My First American Thanksgiving Dinner
Even though I moved with my husband from Brazil to the US in December of 1997, during our first six years in the country we lived in Florida, where he worked for the Latin American division of the company; so most of our friends were Latinos. Therefore, our Thanksgiving Days were spent among Mexicans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, etc., in a mix of various cultures and family traditions. Yes, turkey was served, but with a Latin flavor. And the side dishes ranged from guacamole and refried beans to choclo pie and fried platanos. And as we Latinos tend to exaggerate, someone always brought a roasted lechon, besides arroz con pollo and some papas rellenas. I learned a lot about Hispanic food during those years. Only when we moved to Atlanta in 2006, I attended my first traditional American Thanksgiving dinner.
On our move to Atlanta we had the support of an old friend of my husband, who very kindly prepared us a folder with information about the area where we still live. As soon as we settled, he and his wife invited us for a Sunday brunch. When we arrived at their house I was delighted with our hostess care for detail, everything was so beautiful. The table was set with an embroidered tablecloth, fine china and silver cutlery, and over everyone’s plates rested a crystal cup filled with a fruit parfait layered with yogurt and cereal, everything was charming and delicious.
My oldest daughter was seven, and the little one only three. Do you think I was relaxed and enjoyed it all? No, I did not. I was on top of the girls throughout the visit. Our hosts’ kids were adults and there were no grandchildren yet, so not only the table was elegantly served, the whole house was fabulously decorated with tempting objects for chubby little fingers almost everywhere. I remember spending a lot of time following my three year old around their living room, while keeping an eye on my lively young lady who chatted with the hostess, but in the end everything worked out fine, both behaved well, and I returned home relieved.
We reciprocated the brunch with a simple dinner, because our things had been sent to China by mistake. Please, don’t ask me how the moving company played that, it baffles me still. Suffices to say that I returned an elegant breakfast served on fine china, with a dinner served on disposables. My husband insisted, and I agreed, that we couldn’t let much time pass us by before returning their kindness. In my defense I must point out that I did the best I could under the circumstances. The important thing is that during dinner here at home, we were invited for Thanksgiving dinner with their family. And they asked my older daughter if she liked turkey. And the adorable creature said, very emphatically, “I love turkey.”
By the care they showed when they served us brunch, I imagined how fancy Thanksgiving dinner would be at their house, and I wasn’t disappointed. The decor of the house had been amped up with autumnal touches, and the furniture had been rearranged to accommodate a giant T-shaped table that occupied their entire dining room.
Their family was very friendly, but all adults, there were no other children besides my girls, no one to empathize in embarrassing moments.
The first thing our host said after the usual introductions was, “Their older daughter loves turkey. Come baby, let me show you your favorite dish.”
And there it was, on the kitchen island, a magnificent roasted turkey ready to be served.
My daughter didn’t disappoint, she placed her hands on top of her tummy, smiled broadly and said, “I’m starving.”
As soon as the last guest arrived, we all started carrying trays filled with delicious side dishes to the table, mashed potatoes and baked sweet potatoes, gravy, sautéed vegetables, cranberry jelly, bread baskets, and finally the turkey. When my husband and I searched for our places around the table, we discovered that they had given us the base of the T, with two tall chairs for the girls at the end, and my husband and me by their sides, all very practical and well thought out. Therein, my older daughter was right in front of our hosts who sat in the middle of the table on the opposite side of where we were.
Our host stood up, carved the turkey, and all the dishes were passed from hand to hand family style, until we all had a plateful ahead of us. There was a beautiful prayer and we began to eat. My daughter attacked the mashed potatoes with enthusiasm, and in one of those magical moments where several things happen at the same time, precisely as they shouldn’t, everyone was enjoying their food in absolute silence, my daughter tasted the turkey, and our hostess asked out loud to be heard from the other side of the table, “Are you enjoying the food Giulia?”
And my lovely daughter answered, nearly yelling, “The mashed potatoes are good, but I don’t like the turkey, I prefer my mother’s.”
