Across the River...with an AARP

Just got my latest issue of AARP (named after one of several unfortunate noises the body starts emitting at regular intervals in middle age). Intrigued by the coverline "GLENN CLOSE: Why she's risking so much to erase the shame of mental illness," I quickly consumed the article. Turns out that the actress best known for boiling a rabbit is not herself mentally ill. Her shame (insert sarcasm here), it seems, is in having relatives with bipolar and schizoaffective disorders.

The article--through no fault of the fabulous and lucid Ms. Close--is ironic at best. Here the Oscar-nominated Emmy winner is "headlining a campaign intended to diminish the stigma of mental illness" and the writer makes mental illness seem indeed to be a stigma. You'd think she had confessed to a virulent case of chlamydia or to offering Barack Obama's Senate seat to the highest bidder.

Exactly what Ms. Close is risking "so much" is unclear. Ostracization from Hollywood--at the tender age of 61? It is clear how the entertainment world treats the mentally ill: They're given a Grammy Award and chauffeured to the Sony/BMG after-party. (Note to Britney Spears' folks: Erratic behavior in early adulthood is a classic sign of several disorders. Get her diagnosed and treated NOW.)

Ms. Close is lauded as one of 10 "heroes who inspire us," and her cause is certainly worthy. But what about her relative who had to make the choice between a new coat for her child or a visit to her therapist? We don't learn what her final choice was and how it affected her and her family. (I'm hoping Ms. Close just wrote her a check for both. Not that that solves every problem.)

The most heroic people I know get up each morning to face a battle raging in their own heads, with little relief. I don't know how they do it. Some choose not to do it after a while. Over 90% of people who die from suicide have one or more psychiatric disorders. Just ferreting out the proper treatment, if that ever happens, would test the strongest mental health.

But like Ms. Close, I am still surprised by how uncomfortable most people are talking about these issues. It's estimated that 5 percent of the population has some form of MI, from severe depression to schizophrenia, and it affects one out of four families. If not you, then someone who shares your bank of work cubicles, sits in your pew at church, works on the same PTA committee. In this let-it-all-hang-out world of reality shows, why does dealing with mental health issues merit less attention than Jeff Conaway screwing up in rehab?

In discussions about my novel, only a few readers/reviewers comment on Cat, the bipolar twin sister. Those that do confide about their own family members. They speak of them with much affection, not shame. Mental illness doesn't take away our loved ones' sense of humor, intelligence and straight-to-the-heart observations.

And sometimes they cope better then the rest of us. When I admitted to my brother that it's hard for me to be happy when people I love are in pain, he said (actually, he yelled), "I'm not in pain! I'm bipolar! Get over it! Enjoy your life!"

That's why I love him and why I agree that, as he always says, he can't be killed by ordinary weapons.

Across the River...and into the Clouds: Bouchercon 2008

Like any mystery writer with a dollar and a dream, I made it this weekend to the ultimate writer/fan conference, Bouchercon, held this year in Baltimore. In my practical (read: cheapskate) way, I combined it with a stay with my sister in Virginia and a meeting with her book club on Wednesday night, which had wisely picked my novel as their monthly read. The delightful A-list of Ashburn (you're lookin' at 'em, at right) gave me great feedback, and it all ended with sugar overload and everyone singing sitcom theme songs from our childhoods. (Despite the 10-year-average age difference, someone else knew all the verses to "The Monkees" too.)

The joy continued Thursday at the conference where I was overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, but immediately saw a familiar face and friend, Chris Grabenstein, who writes the wonderful and funny Jersey Shore/John Ceepak mysteries. (A former stand-up comic, he hilariously hosted a charity auction the next night, where books, character names and other goodies went to the highest bidder.)

After a round of panel discussions, I made it, late, to the lunch sponsored by Sisters in Crime. But slinking into a seat at a back table, I found myself closer to the buffet, so it was all for the best. Luckier still, I won a copy of the anthology Sisters on the Case--remarkable not only because I rarely win ANYTHING but because I didn't know I had entered the raffle. (It seems just by attending, I was eligible==saving me from getting my hopes up.)

Well, I can never say that again, because something else happened later that made me feel I had won life's lottery.

The last Saturday panel, titled "Red, Red Wine," was moderated by Laura Lippman, who was Bouchercon’s guest of honor. She--along with panelists Harlan Coben, John Harvey, Lauren Henderson, S.J. Rozan and Jim Huang--were gathered to whine about the business of writing. But bottles of appropriately named red wine (such as "Jealous B*tch" and "Fat B*stard") were also being raffled off. Anyone from the audience could write his/her name on a slip of paper, and at the end, if your name was picked, you could ask the panelists a question and get a bottle. But there were at least 300 people in the audience, so what are the odds?

