My New Avocation:

Public Relations Maven. Who knew?

Here's how it's coming about: Leenie's writer friend, Sarah Dunant, is gearing up for the US release of a third novel in her series on women in the Italian Renaissance – and she is planning a publicity tour in the States in the fall of 2009. Her last two books both hit the NYT bestseller list, and this new one should, too. The subject is convent life in Italy during the Counter-Reformation and the church's oppression of women therein.

Because there are modern parallels to be drawn, Sarah believes (and so do I) that there could be a very reasonable rationale for discussion of the book in the light of church politics in the 21st century. The story of the Immaculate Heart Sisters and their standoff against Cardinal McIntyre in Los Angeles in the late 1960s comes to mind (and it's not that long ago, folks); and the current conflict in the Roman and Anglican churches regarding women's ordination seems pretty pertinent also.

Sarah was discussing the marketing of the new book with Leenie recently, and she said that since she has no real acquaintance with American Catholicism, she wondered if my daughter knew how she might gain some access to leaders and movers/shakers in liberal religious circles over the pond. Eureka: let's ask Fran!

Since I admire Dunant's writing for its well researched historical detail and lively style and have read the first two in the Renaissance series (and am eagerly awaiting publishers' proofs of the third), I agreed to see what I could do.

This public relations work is basically what John and I dub "nexializing" – a nexialist is one who connects – people, businesses, groups, etc. – for their mutual benefit. John's work as a consultant consisted of a lot of that sort of thing, and I'm a careful observer, so perhaps I learned more than I thought during the years in Europe. At any rate, I decided to see what I could do for Sarah.

Networking like a mad ferret, so far I have connected the author with Dr. Ann Taves, the Catholic Studies chair at UCSB, whom I know slightly via St. Mark's days; by good fortune, she had been looking for writers on book tours as guest lecturers for her Fall 2009 season. After doing a little research on Sarah's works, she took the suggestion of inviting Dunant to speak at the Interdisciplinary Department in cooperation with their Renaissance Studies wing, to her deparment head. That worthy said that he doubted they could tempt a best-selling author; Ann (laughing quietly to herself) replied that Dunant had already come to her!

Since Taves is on academic leave at Stanford this winter, I asked her if she had any San Francisco connections that might be interested in hosting Sarah while she is touring in the Bay Area; of course she does, and she's busily connecting things herself now, working directly with her NoCal colleagues and Dunant to set something up.

What else? I gave Sarah the names of the Catholic publications that might be interested in reviewing her book (Commonweal, America, National Catholic Reporter) – and some writers I know about who should receive advance copies of the book for possible jacket blurbs (Kathleen Norris, Joan Chittister, Nora Gallagher, et al). For ammunition when she meets with her publicists at Random House/NY in February, I also suggested two indy bookstores in Santa Barb that would be good venues for a book signing (Chaucer's, and Tecolote "where Oprah shops for books").

Do I dare tackle Oprah? A book-of-the-month push from her sure would help sales .... hmmm. No, I think Random House ought to try to get through that gilded door.

My next big push, after Sarah has a definite date in my old home town, is to get an evening meet/greet thing set up there for people who can't attend university lectures and don't like standing in line at bookstores. Stay tuned: I have some good ideas in mind.

I'm Off And Running

Monday morning dawns, and Julie and I have a shopping and lunch date in Capitola, the Capital of Cute. I have an interesting tale to tell about my new avocation as a publicity maven; stay tuned.

Come Saturday Mornin'

I'm staying at home with my friend .... to paraphrase an old song I love. It's a drizzly, grey day, just the sort to induce cocooning. The house is so quiet, at 11 AM; John is in his little Study Shack, enjoying his own private time for writing and organizing. We had a good earlyish brunch of pancakes and sausage and OJ; won't need lunch today! In the afternoon, my consort plans to work on transferring old music to new media (LP records and cassette tapes go to CD and then the shells get recycled). I must make a short run down to the village to the library and "Johnnie's Super" some time before 5 PM, but I plan to spend most of the afternoon doing writing exercises from my training manual for writing memoirs, "Courage & Craft" by Barbara Abercrombie. She offers a very useful home-course in "Writing Your Life Into Story" – and I'm beginning to do her Five Minute Exercises, which she uses in her classes. She throws out a topic; you take five minutes only, and just write, without stopping for contemplation or editing. It's easier than it sounds, because if you get stumped she suggests you just write "I'm stumped, why?" or anything else that comes from the subconscious to the paper (or monitor) until the creative juices lead you on to the end of the five minutes. I think it is right in line with the dictum that "the only way to be a writer is to write." I've tried about four or five of these exercises and it's surprising how much I can think of to say in that small period of time. But then I've always been excessively wordy, so it's a good thing that the next portion of Abercrombie's book deals with Editing. There, I ought to shine, as I am known as "The Slasher" in copyediting circles. The question remains whether I can be as brutal with myself as I've been with others. Stay tuned (I'll try to be honest!)