Dear reader, I believe I turned redder than the cranberry jelly.
A Discovery of Witches
A novel by Deborah Harkness – first installment on the “All Souls Trilogy”
579 pages
Published by Penguin Group
I’m not a big reader of Vampire novels. As far as literary metaphors go, I prefer mine a little less bloody. The more recent creations aren’t even literary. And for the sake of entertainment, I enjoy mysteries better. Still, my neighbor paid many compliments to A Discovery of Witches, and she’s an avid reader, so I decided to give it a try. To my surprise, I had a great time.
Diana Bishop finds Ashmole 782, a mysterious manuscript, and meets an extraordinary man in the magnificent Bodleian Library in Oxford. A promise of mystery and romance in a fabulous setting, but wait, there’s much more. Diana is a descendant of Salem witches, and Mathew Clairmont is a vampire. In Deborah Harkness novel, daemons, vampires and witches share our world, but they can’t either meddle on humans’ affairs, or have interracial-relationships – for lack of a better term.
The quiet life of a scholar, which Diana worked so hard to build, crumbles, as witches, daemons and Matthew seem attracted to her and to her ability to summon the spellbound Ashmole 782. The powers she tried to ignore all her life burst out without notice, but when she consciously wants to use them she can’t. And to make things more complicated she falls for the vampire, a love forbidden by the Congregation.
While fleeing the Congregation’s persecution, Diana and Matthew embark on a journey of self-discovery, and try to unravel the mysteries surrounding Ashmole 782.
I was immediately taken by the many mysteries in the plot, and as it evolved, I was delighted by Harkness’ ability to weave history, literary references, and her love of wine so naturally in the story.
Defiance
Rachel Adams’s father didn’t return from the Wasteland where the Cursed One roams. It’s been sixty days and according to the Commander’s law he must be declared dead. Rachel though, is sure he’s alive. Why doesn’t the Commander send men after him?
Thankfully Oliver, her father’s best friend, should be nominated her new protector, and she’ll be safe until he is back. But her father played a trick on her. It must be. Or why would he assign Logan McEntire as her protector in his will?
The man that rejected her two years earlier is now responsible for her. Everything seems nightmarish to Rachel and it’s only the beginning. Rachel is decided to leave Baalboden to search for her father in the Wasteland, but for that she’ll have to elude the Commander, and hopefully convince Logan to go with her.
I appreciated how C. J. Redwine explores the voices of the two main characters, who not only are fierce heroes embarked on a quest for justice, but also are enthralled in their own personal journey of self-discovery to find love.
Defiance is an adventurous and romantic YA fantasy.
The Club of Angels
Review by Flavio Luiz Gomes
Some of the best Brazilian authors were invited to write stories with the seven capital sins as background; Luiz Fernando Verissimo, my favorite writer, tackled gluttony.
Brazilian author Luiz Fernando Veríssimo
Luis Fernando Verissimo (b. 1936) is best known for his chronicles and texts of humor, more precisely satire of manners, published daily in several Brazilian newspapers. Verissimo is also a cartoonist, translator, and television writer, playwright and novelist. He has also been in advertising and newspaper copy desk. He is also a musician, having played saxophone in a few sets. With over 60 published titles, he is one of the most popular contemporary Brazilian writers.
One by one they die under mysterious conditions, always after eating their favorite dishes, but the ones left prefer to continue the meetings even though they know their lives are at risk. How does the game end? Why is this happening? Most importantly, why don’t they put a stop to it?
Luiz Fernando Verissimo delights us with his knowledge of good food, wines and plenty of Shakespearean references, with a style that is so fluid you simply do not notice the time flying while you read one of his books. Only he masters the art of sounding erudite and unpretentious at the same time.
The Club of Angels is less humorous than Verissimo’s usual books. In line with the suggested theme, you cannot avoid noticing a pint of decadence and desperation in it. Only Verissimo though, can make us laugh in the midst of sin and death, and keep us glued to the page, even when you know who the assassin is, and who will be killed next. Bon appétit!