Long story longer: The discussion went on, and ended on the panelists talking about their favorite “lesser known” authors (one of MY favorites, Allison Gaylin, was mentioned). Then the name picking started. A few folks did get to ask questions and get their bottles, then time ran out. So Laura Lippman just drew names to get rid of the remaining bottles.

Naturally, with my usual New Jersey underdog attitude, I'm thinking, "Figures. I won't get to ask a question and, I almost never win anything, so forget the free vino too." Then I heard Laura Lippman say, “Cheryl...oh, I’m going to get the last name wrong, Sol—im-ini. Cheryl, I should have mentioned you as one of the new authors to watch for! I read your book and loved it!”

If I were Jewish, I would have plotzed. Being Italian, I f*cking plotzed.

At the suggestion of my book editor, Michele Slung, I'd sent Laura (we're on a first-name basis now) an advance copy of Across the River. That was six months ago. I figured it had landed on a pile somewhere, or more usefully, was under a shaky table leg in her Federal Hill brownstone. So to say I was blown away by her recognizing my name and remembering my book, is like saying...well, I'm so blown away I can't even think of a simile that's of Category 5-hurricane-like proportions.

Okay, so at that point everyone was already getting up to leave and walking noisily out the doors. Some people’s heads snapped around but (I realized later) my name tag had flipped backward and I was anonymous for all intents and purposes. Not exactly a Hallmark Hall of Fame moment.

But I know what happened, and that's all that counts. That sounds like modesty, except of course I'm writing about it on my blog in the hope that a half million people or so will stumble across this entry and know about it too.

I saw Laura the next morning, said something inane, then had to find her again and apologize for saying something inane, and thanked her properly and hugged her, which I was sure put me at the top of her Stalkers List. But then a little later, at the weekend’s final session, where she was interviewed by Michael Koryta, I got the chance to ask a question from the audience. When I stood up (I was practically at the back in a room of 300+ people), she said, “Oh, hey! Hi, Cheryl!”

More heads snapped around. Then I realized I’d never helped her pronounce my last name! If only!

But I’m still flying. Pretty exciting for my first Bouchercon! And I got a free book and a bottle of Jealous B*tch, which, after this weekend, I am no longer.

Across the River...Seven Years Ago Today

Sept. 10, 2001. What were YOU doing the day BEFORE 9/11?

That was the date I had chosen to begin writing a mystery novel. I'd had a dream that sparked the plot idea in 1998, and thought it might be something to get to in...oh, 20 years. Then the group of magazines I wrote and edited were shut down. In a crystal-clear moment, I decided this was a sign to pursue my dream, literally. The next day, of course, was a nightmare...and the day after that and the next. Until I realized this--the possible end of the world as we knew it--was all the more reason to follow that dream wherever that dream might lead. (As Elvis sung in the 1962 movie of the same name.)

But more frightening is what U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was doing that Monday. He was giving a speech at the Pentagon. His topic addressed "an adversary that poses a threat, a serious threat, to the security of the United States of America.... It disrupts the defense of the United States and places the lives of men and women in uniform at risk."

What was it that got little Donald's panties in a bunch? "It's the Pentagon bureaucracy."

He hadn't a clue what Osama Bin Laden would effect the next day. In fact, he thought all the bad guys were already gone. "You may think I'm describing one of the last decrepit dictators of the world. But their day, too, is almost past, and they cannot match the strength and size of this adversary."

You want irony? His was the kickoff address at the DOD Acquisition and Logistics Excellence Week. It’s still on the Defense Department Web site. Read it at: http://www.defenselink.mil/speeches/speech.aspx?speechid=430

He ended his talk with an anecdote about a donkey, as is befitting.

Later that day, CBS News later reported Rumsfeld as saying, "According to some estimates we cannot track $2.3 trillion in transactions,"

Go ahead. Vote Republican. The Real Donkey Party.

Across the River...to My Hometown

Oh, what a night! Family, friends old and new... A particularly sappy episode of This Is Your Life, and I loved every minute of it. Immediately recognized faces I hadn't seen in 40 years. A smile never changes.


