Shaved Meats, Piled High: November 2017
Why Laura Can't Read
When I took the SATs, back between the great wars -- those lost years when the Beatles were no more, but the two youngest Backstreet Boys had not even been born -- the verbal test scored vocabulary and reading comprehension. On my first attempt, I soared through the first, but stumbled on the latter. My English teacher gave me some simple advice: Run your finger or a pencil under the words as you read. This creates a flow that ensures you won't skim or miss a word.
My score jumped more than 100 points. And now, when I am in edits on my books, I read them aloud in order to focus on every word, forty or fifty pages a day until I'm done -- and hoarse. It's amazing how many continuity errors I catch this way.
But I clearly need a system for my email. Earlier this fall, Otto Penzler of the Mysterious Bookshop reached out to me and asked if I would write the store's annual holiday story. I had no business writing a short story -- I'm in the middle of a book that's giving me fits -- but I wanted to try my hand at this. I thought about a long-ago anecdote from my newspaper days, updated it to fit our Google-y days, and was oh-so-smug about finishing it two weeks ahead of schedule. It's called "Seasonal Work" and even includes a cameo by Tess Monaghan.
But my assistant, Molli (The Mystery Box's official photographer) read the story and reminded me what I had missed in reading that first email from Otto: It's supposed to be set in a bookstore, at least in part. No problemo, I said, or words to that effect. In fact, the addition of a bookstore made the story more poignant, I thought.
Try again, Lippman. Otto's original email specifically asked that I set at least part of the story in the Mysterious Bookshop. I started over from scratch and wrote a new story, "Snowflake Time." It will be included in all store orders between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Go here for more information.
Meanwhile, I still had the first story. I could have waited until 2018, then queried physical publications. (By mid-October, it was too late to place anything in a 2017 magazine.) But I was impatient. I approached someone I knew only via the Internet, and asked if her super-cool, super-wonderful site would use it. To my delight, she took the story. When the link goes live, I'll promote it here, here and here.
So happy holidays from me, twice over. I like to think that my pain is your gain, but that's not for me to say. One of the stories happens to be about a man trying to reinvent himself after accusations of sexual harassment, the other is a sadly timeless story about a girl being forced to grow up way too fast.
READ/READING: Tony and Susan, Austin Wright; A Poetry Handbook, Mary Oliver; They Call Me Little Willie, Mark R. Cheshire. Also several student novels, my gig at Spannocchia in Tuscany. Look, somebody has to go to Tuscany and read people's novels.
REREADING: Dear Lovey Hart, I am Desperate, by Ellen Conford. I picked this up the other night, realized it was inscribed to me -- and cried a little. I met Ellen years ago and fan-girled shamelessly. I'm so sorry she's gone. The book has aged beautifully, but I'd love to read a contemporary take on the problems of a teen giving advice to other teens.
ME, ME, ME: A very fun giveaway here. Free SUNBURN twice-over, in a way.
And Publishers Weekly says of SUNBURN, in a starred review: "This is Lippman at her observant, fiercest best, a force to be reckoned with in crime fiction.” That's three stars out of three so far, for those of you keeping score at home. (That would be me, only me.)
Laura Lippman
November 2017