Empathy
I read plenty about different ways to make my writing better. The Internet is overflowing with articles on how to make your dialogues better, how to create suspense, how to better structure your manuscript, and recently I was offered a webinar in Story Physics, whatever that is. There are plenty of creative titles for “how to” articles, and self-help books for writers. It’s all very good, really. I appreciate the available plethora of information, but the best tool I have is my emotional connection with my characters, empathy being the strongest one.
According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, Empathy is the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner; also, the capacity for this.
As complex as it sounds empathy is, simply put, the ability to be in someone else’s shoes. So when I write I’m always in my characters shoes, for better and for worse. And the more I distance myself from my own reality, and dive deep into my characters place within the plot, the stronger my connection, and less untainted my empathy.
There are many ways to amplify our ability to empathize. We learn through our personal experiences, and our exposure to life, and not surprisingly avid readers have superior levels of empathy. But I was blessed with the opportunity to live in three countries in three different continents. And I can attest, there’s nothing like the full exposure to foreign cultures to open up our minds and heighten our respect to distinct ways of life, our tolerance to opposite points of view, and hence our empathy.
There’s nothing like seeing a tiny hungry child sat on the curb in a distant Chinese province for us to understand and accept that that child will gladly eat dog meat, if she can get her hands on it. And having seen it you can completely understand how delicious it is for her. Gone is the revulsion. If you could you would gladly roast for her a nice juicy dog’s leg, not having access to one you end up offering the child your protein bar, which is loaded with sugar, and will ultimately ruin her teeth. You see, in many provinces throughout China there isn’t any other source of protein besides exotic meats, and bugs, and they don’t have access to floss, or even a toothbrush. When hours later you finally arrive back in your hotel, you feel miserable for having given the child the sugary treat. Watching a TV show about such circumstances is one thing, seeing it, smelling it, and touching it is another entirely. I’m not writing it to make you feel bad, but an experience like that will make you much more tolerant to different eating habits around the world, not to mention compassionate.
I chose this example certainly because it touched me deeply, but also because it made me realize I was desensitized by my own experiences growing up in Brazil, where during my formative years I saw plenty of poverty and hunger, to the point where it didn’t touch me deeply anymore. I used to have bags of fruits and buns, or snack size cookie packages in my car, and every time I stopped at a light if a child or a homeless adult asked for money, I would give them food. I saw plenty of both, kids and paupers, throwing the snacks away in disgust. They wanted money, either for alcohol or drugs, either to give it to the owner of the corner who took them there to beg. Things are much better in Brazil now, but you can still be faced with situations like those in the poorest neighborhoods of the big Brazilian metropolises like Rio and São Paulo. And if you ever go to Brazil, don’t buy anything from the kids selling at stoplights, most of the merchandise is stolen.
Of course there were those who would jump happily at the sight of food, and those who would ask me for more to take home to their families. The truth though, being extremely honest, is that I was so accustomed to those daily encounters, on my way to college or to work, that it all seemed casual. There’s nothing casual about hunger, and when I was faced with it outside of my usual environment it hit me hard. And it made me better. We don’t notice how our environment changes us because it happens so very gradually. And ultimately we become less empathic.
So, do something to shake things up every once in a while. Besides the obvious choices such as reading and traveling, you may volunteer in your community food bank, or lend an ear to a friend’s disillusions; take a walk, a breast cancer awareness walk. The options are as vast as human struggles. And as you help others you are also being helped. It’s an exchange, a little of your time for a better you, and your writing will show.
Paid One-on-One Critique
Painful, but extremely beneficial experience, where a writer pays to an agent or other experienced professional in the publishing business, to critique his manuscript.
Here in the United States when you attend a writers’ conference, you can usually chose to have part of an ongoing project critiqued for a reasonable price, after all, those who opt for this service aren’t necessarily published, and can’t pay ostentatious prices. To many of us the cost of attending a conference itself can already break the bank.