Barnes & Noble bookstore manager Neda Rose had a good night too. So much that she invited me to apply for a vendor seat at the Edgewater Arts & Music Festival on Sept. 14...even though, in a sense, she would be taking business away from herself. NOTE TO AUTHORS: Make booksellers happy and they become invested in your success. But maybe that's just my hometown--they take care of their own.

Across the River and Back Again

Okay, so Page Six didn’t cover it, but a good time was had by all at the Mysterious Bookshop! About 40 folks trekked from various points north, south, east and west to share the joy...and the sugar! One--my poker pal Failey Patrick--even won the Candy You Ate As a Kid raffle. That's four pounds of glucose, from Almond Joy to Zagnut. Even some wax lips. Who couldn't use a set of those?


The bookstore's own Dan Seitler shot video of my talk and two weeks later it appeared on YouTube. Turns out, this was the first time The Mysterious Bookshop was trying this, and now, through the staff's clever editing, I'm "virtually" and eternally linked to Janet Evanovich.



All in all, I'm in good company.

Across the River...literally

In a few hours, I'll be crossing two rivers to Across the River's launch party at The Mysterious Bookshop in New York City's Tribeca. My head is about to explode.

If everyone who RSVP'd comes, it will be over 40 guests from almost every chapter of my life: family, Manhattan- and NJ-based friends, poker buddies, ex-colleagues-still-friends from every magazine job I've ever had, a group from my PA exercise classes--even some folks I've worked with but never met face to face. It's like a wake without the big stinky floral arrangements. Better yet, I get to go to the "reception" afterward and eat!

So come. I can never have enough friends, and you might make a new one too. Grab a Yoo-hoo and a snack--but don't eat the Pixy Stix until the end of Chapter 15!

Across the River...a little lower in the water

Woo-hoo, Yoo-hoo and Pixy Stix! My Milford, PA, book-signing was loads of fun, with visits from family, friends and local folk and 36 books off the shelves. The Yoo-hoo was flowing and the Pixy Stix went like hotcakes. I got a contact hypoglycemic buzz.

Just as gratifying was learning that Mill Run Booksellers owner, Barbara Buchanan, loves Across the River. She admitted that she isn't always enamored of the books she's hosting, but she picked up mine and couldn't put it down. And she's not even a third cousin once removed!

One thing you always hear at writing conferences is how important it is to establish a relationship with booksellers. It certainly helps if they like the book! But the store staff also noticed my posters around town--it was a last-minute gig but I managed to get 20 announcements up in public areas and four press releases placed (almost word for word) in local papers and online news sites. Barbara appreciated that too.

I left five books in the store and stuck a Pixy Stix in each. Wish I could package one with every book with the warning: Don't eat until you finish Chapter 15!

Speaking of indulgence. One month from today, at my Edgewater, NJ, signing On August 14, I will be reuniting with grammar-school classmates that I haven't seen (and who haven't seen me) in 40 years. Should I have had that celebratory sundae on Saturday night?

Across the River...with Joyce Carol Oates

Well, blow me sideways! In the years before my mystery novel was published, it was rejected (despite glowing praise for the writing, characters, setting, etc.) for having a plot too much like the real Jon Benet Ramsay story. Yes, that still-unsolved tabloid case was part of the inspiration, though it was merely a jumping off point for other issues I wanted to explore.

Today I read that Joyce Carol Oates, the Morticia Addams of the literary world, has written an even more blatantly ripped-from-the-headlines fictional account. Hey, Joyce, I was there first! I thought up mine in 2000 and started writing seven years ago, while you probably came up with the idea last week and finished on Friday. (She IS notoriously prolific.) And her interview on BookPage could be mine, with its intimations of Christianity and tabloid hell.

Note to Joyce: Really, changing Ramsey to "Rampike"? Even I could have done better than that!

Across the River...and into the Blog

Did I mention I am a lousy blogger? Lousy, lousy, lousy. Across the River debuted at the Deadly Ink conference last weekend, I appeared on three panels that Saturday, and that night my Amazon.com sales rankings were like a ride on the Palisades Park Cyclone--from 427,983 to 37,634! Of course, it sped downhill to 163,984 the next day, but, oh, what a thrill! I may have wet myself.

On the following Monday, my iMac imploded, just as I was about to send out an E mail blast for ATR's official release date, Tuesday, June 24. Luckily I had a full arsenal of curse words, in English and Italian, at my disposal. So if you saw a mushroom cloud over northeastern PA at about 10 p.m. EST, that was me unleashing a 3.8 megaton blast of che cazzo's over the region. I'm still working to restore my database on a spanking-new iMac with a screen as big as the old Hackensack drive-in.