The Day After

"What a night! What a night!" Paul Simon exclaims during the famous Simon and Garfunkel Concert in Central Park. I felt that way yesterday: "What a day!" We were floating on air, up here in Boulder Creek. The first deep breath i was able to draw was after the ceremony, when I could reassure myself that it had actually happened, that no shots rang out, just songs of joy. I thought the blissful look on the faces of the members of Yo Yo Ma's quartet as they played the blissful strains of "Simple Gifts" said it all.

Now the real work begins, of course. I'm guessing O was up and running this morning, even after the taking of the oath of office, the dancing and celebrating, and – I'm betting – a sleepless night. (His girls were having a slumber party at their new home, and you know what that means: No Slumber, for anybody in the house.) But I think he will move with careful deliberation and with courage and strength, toward his closest-held goals. As long as we all move our goals along with him, we can turn this world around. Let's roll! Let's eradicate the horror we've felt since 2001 when we first heard that call to action that led to death. Let's roll this chariot along to a better life for every man, woman and child on this beautiful Earth.

That Free(dom) Concert!

Wow; I don't know how it struck everyone else, but I thought that was a wowzer 90 minutes of good music. What a time it must have been to be down there by the reflecting pool, singing along.

I am filled with American spirit when I hear something like that, and listen to Obama speak; and how I do pray that he will carry through on his promises and his professed ideals and hopes.

I guess those who know me well realize that I'm not 100% on the bandwagon; I've been disappointed so many, many times in the past by so many politicians and world leaders, that it's hard for me to believe.

Perhaps having gone through the 60s and 70s, riding that great wave of hope that my generation was blessed to experience – and then having all the breath knocked out of me by the assassinations and the broken promises, the police brutality and the cynical politics of the Chicago convention in 1968, and watching the Kent State students mowed down, and on and on – I may be irredeemably unhopeful about political solutions.

But my essential hope and belief in humankind is still intact, thank you: and I can really get behind Obama's appeal to the common man to make this happen. Yes, we can: if we will.

A Race To The Post

I know, I know: fillies race FROM the starting post. But I ain't no filly any more, and I'm not above an attempt to list above the rest of you blogger blokes, on the Jimmasphere site.

Yesterday my beloved and I had to make an expotition to downtown Felton (Pop 5000) to do some banking and a bit o' shopping, so we stopped for lunch there at the Cowboy Diner-Bar-Cafe (i.e., Greg Horne's "find" in San Lorenzo Valley). We started with an hors d'oeuvres plate of Yam Puffs with Jalapeno Jelly and Ranch Dipping Sauces; John had a Pulled Pork BBQ Sandwich; and I ordered a medium-rare bacon/cheese burger (luncheon size). These were all fine choices.

(The fact that I have had Rumbling Gut Syndrome overnight had nothing to do with this, right?)

It's a quiet day in Lake Wobegon West today; we'll listen (as ever) to Prairie Home Companion this evening -- Patty Loveless is a guest this time, a fine girl.

Tomorrow we are skipping church (gasp! horrors!) in order to be home at 11 AM PST, for the start of the DC festivities. That is to say, "We'll pray with you, Bishop Robinson" - to paraphrase Simon & Garfunkel - and pray throughout the ceremonies for our Barack to turn this world around, and to be safe doing it.

Gassing Up

Today we had to have an "Amerigas" truck come out to fill our propane tank (its fuel heats our home and cooks our meals: so convenient); the ugly tank sits up on our back parking area, but it is part of mountain wilderness living, like the beater cars in some yards, or the also-ugly white canvas tent-garages - just a part of the scene up here.

But I saw another "part of the scene" yesterday that makes up for the rural eyesores: as I was driving down our lane to get the mail and go to the village for groceries, I came to a stop before a beautiful, lithe fawn who was standing politely by the side of the road. When I came to the halt, she looked at me, but still waited; as I moved slowly on, I saw in my rear vision mirror that she was now leaping gracefully across and into the woods on the other side of the lane. That was a magical, transcendent encounter, I can tell ya.

So once the tank is filled and we pay the horrendous charges for same, we are off to do some big-time shopping in the marketing and industrial center of Felton, down the road – and probably to get some good grub at the Cowboy Bar and Grill in town. It's a lovely day for an outing, sunny and in the 60s.