A little more than twenty-four hours ago, I woke up laughing, somewhere high above Ireland. The night before, I had the privilege of being the first-ever recipient of the Strand magazine’s critics’ choice award. After a brisk dinner with some lovely people from Morrow, I went to the airport, changed out of my dress and into my sweats, boarded a plane and headed to London. Where, last night, I put on the same dress and went 0 for 2 in the CWA daggers. I am inordinately proud of this. It was mentioned last night that Gillian Flynn won two daggers for the same book last year, but losing two is quite an achievement, too. It puts me at .333 for the week, which is considerably higher than Cal Ripken Jr.’s lifetime batting average.
I first came to London at age 14, in the grip of a fierce Anglophilia. Now, it’s another city where I hunt down coffee shops and write, as I did this morning, clocking about 1,500 words on the novella. (Due July 28, one reason I haven’t been around here much.) I was a gawky, charmless adolescent who wore heart-shaped white barrettes in my hair. I wish I could put a hand on that girl’s shoulder and tell her how things were going to work out. Also, to lose the barrettes. I woke up laughing yesterday because my life struck me as absurdly, improbably happy, as it does today. This week has been filled with wonderful things, more than I can mention, especially as it would involve name-dropping. I will say I saw <a href=”http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Eubank”_blank”>this man</a> kiss Orion editor Bill Massey, but that’s not exactly name dropping as it had to be explained to me who he was.
Any words of wisdom for the adolescent you used to be? And how did you style your hair?
Eighth grade was the year I got braces and was forced to wear the ridiculous headgear that goes around the side of one’s head. I think I also tended to wear overalls. In other words, a rather forgettable year fashion-wise.
I do believe I had a mullet for a few months in 1993. Oh, 8th Grade… I do not miss thee.
Oh my, when I was that age my mother used to cut my bangs and I wore my hair in a dorky ponytail. It is painful to look at my school pictures from that period.
By the way, Louise Ure above, I am reading your book, Fault Tree and liking it.
I feel the same way as Dave about middle or Junior High school. Only I did not have a mullet. My hair is very curly, so when it grows out to shoulder length, as was the popular style of the late 60′s, it kind of looks like Rick Moranis’s helmet from SPACEBALLS.
My son is now 11, so, unfortunately I will get to live through middle school again through him.
White clips are BACK IN!!!!!!!!!! I totes wear them.
At age 14, I had actually just exited 14 years of EXTREME gawk and looked good. That lasted two years and then I went back into gawk. Still waiting for next turnaround!!!!!!!1
Oh my gosh, you couldn’t have picked a more gawky year from my adolescence. My hair was vividly red, wiry, and totally out of control no matter the length. I was also taller than everyone in my class, as Michael Savage (whose name is burned into my memory), moved to Texas and left me to lead the graduation march in heels! Red haired giant coming through.
Styled my hair at age 14? In the mid 50′s our hair was short. We washed it and let it dry. The only products we had were shampoo. A rinse to make hair shinier was vinegar or lemon juice.
If in a hurry, I turned on the cannister vacuum cleaner,got down on the floor, and let the air from the exhaust hole dry my hair. Some girls used curlers but they made my curly hair worse. Come to think of it, so did the fast blast from the vacuum cleaner!
When I was an adolescent I didn’t style my hair. It grew long and… well, like some kind of frizzy hippy cut.
I don’t have the look for long hair.
What Maureen said. I recall one particularly bad day, when (the night before) my mom trimmed my bangs PARTICULARLY badly….so badly that after the initial round of ribbing – folks showed mercy and eased up.
But there is a picture in the yearbook, and I am in the background – with the ridiculously bad hair day immortalized forever!
I’d say your batting average is looking pretty good.
Unlike my teenage hairstyle.
I just found school pictures from that year, pretty scary. Trying to let my hair grow, no bangs, braids tied with yarn and glasses that were supposed to be cool!
If I had known you were going to England I would have hooked you up with David Weber, Nonie’s son.
Long, straight and no bangs, which is a particularly bad look for my too long face. But I did stay away from clips, ponytails, etc.
Photographs tell me that I actually looked good for a brief moment in my early 30s. Unfortunately I didn’t notice at the time and missed it.
“I wish I could put a hand on that girl’s shoulder and tell her how things were going to work out. . . . I woke up laughing yesterday because my life struck me as absurdly, improbably happy, as it does today.”
That’s really sweet, but don’t get too cocky about your awards (or lack thereof), because things can change up on a person mighty fast. And I’m not just talking about the vagaries of publishing here.
Many a person has lived in blissful ignorance of the things that can go wrong–the unspoken, unthought denial (“that’ll never happen to me”) of the worst–only to be handed the shit end of the stick for no reason in particular.
So, yes, your life is charmed–more so than even you imagine. Just remember–it can all be gone tomorrow.
Shit happens, laughing girl.
And most of it comes out of assholes.
Spoken like one who has not been there.
Oh, is it a poor me contest? Cool. I love those.
