Rejoice & be Exceedingly Glad

March 10th, 2008

For all my dedicated family and friends who have waited lo these five years for news of a new book, I bear good tidings of great joy: a new book is in the works. It isn’t fiction, but a cookbook/memoir, tentatively entitled: The Cracker Kitchen: In Celebration of Food, Family, and a Great American Tradition. As many of you know, the idea of penning a cookbook has been bubbling in my head for years, as we are famous for two things in our family: eating and talking. The talking yen is pretty much satisfied in my writing, but our great romance with calories has so far gone unsatisfied and undocumented.

Well, no more. Last December, in a fit of inspiration, I set myself to writing out a hundred favorite recipes, and found that every recipe had either a story or an intro that begged to be told. In short order, the Cracker cookbook became a memoir/cookbook, complete with family photos and the sharing of many dark family secrets (just kidding on that one.)I wasn’t sure anyone in NY would really get it, but my plucky agent Marly Rusoff thought it a fine idea and sent it out and Scribner gobbled it up, like gravy and biscuit. Yes, Scribner; the publisher of F. Scott Fitzgerald! Of Marjorie K Rawlings, Hemingway and T Wolfe. And now… the Queen of the Crackers, yours truly.

I’m sure the irony wouldn’t be lost on the sage of Mississippi, William Faulkner, who once foretold that the Snopes of the world – Crackers, all - would one day take over the world: the village, then the town, then the mansion. Well, old son: behold! That day is upon you.

I say: rise up, ye Crackers, and eat some squirrel. And while you’re at it, buy my book. I got children to educate and taxes that don’t pay themselves, and old Mr. Wendel isn’t going to be able to take the twelve-hour grind forever. I need the money.

But goofing aside: rejoice. This really is a happy day.

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Pulpwood Queens of Jefferson, Texas

January 22nd, 2008

I have just returned from the zaniest book club on earth – the Pulpwood Queens Girlfriend Weekend in Jefferson, Texas, which is the brainchild of blonde extraordinaire, Kathy Patrick, author of The Pulpwood Queen’s Tiara-Wearing, Book-Sharing Guide to Life. If you haven’t bought your wife a Valentine’s Day present, this book would be a winner – maybe with a box of Godiva chocolates. It has all the hallmarks of a great read: laughter and insight and great book recommendations, and who can resist a woman who proudly (and accurately) self-describes as “Hairdresser to the Authors and Founder of The Pulpwood Queens Book Clubs.” She teased my hair up a mile high for The Ball of Hair – the weekend finale that was truly about the funniest night I’ve had in a long time. The Tyler, Texas chapter of the Pulpwood Queens won the trophy this year and as they all danced around the dance floor in their vintage leopard-print dresses and bouffant hairstyles, I began to have an inkling of why Isabel has abandoned hearth and home here in North Florida in favor of the Lone Star State. One thing you can say for Texans: they know how to cut loose and have a good time.

They also know how to make a stranger feel welcome. Case in point: on my way there, my suitcase was consumed in the maw of the Atlanta airport, never to return, so I had to spend my first morning buying new clothes. I walked downtown and stopped at a drugstore – an old-fashioned kind with a soda fountain and a table full of old men drinking coffee. When I asked the cashier for directions to the nearest clothing store and explained my dilemma, the entire store – which had apparently listened in on our conversation - leapt to commiserate. The pharmacist came to the door at the front of the store and told me, “Little girl, you should have pitched a bigger fit,” meaning I should have insisted on someone finding my suitcase, I guess. I didn’t ask; I was too charmed at being called Little Girl in public, with no irony or sarcasm intended.

It greatly lessened the sting of the lost luggage, I’ll tell you that.

All hail the Pulpwood Queens, and God bless Texas.

