seduced by the written word

If you’ve read Stephenie Meyer’s page turner, Twilight, you’re familiar with Forks, Washington, www.stepheniemeyer.com/twilight_forks.html   

Often, I feel like I live in Forks, because, baby, it’s cold outside. Not to mention damp. Here’s what it looked like from our dock, yesterday:

And that’s during the daytime. I was dressed warm, down to my Uggs, and I still needed to turn on the heater. So, if you are in a spot where you can:

Hear a screen door slam behind you,

Feel the grass between your toes,

Watch the kids play in the sprinklers,

Complain about the heat as you pour a cool glass of lemonade or sweet tea,

Barbeque in shorts and a t-shirt,

I’m not envious – I’m flat-out jealous.

The upside, and yes, I’m really having to search for one, is its good weather to stay inside and write. Arrrrggh.

The other upside is I’m planning a trip to Savannah in late August. My completed manuscript, All Things Unusual, is set in Savannah, but my work in progress begins there, as well. I’ll arrive just in time to appreciate the historic district during a Southern summer. That’s right, I can’t wait to have sweat drip off the tip of my nose.

Y’all know my favorite spot on this coast is Sweet Things Bakery in Tiburon. I have a fantasy of living in the apartment above the shop.

Well, no, there is no apartment above the shop…as I said…it’s my fantasy.

Sweet Things is where I procure my rugala, but they make a mean Red Velvet cupcake, or Butter Cap cupcake, too.

They understand it’s all about the ratio of frosting to cake. And speaking of cake, if I’m leaning toward a slice…it has to be their Tres Leche cake.

But my fantasy goes like this….it’s early morning and I wander downstairs in my bathrobe and sit at the striped seat in the window. Someone brings me a cup of coffee, some sugar cookies, and I open up my laptop and begin writing. No, they don’t have Wi-Fi….once again, it’s my fantasy.

And that’s it. It doesn’t get any deeper than that. I write and eat baked goods to my heart’s content.

So excuse me while I lick the frosting from my upper lip and head back to the new manuscript. I left the main character fighting for her life in front of the Cathedral on Abercorn Street in Savannah’s historic district.  She really hates it when I do that.

What’s this? It’s my ever growing Savannah library, my go-to shelf between visits to the historic district, fodder for my manuscript, ALL THINGS UNUSUAL.

 I found these books at E. Shaver Booksellers on Madison Square. When I didn’t have the forethought to buy what I needed while I was there, they were always kind enough to ship.

And here’s my trusty, well-worn, map that shows all the Squares:

It was at my right hand, beside the mouse, as I wrote and revised. On one of my visits to the historic district I discovered there are one-way streets and, of course, the map isn’t that specific; fingers crossed that I caught any inaccuracies in the manuscript while I was moving characters around town.  

And while I’m at it, here’s the Spirit Bottle I bought at Folklorico:

They’ve moved to their new shop on Bull Street, right before you reach Forsyth Park:

Lulu, the protagonist in ALL THINGS UNUSUAL takes a Spirit Bottle home from Mama Etta’s House of Hoodoo and All Things Unusual and all sorts of strange things begin to occur in her life. Me? So far, I’ve kept my Spirit Bottle tightly capped. Guess I’m not as brave as my imagination.

I don’t know about Carmen, but here’s where I was last week…..

and if that doesn’t look familiar, here’s another hint:

If only I’d photographed the Museo National del Prado you would have leaped from your chair and shouted, “Madrid!”

But don’t get too comfortable because then we moved to:

Si, si, it’s on the tip of your tongue….Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter)

and a metro ride later finds us gazing up at Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia in………. Barcelona!!

Sad but true: all those years of memorizing dialogue in Spanish class, “En la biblioteca,” did not pay off.

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But I had a great time with Hannah (that’s her in the distance; trust me on this):

Long walks and train rides are conducive to opening up my thoughts. And although this visit to Spain was brief, whether I was people watching or gazing at a Goya portrait, I was struck by the beauty of Spanish facial features; they will probably show up in a character or two in my current manuscript. Now that I’ve returned home, the only travel planned in the immediate future will be in my imagination. The laptop awaits.

Early this morning I gave Bill a ride over to the Corinthian for the start of the Singlehanded Sailing Society’s 2010 TransPac www.sfbaysss.org It’s a race from San Francisco Bay to Hanalei Bay, Kauai; a 2,120 mile dream or nightmare, depending on conditions and your state-of-mind.

