Half A Million Miles From Home, At Home.

If you don't have a window seat in one of these big planes that nowadays fly across the Atlantic a trip from Germany to the US doesn't seem a a trip at all anymore.
It's more like being in a movie theater that shivers a bit from time to time, and with full service included.
I mean, Lufthansa really serves decent meals, and with style. No plastic knives and forks, and real food. Hot, tasty, and clearly recognizable as food.
Oh wait - they serve cocktails before feeding you. Someone once told me that everybody likes to drink tomato juice on a plane because it tastes better in high altitude, but I think that's a fable. It's good, but not better. I also think that some people shamelessly take advantage of the free drinks.

I watched the "Hunger Games" on this flight. Didn't make it quite through the entire movie, and I wasn't overly impressed. The hype passed me by. We had movies like that before. In a way, it reminded me of "Logan's Run" and "Soylent Green". Do you remember Logan's Run? That girl had the greatest legs ever. Jenny Agutter was her name I believe.

Funny thing is, I had to come all the way to NYC to watch Downton Abbey. Loving it! That show clearly tells me that I'm living in the wrong house. And I need a maid and a footman. No idea what I need them for, but now I do. In addition to a housekeeper, of course. Won't go into the social thing. I just want that beautiful house and the lovely Edwardian dresses. Call me shallow. But I love pretty.

Oh, immigrations! This time I HAVE to mention immigrations.
After my experiences at the Canada/USA border last summer I was in a panic about immigrations. One wrong answer, and that's it for you, right.
But not so! The immigration people at JFK are the nicest, most courteous, and attentive people. They make you feel welcome to the US, and they wish you a lovely day! THIS is the America I've known for so long! BIG kudos to whoever picked the men and women doing that job at this airport.
I was asked only ONE question: "Have you been to the US before?"
And I replied that yes, indeed, I had traveled here, they wished me a lovely day and stamped my passport. I was through in less than a minute!

Keith and Emily came to pick me up.
Driving back to their house was a strange, a lovely and actually weird experience. It felt as if I'd never been away! New York felt familiar. The streets felt familiar. It was exciting in the way it wasn't exciting.
This was the reason why I wanted to come back, and come back here, to this exact place:
visiting a city or people once is a wonderful experience. Visiting them again, is making them real. It means making them familiar, well-known, comfortable.
It's taking them out of a "once-in-a-lifetime" into "I'm at home with you".

In a few days I'll go and see my beloved publisher again, too. I'm excited about that, but in a different way than last year.
This time around I'm going to meet a friend, someone I've come to know well over the last year.
I'm looking forward to hanging out with her, the way friends do, and not only business partners.
In that, I'm the luckiest person. I have the publisher I need for me to be the best writer I can be, and she's also the greatest friend. Lucky, lucky, lucky me.

So here I am now, in Jersey City, on a sunny Monday morning, drinking coffee and eating a raspberry jam sandwich. It's my birthday, I was on the phone for an hour with afore-mentioned publisher, and there will be pastrami sandwiches and cheesecake for dinner.
I'm taking Keith and Emily to Carnegie's.
And I'll bring back a jar of pickles. Those Carnegie pickles... yum!

Tomorrow, Penn Station and a meet-up with @southboundcat's Mommy!
Stay tuned!

The Day After, Part Three

My publisher - who, of course, as you all know by now, is MaryChris Bradley of Buddhapuss Ink - and I, we talk a lot. We talk about small things like the weather and the yearning for a muffin, a new movie, and we talk about the big things, like publishing dates, book covers, reading tours and what to have for lunch and where when we meet this summer. Sometimes we talk first thing in the day (HER day), to check if the other is doing ok, to toss a "good morning" at each other before we settle down to a day's work.
Just like last Sunday. Here is how it went.

Publisher: "Good morning. If I tell you something very very very nice, will you promise to NOT talk about it?"
Me: "Uhm, sure."
Publisher: "You won an IPPY Award!!!!"
Pause.
Me: "What's an IPPY?"
A looooong pause at the other end, and clearly audible breathing. Calming breathing, too. I could actually hear her count to ten.
Then: "YOU WON AN IPPY AWARD AND YOU CAN'T TALK ABOUT IT UNTIL IT'S ANNOUNCED OFFICIALLY BUT I THOUGHT I'D TELL YOU BECAUSE I JUST WANTED TO READ MY EMAIL AND THERE WAS THE MAIL FROM THE IPPY PEOPLE!"

Really, she said it like that. In one long phrase, without catching her breath. I swear!
I went to google "IPPY Awards" while she was busy not fainting at my stupidity.
We talked a bit more after that, virtually holding each other's hands and dancing through the room, she calling me an "award winning thing" and I telling her she was the going to be running a BIG publishing house before she knew it, and naming her "Miss Six".
We both wished we could hug each other for real right then, but, well, distance and the Atlantic and all that.
My family, as always, greeted these news with their usual stoic "Aha..." and went on with whatever they were doing. They are like that. I mean, MEN. ("Is it something I can eat? No? Then please carry on!")

So here I was, with these enormous news, with this huge glittering marble of news, and I had to keep it under my tongue, lodged between my molars. It rolled around in my mouth, tapped insistently against my teeth, but I managed to keep it there for the four days it had to stay this well-kept secret.
Well, almost. I told my Mom. She was even more clueless than I had been, so she didn't even know where to take that information, and all was well.

Tuesday morning, 2 am my time, the winning lists were released. That meant it was 8pm Monday night for the publisher. So... I called her.
Me: "CAN I SAY IT NOW, CAN I SAY IT NOW???"
Publisher: "Not yet. Let me get the press release out first. I'll do it first thing tomorrow."
Sigh. That was a restless night.
There I was, the award winning author, and there was nothing for me to do but stare at the dawning sky and wait for New York City to wake up, to lie there in my bed and marvel at what was happening to me.

Three years ago, I decided to write a book. My first one ever, too.
Just over a year ago, I signed that first book deal with Buddhapuss.
This January, "The Distant Shore" was published, and hit the bestseller lists within hours. It sold out within hours! At the same time, before "Distant Shore" was even released, the publisher sent me two new book deals. They believed that much in me! And now, only a few months later, I can return that faith by winning this award for my publisher.

Yesterday, the "day after", I woke up in a funk. Mopey. It broke my heart that I won't be able to go to the award ceremony and pick up my medal, enjoy that moment of glory, but it's not to be. There's just no way it can be done.
Also, I had what the publisher calls "Impostor Syndrome".
Why ME? Of all those who entered that award, why was my book picked to win a medal? There are so many out there who work and write and work and submit and promote, and who've been at it for so much longer. They should be getting awards, not me.
Publisher brushed it away, called me silly (she likes to do that), and told me to get back to work.

Which I'm doing. Back to writing it is for me, since I promised to finish the trilogy before my summer travels.
Clothes shopping it is for the publisher, since she will go to pick up my medal for me at the awards ceremony. NO black, I told her, DON'T wear black like all those NY publishers, stand out, wear RED.
After all, we have reason to celebrate.
Here's the proof:

IPPY Award 2012 Winners List




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