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So You Have Some Extra Money…

December 18th, 2007

… here’s an opportunity to give. You might recall my son-in-law John Reichardt is in Afghanistan, on a FOB in the mountains with the 82nd Airborne out of Ft. Bragg. These soldiers are not only freezing, but have served multiple tours of duty, including hot stretches in the early days of the war, fighting in Iraq. They’ve seen friends killed and dodged their share of bullets and rockets, and you’d expect them to be bitter about spending another Christmas overseas, and anxious to receive their own Christmas boxes. But according to Abby, John and his comrades are more worried with the Afghani people who live around them, who have suffered terribly in the war and under the iron fist of the Taliban, and are without any provisions at all, and freezing to death. Here is a call they’ve put out for money and other things - including soccer uniforms - that pretty much speaks for itself, and incidently, gives you an idea of the caliber of soldier we have out there on the line, fighting for us. They are a fine example of that great American export: compassion. May God keep them safe till their return.

Here’s the letter, from FOB Hades, and if anyone has any ideas of combining forces, or has any relatives who work for Nike (and get cheap shoes and shirts) then let me know. This isn’t a fake plea, but real soldiers, in a real war, worried about real neighbors. The address is listed in case you want to send something to them directly, and if your child plays on a soccer team, maybe you could talk to the other team parents into doing a yard sale or concession fund-raiser. It would teach your children compassion and score big points with the Great Score Keeper Above, who might bless you with a few extra goals, who knows. In any case, it would be a nice little candle to light this holiday to brighten a dark world.

Letter from Jesse Koehler, FOB Hades, 82nd Airborne

As you may know, one of our missions in Afghanistan is to win the hearts and minds of the people. The United States being in the Middle East gives us the chance to show the Islamic community what Americans are all about. It opens their eyes to see the compassion that we have as a society, not just for our own people but, for ALL people regardless of religious, political, or cultural views. They see something more than what MTV or soap operas show them. We are asking for your assistance to help accomplish this mission. If you would like to make a huge difference with something so small, here’s how. Our local elementary school needs 1st grade level reading material. Anything you can come up with would be greatly appreciated. Remember, the Afghani people are amazed by the simple things that we take for granted. So, sky’s the limit. Our district sponsors a local soccer adult soccer team. These guys are extremely talented. It’s only a matter of time before they are in the World Cup. However, they could use some equipment to help make them elite amongst the districts in the province. Some of these guys have so much love for the game and play without shoes because they are so poor. Even used uniforms would be welcomed with great admiration. Again, anything you can think of would be more than what they have now. We just had an new orphanage open up. Many children become homeless either to illnesses, unsafe living conditions, or the Taliban killing their parents for taking pro-government jobs. The very people who risk their lives to help make Afghanistan a better place are targeted for not allowing the Taliban to suppress them or their children. Before International intervention, these orphans would go homeless. They would either be recruited by the Taliban or starve to death. Now, we can offer a community for these young boys. However, we need to get them clothed this winter. As I mentioned in the newsletter, Afghanistan can get down to 30 below in some places. Obviously, most of Afghanistan does not have central heating. At best, families can hover around an old small pot belly stove. That is if they can afford any type of wood. Unfortunately, wood is considered a luxury. I understand that the cost for shipping such items can be unforgiving. If I could recommend a group participation. That way, no one person will have to take the blunt of the cost. I really do appreciate anything you all can do.

GOD bless you all.

Jesse Koehler , HHC 508th STB 82nd FOB

SHANK (PAL) APO AE 09354

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Waiting to Inhale (chocolate)

December 14th, 2007

Sorry for my blogging laziness. I have no excuse except general business and a project that is on the burner. When I sign a contract I’ll share the news. In the meanwhile, I’m trying to get a grip on Christmas. I’m having daily disappointment with my Fed-ex man because I keep thinking my cousin Marcie is sending me some See’s chocolate, which always arrive by Fed-ex. Abby has had a lot of her presents shipped here for some reason, and every day, the same sad scenario plays out: the Fed-Ex man pulls up, then beeps because of the dogs (he’s not fond of our pack of ferocious hounds.)