Though my own efforts to get the word out are floundering, the absolutely hilarious and kind Terrie Farley Moran plugged MY book on her Women of Mystery blog. If Terrie's energy could be harnessed, there'd be no need to look for alternate fuel sources and the troops would be home tomorrow.


But I don't want to go too long before saying wonderful things about all the lovely folks who I reconnected with and others I met for the first time at Deadly Ink. Like gracious guest of honor Jane Cleland, who I had the last-minute good fortune of questioning in front of witnesses on Friday night; class act Robin Hathaway, who works both sides of the Delaware River with her Dr. Jo Banks mysteries and Dr. Fenimore series (she received DI's Lifetime Achievement Award last year, about 30 years too early--I don't care what her age, Robin looks like a teenager and her literary career is just getting started); that other Energizer Bunny, Chris Grabenstein of Grabenstein Industries, who's producing three books a year and somehow makes it look fun (but I know better); toastmasterly Troy Cook the One-Minute Joke Assassin; my fellow DI Press author and silver fox Ed Rand; my-brother-in-another-life Steve Rigolosi, of the ingenious Tales from The Back Page series; and newcomer Renaissance man Philip Cioffari, who still hasn't made up his mind whether Hiram's or Callahan's has the best hot dogs in Fort Lee. This was also my first chance to meet Chris Lupetti, who took the breath-taking view of the GWB on my book jacket, who is as nice as he is talented. We are related, but we haven't quite figured out how. A DNA connection, for sure.

Once I reconfigure my iMac, pictures will be shared. That should be easier to manage than blogging. I'm thinking that since my book is set in the not-so-distant past, I will blog in the not-so-distant past. Retro-blog. Write about what happened two years ago, until I get to the present day. Which will then be the past. About which I would blog. Does that make any sense to you? Nah. Me neither.

Across the River...and into The Park

The weirdest thing...after I'd gotten my picture taken for the book jacket, I was walking to lunch with my publisher, Debby Buchanan. We passed an art-print store and saw a old poster of Palisades Amusement Park, framed and on sale. Another sign? "I give to you for $80." Hey, I'm from New Jersey, this park was right above my house, it's mentioned in my book, it's mine. "Why not $75?" "Okay, but cash." Now it is mine, after I borrowed $12 from Debby.

Across the River...with a Brain Like a Sieve

Okay. I'm a lousy blogger. I admit it. Shiny objects distract me, so that a week, a month, er...two years go by and...what was I just saying? Life happens. In my case, it's usually a family emergency, the pressing need for gainful employment, or a new season of "Lost" that takes my attention away. The main thing is, my book is finally coming out. It won the 2007 Deadly Ink conference's Best Unpublished Mystery Award, and it will be the first mystery published by Deadly Ink Press.
I had to get a book jacket picture taken, my first in 10 years. I went to one of those places where they do your hair and makeup because I never learned how to do my own. I blame the Sixties.
So this (at left) is what I look like when a stranger fusses over me for 40 minutes.
This is what I look like (right), left to my own devices:

Across the River...with a very short paddle

Has it only been two years since I last blogged? A lot, or very little, has happened since then. I had a great time at the 2006 Sleuthfest, the panel I was on went well and I had a meeting with an editor at Harper Collins who enthusiastically asked to see my manuscript. As luck would have it, my agent was also a speaker there and was able to talk with her as well. Sounds great, right?

Well, not so great. The editor felt my book was too "cozy-like" for HC and my agent has since faded from view. You'd think after all this time in publishing I'd have developed a thick skin against rejection, but maybe it's better that I haven't. One of the things that drew me to my former agent was his assessment that my novel was "humane." The characters aren't black or white; the good guys have flaws and the bad guys have soft spots. My soft spots are turning into flaws.

The agent felt there was nowhere else to offer the book, and so communication ceased. Ouch! Funny, when I was first looking for agents, I sent my query to the usual suspects, but also jumped at anyone whose last name ended in a vowel. I figured they'd understand the Italian American stuff. Then it winds up that the agent who really "got it" was not a extra from The Sopranos, but someone with a name right out of Masterpiece Theater.

Luckily, right after that disappointment, I got a well-paying gig writing Web site content for a major woman's magazine, so I didn't have much time to brood or blog. Unluckily, eight months later, the editor who hired me was let go. With 2006 on its way out, I gave my manuscript one last shot. I sent it in to the Deadly Ink unpublished novel contest.