 Singlehanded means just that – there’s only one sailor per boat. First they have to make it through the shipping lanes, sleep deprivation kicks in as they continue to put distance between their boat and land…and eventually the experience translates into being alone in the middle of the freakin’ Pacific.

Bill and his mistress boat Ergo did the race in ’04 and ’06 so I know what it feels like to drive to Tiburon with him in the early morning. When it comes to saying goodbye to someone who’s going to be alone in the middle of the freakin’ Pacific, I feel a need to say something important. Something to tide us over in the days ahead. But I’ve never figured that one out, other than ‘I love you,’ and ‘be safe.’

Thankfully, this morning I didn’t have to say goodbye because Ergo wasn’t racing. Bill says he’s over the TransPac. I’ve heard that before but he’s  sounding convincing. For now.

This morning he helped tow the fleet to the starting line:

But before the towing began, here’s Blue Moon (Adam Correa) and Cathy:

Sure, she looks trim and beautiful now, but voice of experience to Cathy: in the days ahead, stay away from channel surfing and binge eating. Just saying.

Here’s what it looks like on the dock as friends and families gather to see their sailors off:

In ’04 they towed Ergo out before I had a chance to give Bill a kiss goodbye. As I stood on the dock waving, a man who happened to be standing behind me said, “Sometimes they go crazy out there.” 

Where’s the Cherry Garcia when you need it? 

And here are some of the racers — past and current — milling around for some last minute, jeeped-up conversations:

Semper Fi, Marine!:

Folks start to gather up toward the race deck for the start:

and I make friends with an egret who is watching the last boats being towed on the far end of the dock:

Wishing all the racers a fast, safe passage — here’s your reward — Hanalei Bay at dusk:

Oh, and here are two photographs Bill took in the middle of the freakin’ Pacific:

Canadian Geese versus Seagulls: Monday Night Smack-down!

This was the view over the back rail earlier this week. The gulls won because they’re dirty street fighters; they carry knives, jagged glass and other contraband hidden in those snowy white feathers. They’re handsome but sociopathic. They’ll cut any goose that comes between them and their stale bread. They go for the eyes, the throat, the women and children. No hesitation, no remorse.

Now, here’s a view of the front porch. I couldn’t figure out how this concentrated spot of bird pooh came to be here on the ground under the awning….

Mystery solved. Can you see the nest with the sweet baby birds tucked in the canvas above our door? We think their parents set-up house while we were visiting Savannah. And I don’t think they’re happy we’ve returned. Why do I say that?

When we come and go the mom and dad fly across the dock and scream threats and obscenities at us for getting too close.

I think they’re off their medication.

It’s true; we have our share of anti-social neighbors. I’ve learned to deal with it. How? Note to self: avoid walking beneath right side of awning from this point forward.  

Trivial pursuit: Can anyone identify the large, shiny, silver thingamajig next to the bird pooh Bill has left on the front porch? Maybe not, but I bet you wish you had one.

Some folks decorate their entry with a seasonal wreath. Light-weights.

True, I write about Savannah, and houseboat living, and even writing, but I’ve been silent about my search for literary representation.  Why? Because I’m superstitious about saying something too soon.  Plus, the road to publishing is slow; imagine watching an upended bottle of molasses….actually, that’s a poor analogy because you can watch molasses flow….let’s just say I kept you in the dark FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.

You’re welcome.  

A few years ago I met author Tim Maleeny www.timmaleeny.com at the Book Passage www.bookpassage.com Mystery Writers Conference.  Tim’s writing and our dinner conversation made an impression.  

So, when I was ready to begin querying agents for representation I researched his agent, Jill Grosjean, and subsequently sent her a letter about All Things Unusual.  She responded with a request for the full manuscript.

Yes, I was excited, but I didn’t blog about it because…..I’m superstitious that way.  After the initial excitement of shipping off the manuscript came the fear of rejection entertaining part.  This is where you imagine the pages of a calendar turning…April…..May…..time passed and I bought this necklace:

You’re probably thinking, ‘She bought a necklace? That’s kind of random.’ Not really. I bought it as a talisman; Lulu, the main character in my novel gets a tattoo with a crescent moon and stars, and when I saw the necklace I decided it would bring me good luck (because I’m kind of superstitious  that way).  I began wearing the necklace and traveled with it to Savannah:

In my last post I wrote about returning home from that trip after midnight. Here’s what I didn’t tell you, because, yes, I’m superstitious that way: I opened my email at 1:24 a.m. and a letter from literary agent Jill Grosjean was waiting for me.

