Cook’s Library, and one morning I wandered over there to research a Vietnamese food book I was working on. While I was sitting on the floor with books spread out in front of me, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I looked up to see a young Vietnamese woman studying my selections. It turned out that she had just finished writing a cookbook based on recipes from her childhood in Little Saigon, an hour south of Los Angeles, and when I told her what I was doing, she offered advice on which books I should buy for my research. Two hours later, we were still in Cook’s Library, talking away. Two weeks later, my sister took the photographs for her cookbook. This summer she came to my wedding, and last month I attended hers.

In the years since she and I met, Cook’s Library has gone out of business. I often wonder how many potential best friendships went away with it. Perhaps this is why Ms. Patchett’s note meant so much to me, for it embodies something that is alive and well for any reader who takes the time to look for it: the personal experience to be had in an independent bookshop. It is an experience that cannot be found anywhere else, an experience that is essential to the future of the planet if we are to remain sane, humane beings.