Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

After taking a DNA test a couple of years ago, I found out I'm 4% Ashkenazi Jewish. I was surprised and proud; I had no idea I was Jewish! For as long as I can remember, I had been drawn to Jewish culture and traditions, so I thought it was pretty cool that I actually was part Jewish.  Having never been to Temple and obviously never been mitzvahed, I wasn't sure what to make of my newly discovered heritage. It was great, but for lack of a better word, was I 'allowed' to celebrate this part of myself? I understand 4% isn't a lot, but regardless, it meant (means) a lot to me. When I wrote my novel, I based the main character loosely on myself. As the story in my book approached the Hanukkah season, I felt my character would be in a similar situation, Jewish and proud, yet still unsure how to enjoy that part of her heritage. It was a perfect bridge to help me understand this part of myself.  One of my favorite passages to write in the book was how part-Jewish Marla cel

I used to guest write on a blog called Sox Talks. Please enjoy four excerpts from an  April 2010 entry... Sp eechless in Seattle Boston "The 2010 Red Sox season has been underway for almost exactly one month, and I still don’t know what to say or what to make of them.  I had more of an opinion in the off-season.  Now, I just find myself stumped. What do I make of these guys?  The opening day game had me calling everyone a bum.  Sheesh, I usually save that kind of talk for late August or September." "Look at the stat board; they’re in fourth place in the AL East, and they’re three games under 500...So, what’s the problem? I guess the most obvious problem is the partial loss of Tek.  No one can call a game as he does, and it shows."  "As much as I hate to say it, look at the Yankees.  How many big guys are on the team? They’ve got Jeter, A-Rod, Teixeira, Posada…these are some major producers.  Who do we have on the Sox?" "The Sox season is supposed to

It's chilly Twilight  Perhaps panic My heart Beat-ing Beat-ing I can't move There's weight  I force my Eyes open Thump-ing Thump-ing I see  Only white Not fear  Not mine Puls-ing Puls-ing Like a scarf My cat His heart My ear Thud-ding Thud-ding

As a neglected child I learned to  Fear And hate Attention  Because if someone Wasn't ignoring you They were Yelling Or belittling  So I became  The shadows Silent and cold Or a doormat Stepped on Scraped Afraid of sounds Dreading conflict  Yet somehow Silence unnerved me Like a calm Before a  Violent storm Anguish, sadness, and pain Woven together in  A long braid A childhood As an open wound And still Much later I bleed

Ruxin A baby and a man Soft white thumbs Padding down the hall Loki Fluffy, floofy, feline Tawny or ginger or orange Proper English gentleman  Spike Brooklyn born House panther bound Stealing all the food Fred Aptly named Small pawed trickster  Purring, snow colored, scarf George The other half of the duo Unamused loaf of bread Hiding in a cupboard 

"Too real is this feeling of make believe" But what else do I know?  Fake it till you make it. How much longer do I have to fake it? I've been doing this my whole life to no avail.  I wouldn't know how to stop faking it. 

I find that I am always  Where I don't want to be  Nothing is as it should I have no control in me Overlooked and ignored  The bottom of a slush pile Will it ever happen  Or am I doomed to fake my smile Unsatisfied all the time A life so bland, so vanilla I have the princess Diana of jobs But I want the Camilla  I just want so much more To be able to create and enjoy Finding value rather than   Destined to watch my soul destroy 

After hanging up our coats and my purse, Enzo gestured around,      "It's not much, but the rent is sky high and the kitchen sink clogs once a month!" I let out a little laugh,      "It's nice! And I love the view. The city looks so beautiful from up here." I couldn't help but smile as I looked out the window at the people on the sidewalk, and listened to the cars and tourists. The wind blew in and I breathed the smell of autumn, subway, and metal windowscreen. I turned around to see Enzo smiling at me. "What?"      "Nothing." He shrugged a little, then reached out one hand. I took it, and he pulled me close and kissed me. When he leaned back he said,      "I'd give you the tour of the rest of my apartment but," He motioned around, "This is it."       "But what about the bedroom?" I turned redder than my sweater as soon as I said it, immediately shutting my eyes in embarasment.  Enzo laughed out loud.

I scream. The kind of scream that bellows and pans out and out and out over the world and spans the universe.  I look down. The tip of my pinkie throbs and balloons up, looking like a fat purple gumdrop.  I feel revolted at the thought of the wasp stinger which has just been lodged deep in my flesh. I am poisoned by venom and memory. I begin to wheeze and awkwardly crash to the cement, which is cooking in the sun and burns my legs. I see my grape gumdrop is joined by small strawberry gumdrops, little pink candies, spreading over my hands and arms.  I look up and see sky. Soft white, baby blue, black.

I zig zagged in between an endless maze of tables, and finally caught sight of the yellow dress again. There she was. I walked up to her just as she was starting to stand up. She didn't hear or see me and seemed quite startled as I got close and said,       "Hi, I'm Jason."  She stared into my eyes, her mouth open, her cheeks flushed. She tried to stand up all the way and simultaneously looked ecstatic and mortified. She stumbled against her chair, fell into the butter on the table, and made no sound. Part of me wanted to run away because I felt terrible, the other part wondered if she was deaf, and maybe thats why she was startled and hadn't spoken. I quickly racked my memory, then slowly signed,      "Hi, my name is Jason."  She started to sign back, but then, she she shook her head and spoke,      "I'm Melody."  I almost had to have her repeat her name, I was so enamored with her eyes. They were green, startlingly green, like the color o

Shuffle crunch  Twigs snap Leaves rustle A rock plops in the river  Hike up Wind whirls  Acorns fall A dog shakes off the water Green way Mud patches  Sun glistens  A red and amber field

Curly haired drummer For decades, the face and voice Laughing unrestrained  Tall bard, Texas twang The leader in emerald hat Profound gratitude  Of February  Quiet and shy the act Bass guitar and never far Just because I'm short The British knight on his steed  First to say goodbye 

Bent over his work A cispontine cordwainer  He is unhappy 

An agent I queried months ago, who rejected me months ago, sent me an email yesterday saying (I'm paraphrasing): In case you missed my last email, you're rejected and I can't offer you representation.  They then went on to state that this email was because they think they may have had some sort of computer glitch. Yeah, okay. Funnily enough, the query process has been an excruciating procedure of putting all my hope and dream eggs into your inconsiderate basket, so belive it or not, I paid very close attention to any correspondence regarding queries.  I honestly didn't think this process could get any worse, but here we are.  In querying, a lot of agencies say they'll get back to you within X amount of time and if they don't, it's a no. It's pretty standard. I already received the rejection email, from an email address that was a "do not reply" and either way, we were way past the time frame.  November happens to be national novel writing month

Halloween is over, daylight savings ends on Sunday, and everyone is effectively celebrating Christmas. This is my least favorite time of year. I'm trying to not be depressed, I'm trying to smile and not roll my eyes when I see the tacky red and green decorations, I'm trying to feign happiness and contentment but I don't think I'm succeeding.  It's hard to fake it when I know I'll be freezing until April...when the sun sets before dinner...when snow is coming...and my novel, which once made me kind of happy again...is now the bane of my existence. I'm embarrassed I announced to the world that I wrote a novel, since no one wants to read it or will have anything to do with it.  I was a depressed, miserable, negative, anxious mess in high school, worse than a dumpster fire. I'm rapidly falling back into that, after swearing I never would.  Life isn't what I expected or planned. I'm completely unfulfilled. I feel like a loser at all times. It'