Jill wrote that she had begun reading my manuscript, loved it so far, and wondered if I was still seeking representation.  The week passed as she read the full manuscript, there were more enthusiastic emails, and on Friday we spoke by phone.  She told me about herself and how she works, shared her ideas for submissions to editors, and offered representation. I liked her, thought her ideas for representation were terrific, and…

Voila! I am now represented by the Jill Grosjean Literary Agency.

I hope you’ll join me for a glass of champagne.  Superstitious, or not, this is a slow process and I believe in celebrating when I can!

It was after midnight, and as I wheeled the carry-on down the dock toward our houseboat it sounded different, heavier against the planks. Must have been the extra weight from friend, Savannahian and tour guide, Harriet’s www.savannahsites.com gift to me: a first edition of author Eugenia Price’s 755 page epic, Stranger in Savannah:

Why did Harriet give me a book by Eugenia Price? Over one of our many lunches I mentioned that a significant character in my manuscript, All Things Unusual, is named Eugenia. Harriet reacted to the name and asked why I’d chosen it. As far as I knew there was no rational reason. It came to me while I was writing. Coincidence? Perhaps, but given some of our conversations, I’m not sure we believe in coincidence.

Harriet also gave me a tin of Savannah Benne wafers, but they never made it to my cookie jar on the west coast. If you don’t know what Benne wafers are, they’re low country, crispy, sesame seed Southern cookies, and you have added one more reason to your list of why you must visit.

Here’s what the historic district looked like over Memorial Day weekend — it was gorgeous:

This shot was taken on Jones Street, where my Eugenia lives. 

Relaxing on a bench in Madison Square on Sunday morning I mentally corrected a tour guide who had just walked past giving inaccurate information to a couple trying to keep up with him. His voice confirmed he was from north of the Mason-Dixon line.

What can I say? My research has transformed me into the kind of woman you can only hope you don’t sit beside on a park bench on one of the Squares on a glorious, lazy day. You just might find yourself learning more than you ever wanted to know!

Last time I traveled to Savannah I invited you to hang out here, went so far as to fill the cookie jar for you, came home and discovered the rugala was gone, the jar empty. I had only myself to blame; I did say ‘help yourself.’ Still, an empty cookie jar is harsh after flying across the country. And I really can’t be expected to write anything without rugala….not anything you’d want to read, anyway. Other baked goods will do in a pinch, but the idea makes my head hurt.

So this time, maybe you could try and save me one. Just to tide me over till the bakery opens.

You know where the key is; come and go as you please. And because you mean so much to me — I’m clenching my teeth now– help yourself to the rugala.

I’ll bring back some stories and pictures of Savannah for y’all – you know the kind – the ones that make you wish you were there.

Those of you who have been visiting my blog since the beginning know I have a love affair with Savannah, GA. This may come as a surprise to newer readers because I haven’t visited this Southern destination point since February and my Savannah posts have slipped into the archives……

Dim the lights. Okay, so watching American Idol is a guilty pleasure. Work with me, people.

Who is going home tonight? All right, so now I’m reeeaally stretching credibility here because Savannah’s not home (yet) and I’m not going there tonight (wouldn’t that be the best?!)

But I have plans to return soon.

Friend, photographer and Georgia resident, Jacquelynn Buck, www.jacquelynnbuck.com   recently wrote “You’ll be heading to the muggy South! And yes, it went from zero to gross in about 3.5 seconds the other day. And now it’s staying.” 

For some, this would have been a reality check. A wake-up call. But not for me.

Friend, Savannahian, tour guide and obvious proponent of tough love, Harriet Meyerhoff www.savannahsites.com has tried to do an intervention. “Sara, have you been here during the summer?” she has asked as I rhapsodized over her fair city.

Why do I love Savannah? I can list my reasons but in the end such a list is useless. I am like a woman smitten with a lover– even though friends shake their heads and for my own good try to make me see the light — I JUST DON’T CARE! That’s right, I’m covering my ears now — lalalalalala.

It comes down to this: Savannah is my muse and I am seduced.

The countdown has begun. The plane tickets have been purchased. The deposit on the apartment on Jones Street has been made.

And I’m sounding a little pitchy.

Week after next I’ll be in Savannah. Humid air will caress my skin as I walk into the night outside Savannah/Hilton Head airport. I can’t wait.