I passed through this sieve, and survived, actually I believe I came out stronger. It was hard to hear about my shortcomings: this manuscript is too long for a YA novel, this chapter is too complex, and/or too mature; young readers prefer to have only one POV over the course of a story. Didn’t you know the children’s picture book market is saturated with speaking animals? Careful not to antagonize potential readers with stereotypes that are too explicit; this character seems too confused about his emotions, and so on. On critiques of the three different projects that I’m developing I’ve heard it all, and I clearly have a big problem with the word too.
I certainly don’t agree with absolutely everything I’ve heard, but the critiques made me see I still have a lot of work ahead of me, and I’m revising my manuscripts respecting certain market demands. Many will say that “marketing” should not shape art. I reflected a lot about it and I believe that if I want my readers to hear my message, I must speak their language. My most visceral writings can be kept hidden. Besides, I don’t even know if what I write can be called art anyway, I only know it makes me happy.
The Map of the Sky
It’s sci-fi, it’s romance, it’s historical, and it’s intriguing.
Sci-fi – H. G. Wells sees his work The War of The Worlds coming to reality as aliens invade London and quickly take over the planet.
Romance – spoiler alert – Gilliam Murray, the super villain from The Map of Time has a makeover and returns as Montgomery Gilmore, a millionaire so in love with the New York Socialite Emma Harlow he promises her he’ll bring the first scene of the Martian invasion from The War of the Worlds to reality.
Historical – the entire narrative is set in the Victorian era. And I must say in this regard that Nick Caistor did a fantastic job translating Palma’s work to English. So much so that I enjoyed reading it in English more than in Spanish. I don’t know, English/London, London/English, it feels right.
I thought the biggest challenge for Palma was to get this ambitious combination of genres working together, yet all this facets were weaved seamlessly and nicely into the narrative. When it came to go from one plot to another in this intricate story though – or from present to past and back to the future – instead of introducing interesting hooks to link them, the author made use of a narrator, in a voice completely alien from the one in the actual story. Still, Palma is a fine storyteller and The Map of the Sky is a testament to that.
The 80-20 rule for self-promotion on line
It took me three years to finish a manuscript for a YA novel. With 150 thousand words, an agent told me it was too long and suggested some serious editing. I decided to break the story into smaller installments and am working on them. While doing it I started researching the fantastic World Wide Web and the ever so challenging publishing market; and stumbled on a surprising rule, actually the Pareto Principal usually called the 80-20 rule applied to self-promotion, that states writers should spend 20% of their time writing and 80% of it working the web. And even though I find it interesting, I can’t do it. If I sit down to write, the first thing I need to do is work on my manuscript.
I would love to be able to tweet a few times a day, and even be on facebook – where all my followers are personal friends, more often, and try to make my numbers grow. But I have recurrent dreams where my characters are frozen mid-action with their eyes moving around as if looking for me. When I leave them sitting down or resting it’s all right, but usually I leave them in trouble and feel quite anxious to get them out of harm’s way.
So, after going about my daily chores, as I finally sit down in front of my keyboard, I write. If I have any extra free time when I finish, I go on twitter and/or facebook. I also like to read daily, newspapers and magazines, on line or on print. Gosh, I still have subscriptions on print. I always have at least one book I’m half way through, and one I just begun. And I try to post on my two blogs weekly. I’m not an author, yet. I’m a writer, and feel absolutely blessed for the time I write. For me writing isn’t only gratifying, it’s essential.
Imagine my consternation every time I read a comment from a social media expert on the importance of on line self-promotion for a writer’s career. Luckily I came upon an excellent article from Ewan Morrison – Why social media isn’t the magic bullet for self e-published authors where he says:
“The bad news for social media companies is that after all the hype and the projections, there are stats: there is evidence, there are consequences, and heads will roll. In publishing terms it has recently been revealed that 10% of all self e-publishers make 75% of all the money; that 50% of self-published eBooks make less than $500 a year (£320, or 87p a day); and that 25% doesn’t cover the costs of production. Broadly, what this means is that if you went out on the street with a book in your hand and tried to sell it to a stranger for 88p, or 99p, and you did this every day, you would still be making more money than 50% of all self-published authors on Amazon and all the other new e-pub platforms.”