I charge downstairs with a big: “Yes!” and run outside and assure him the dogs are fine; they don’t bite. After five minutes rooting around in his truck, he brings me some non-chocolate present. It’s really putting a damper on the yuletide. I guess the logical solution would be ordering my own box of chocolate but I’m trying to lose weight and can’t really justify ordering my own candy. I am at the mercy of friends and loved ones and especially loved ones in Tallahassee who are known to have accounts with See’s. Enough said.

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Author Intervew October 2007

October 14th, 2007

My friend, Karen Zacharias Spears did the following interview for SIBA Authors Around the South (see link to the side.) Here it is if in case you don’t believe in links…

Q: While the South is the setting of your stories, family seems to be the real landscape. You give special weight to the relationship of siblings. Why do you think that is?

A: I was so shy as a child that I was practically mute, and the land of the family was the only landscape I knew for most of my formative years (too many, arguably.) My two older brothers were not exactly role models, but were my constant companions and chief translators of the life around me. They were great explainers. They explained many things. As I grew older, I learned I had two of the goofiest teachers on earth. I’d like to think that one day I could eclipse all the powerful wisdom they passed down, but the impression they made on my frontal lobe seems permanently affixed. Hence, I’m doomed to write about families, and in particular, families with supremely confident misguided males. The good thing is that we all spring from some sort of family unit and as a writer, if I can get that dynamic right, then the distance to every reader on earth fades away. I can leap right across class and color and economic privilege and religion, because a know-it-all older brother is the same whether you’re a Vietnamese farmer or a suburban housewife, or a cowboy from the hills of West Texas. It is the blessing of common humanity.

Q: You are the mother to three lovely daughters, but you grew up the only girl in a household of brothers. What did each of those households teach you that carries over to your writing?

A: Over the years, my daughters have brought me some of my best stories from their real-world, real-time triumphs and suffering. They appear in my fiction as nearly flawless – beautiful and brilliant and wry and faithful. Missy Catts is the combined power of my daughters. All the other Catts males are either my husband or brothers, or one of their hundred-thousand friends. I never let anyone lay a hand on my lovely daughter-figures. I let the males get the crap beat out of them on occasion. The passive-aggressive in me kicking up, I guess. They usually deserve it.

Q: Among southern writers, you are the sister we all turn to for comfort and wisdom. You have developed some very special relationships with some of the South’s most notable literary giants, among them Pat Conroy, who has called you one of the finest novelists of our time, and Doug Marlette. How did you first meet Doug?

A: I met Doug by email, after I responded to an essay he had posted on the Columbia School of Journalism site, called I Was A Tool of Satan. He responded and we became immediate friends, as Doug had a sharp eye for everything (gimlet he called it) - a rare combination of artist and writer, whereas I am blind as a bat and intuitive. I learn and know by absorption alone. He was, now that I think of it, the latest in my string of wise-older-brothers, there on the outside. Our love of the South – or rather, our fixation with the South was our common ground. In time, we discussed everything, but much of it came back to that. He and I were both one generation removed from the mill (textile, in his case; heading mill in mine) from the community-college, chip-on-your-shoulder working class South. Thanks to my early training with my knucklehead brothers, nothing he said ever shocked or offended me – he or Pat, either one. Doug was just relentlessly supportive and generous and as loving a friend as you’d ever want – but at the end of the day, the reason we kept those cards and letters coming is that we made each other laugh.

Q: Is there a character in literature that reminds you of Doug?

A: In my own books, Gabriel Catts, who also has a gift for pissing people off; is hilarious and flawed and devoted to the people he loves and doesn’t mind giving the back of his hand to the ones he doesn’t; a devoted father from a mill town who went to both FSU & Harvard. The similarities go on and on – a coincidence I once pointed out to Doug, as I created the character long before I met him. I told him it was precognition. He said he couldn’t have been more pleased to be slandered in print; that I was welcome to tell everyone it was a thinned disguised fictionalization of that idiot self-absorbed Marlette; that he’d allow himself to be kept in the acknowledgements – would tell people that yes, he was a bastard in print and proud of it. Then he laughed that maniacal laugh – which is something that everyone who knew him will always remember: the glint in his eye and his crazy Doug laugh. Like a mad scientist, the moment he learned to split an atom.