At the age of eight, my entire body was amputated at the neck (the opposite of your own procedure). Unable to care for me, my family left me on the doorstep of an orphanage, but it was windy and I rolled off. The nuns eventually found me, brushed me off, and kept me in a–but it’s your turn. Worse life? Better life?
Seriously. Lay out those pain credentials that give you a free pass to talk this way to people who are, judging from your comment, significantly more decent and more talented than you.
Any attack on me does not satisfy that criterion. You’re playing the “You haven’t been there” card, so show the rest of your hand. I’m sure everyone will be as fascinated by you as you are.
I love the smell of desperate anonymous killjoys on a Saturday evening.
They smell like…
Target practice.
This isn’t a contest, and I apologize for my ill-considered comments. I stumbled upon this post truly at the wrong time and in the wrong frame of mind, and I should have thought twice before saying what I did, in the way I did.
My only point is that you shouldn’t get too complacent or pleased with yourself about your good fortunes, because those fortunes can be gone tomorrow–and through no fault of your own. I didn’t say it well (chalk it up to lack of talent, I guess) and, most likely, I shouldn’t have said it at all. But I did and I genuinely regret that.
Kevin, I agree that what I did wasn’t “decent,” but I don’t see what “talent” has to do with it. I never criticized anyone’s talent. In fact, I never mentioned the subject.
Sarah, I didn’t intend to be a killjoy. I don’t begrudge anyone their successes. And when people enjoy success, they have every right to be happy about it and share it with the world. But, as I said, I read the post (in the nadir of a particularly bad mood) less as a celebration and more as a cavalier (at worst, smug–again, just my perception) disregard of the way in which one’s fortunes can change in the blink of an eye.
Kevin, I can give you plenty of examples of “pain credentials,” but that’s not my intent. So I won’t take you up on your offer to compare the war stories of our lives (yours, apparently, made up). I will say (not as an excuse, but hopefully in explanation) that in the last few years, I’ve seen a young friend of my SO severely disabled by a stroke (she was an actor–her career is shot to hell now), a close friend from high school undergo surgery for rectal cancer and suffer complications during his recovery (and please spare me the “asshole” jokes) and have myself been afflicted with a chronic, painful and incurable disability that has profoundly affected my life and career. And I’m not making any of this up. Your obviously-silly example about having your “entire body . . . amputated at the neck” demonstrates my point about how people take things like health and their abilities for granted.
But I do apologize for my remarks. They came off angry, bitter and rude–and there’s no excuse for that.
And, Laura, I’m sorry I called you “laughing girl.” That was just wrong.
“Laughing Girl” should probably be the tile of my memoir, but I think I’m still sticking to “Shaved Meats, Piled High.”
Anonymous Donor, I’m sorry that what was meant to be a meditation on luck struck you as smug and complacent. And I’m truly sorry that you had a bad day.
Anonymous:
I was diagnosed with MS at age 38, so just taken from a tactical standpoint, your comment to me didn’t work.
I’ve also been the one attacking at the wrong time, and I know how easily (and thoroughly) chronic stuff can mess up your judgment. I’m also guessing from your calling me “Kevin” that there’s a visual component to your disability, for which you have my sympathy. Visual disturbance has been one of my own symptoms.
I’m fine at the moment, but one of the things I’m carrying forward with me, toward my next exacerbation, is the painful knowledge of how often I’ve been wrong in my judgment, especially online. Hopefully that knowledge will let me sit on my hands when I need to.
And I didn’t want Laura coming back to find not just the shock of a cheap shot in her comments–but a lack of defense from her friends. You understand, I hope.
Thanks, Laura and Keith (or Kevin, if you ever want to change your name).
Laura, I appreciate your understanding, forgiving and thoughtful reply. Keith, there’s much I haven’t shared about my condition and how I got it, but I don’t want to bore people with all the details or stretch this thread out any farther than it’s already gone. Suffice it to say, I have another old friend who was diagnosed with MS in her early 40s. I’m truly sorry for your situation (I feel genuine guilt sometimes for having it better than others, which is almost as hard to deal with as my own situation), and I totally understand your rising to a friend’s defense.
Now, as Forrest Gump put it, that’s all I have to say about that.
back to Laura’s original question:
to my 14 yr old self: “Don’t be intimidated by algebra, or meanies disguised as algebra teachers, you really ARE going to become a reporter, and no one will go around quizzing you about A + B =C- and berating you for being slow to Get It.” Hair: long with minor streaks helped by Sun-In (bet it was pure peroxide that we sprayed on our hair for that glam look) side-parted, held by blue barrette while crooked bangs—as styled scissor-wielding Mom,hey,did they have union that required every Mom to snip her daughters’ hair crookedly?–grew out.
When 14 1/2 I decided to bleach my brown hair blond. Then it was constantly dealing with the roots. On top of that we curled our hair then–early 1960′s, so I slept with huge rollers (curlers) on my head for a few years until I decided to let my hair be straight. So it was straight, half brown roots and half blonde…fun.
That was also when I decided to smoke; that was one of my life’s regrets, not the hair though; that was an experience.