“It also turns out that the eBook market now looks a lot like the old mainstream model. A small number of writers make a lot and everyone else wallows in the doldrums of minuscule sales. The only difference is that those at the top are selling 100,000 copies at 99p, not at £4.99, or £8.99 – which in real terms represents a massive shrinkage of the market. Furthermore, it signifies the passage of the publishing industry into the hands of the Internet companies that can capitalize on a million small sales by a million small authors.”
I’m a creature of habits, and the routine keeps me productive and inspired. I spend roughly 80% of my working time writing and 20% on line. And when I say on line, I’m talking mostly about my blog, which I also consider writing. Apparently I might not be a good candidate for self-pub. Then again, as these rules change all the time, who knows. For now I’m writing contentedly, and am preparing to start querying. Besides, it seems to me that taking the time to craft a great manuscript is the key. So let’s have fun while at it. After all, as Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.”
Claire The Paleontologist
C: “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a paleontologistic.”
M: “A PALEONTOLOGIST, really, why?”
Sand Box
C: “Seriously mom? They dig in the sand all day looking for DINOSAUR BONES! I saw it on TV. That must be the coolest job ever. And you know what? You can travel with me all over the world, and while I play, I mean, work in the sand, you’ll be reading your book on a little shade just like you do when you take me to the park.”
M: “I don’t know. Are you going to pay for my airplane tickets and all?”
C: “Of course mommy, I’ll be a famous paleontological explorer, and I’ll be rich and famous. And you can write stories about all the places we visit together.”
M: “I’d like that.”
Paleontologists on The Field
M: “Here, sign this.”
C: “What’s that mom?”
M: “It’s a contract, in case you become a famous paleontologist and forget all about this conversation.”
The Secret Book of Frida Kahlo
A Novel by F. H. Haghenbeck
Atria Books
352 pages
Publication Date: September 25, 2012
F. H. Haghenbeck expertly weaves the most important periods of her life with fiction and Mexican folklore creating a delightful masquerade. Using the political climate of the thirties and forties, starting with the Mexican Revolution as a setting, the narrative encompasses Frida’s childhood, her first love who left her after an accident that nearly killed her, her tormented relationship with Diego Rivera; her artistic awakening and evolution, her overwhelming personality and existential feminism, her travels through the US and Europe and her encounters and romances with remarkable men and women of her time.
In this story the most intense relationship Frida has besides Rivera is with “La Llorona,” death herself, a constant presence always reminding her through pain that she lives on “borrowed time”. When Kahlo dies the first time in a trolley accident, she makes a pact with “La Llorona” to prepare the most exquisite banquets for The Day of The Dead every year, in exchange for going back to life. “But I’m warning you,” says her new godmother, “you will always wish you’d died today. And I will remind you of this every day of your life.”
Her commitment to The Day of The Dead celebration together with Rivera’s great appreciation for Mexican delicacies, are her main inspirations for learning and evolving into an exceptional cook. As an additional treat, the book is filled with fabulous Mexican recipes. Every chapter ends with an excerpt from “The Hierba Santa Book” including a recipe. And at the very end of the book you’ll find a few of them adapted to ingredients easily available in the US. I couldn’t resist trying one; I can vouch for “Lomo al Tequila”, Tequila Pork Loin.
Lomo al Tequila – Tequila Pork Loin
I always enjoyed Frida Kahlo’s work, and thought she had a challenging but extraordinary life. Although I don’t see her as obsessed with Diego Rivera as Haghenbeck depicts her, I enjoyed this book for the fiction it is.
The Secret Book of Frida Kahlo is a reinvention of her life. It’s been fifty-eight years since she died and her work and life still captures our imagination. F. H. Haghenbeck writes an engaging story with a flow that keeps the reader enthralled until the very end.