Q: Doug could be a man of controversy. Do you think he earned that role or do you think he was misunderstood?

A: Oh, I’ve no doubt he earned every death threat, ugly grimace, spit on the sidewalk or howl of rage he ever provoked. Doug was of the Harry Crews, poke-a-stick-in-your-eye school of Southern literature, and to be insulted by him was his highest compliment. It meant he was paying attention. He had his own Doug-vision of the world, kind to the underdog and hellish to the privileged and entitled; was only misunderstood by people who thought they could bully, silence, intimidate, label or drop him. He really resisted being silenced. The way bulls resist being milked. He thought all working-class Southern writers had rage issues – some, like him and Pat and Harry Crews, roared. Women like me ingested it and got depressed, which worried him in the big picture – the effects of my internalized rage. He encouraged me to lose the good manners and let it roar. If he’d have heard that I’d gone postal and shot up a supermarket, he would have sent me a congratulatory telegram in jail. He would have seen it as a sign of personal growth

Q: You spoke at Doug’s funeral. What’s one of your favorite memories that you haven’t shared yet?

A: How that Melinda, his most beloved wife, put kudzu on his simple wooden coffin, with flowers from her own garden. The image and dignity of the gesture will be with me forever. I’ll write about it one day, but not this soon. Got too much of that pent up rage, I guess. Depresses me. But eventually. There was too much love and beauty and too many glimpses of grace to let those two days go unrecorded.

Q: You have a wicked sense of humor. Did you get that from your mom or from your dad?

A: Definitely from my mother and her family, who are famously hilarious. And severe depressives, which is always the thing. They rage against the darkness with laughter.

Q: When did you first feel the calling to be a writer?

A: My grandmother was a church poet, who had a few things published here and there, and always wrote the Christmas and Easter plays. I loved her so much and loved my mother – who was a dedicated book worm – that reading became a sacred pursuit, and writing soon after.

Q: What character in literature do you identify with most?

A: Hmmm. Possibly Mrs. De Winter in REBECCA – the way that she’s slowly unraveling a puzzle that everyone else has already figured out. I often feel like that in life. Or a harmless doofus like Bilbo Baggins. Sort of everyman caught up in a large adventure with many grave misgivings.

Q: Have you encountered any stereotypes or misconceptions as a southern writer?

A: Not really as a southern writer. I pretty much personify the stereotype of the lumbering fundamentalist backwoods do-gooder, who knows all the verses to all the hymns and the exact Alabama regiments her great-grandfathers fought under in the Civil War. I’m straight out of Hollywood central casting, so there are no surprises there, other than mild wonder that such a relic still exists. I’m not offended. I share their wonder. There was actually a time in my life, albeit, briefly, when I thought I’d cut the ties with the past and become pleasingly contemporary. But with middle age I seem to be losing ground. I insist on brewing my own tea, eat fried chicken at least once a week, and occasionally mutter, “I declare,” in a voice that is identical to my father. It’s another one of those frontal lobe things. Very thoroughly hard-wired. One day I’ll be stuffed and sent to the Smithsonian.

Q: People outside the south often issue dire predictions about the demise of regional literature. Do you think those predictions are valid? Do you think in order to remain marketable you’ll have to resort to a generic voice from a nameless landscape?

A: Actually, I think the need and appreciation of regional lit will grow, the same way that boutique grocery stores are coming on strong. Right now, global is in, but that pendulum will swing soon enough. Story is story and a good one will transcend regionalism. Whether we’ll have national publishers willing to distribute – that’s the rub. Literary fiction might become the province of the small press, but we’ll see.

Q: What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received from a fan?

A: A reader in Ft. Myers once told my best friend (who was traveling with me) she envied her, because she could tell I was a great best friend.

Q: When your granddaughter Lily is 18 and headed off to college, what advice will you whisper in her ear?

A: Buy books in hardback and don’t elope with a soldier (J middle daughter just did that…)

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