1996: A Requiem

1996 was a big year for me.  It was the year I became a teenager.  It was the year I was Bat Mitzvahed.  It was the year I got my first (non-French) kiss.  It was not the year my boobs "came in", but it was the year I hit up my mom to buy me Barb's Blasting Boob Cream, which is something I made up but wished with every ounce of my being actually existed.

20 years later, 1996 remains one of the most poignant years of my life.  So on the 20th anniversary of my Bat Mitzvah, I want to revisit what made 1996 so awesome.  So don your favorite outfit from Rave, put that VHS copy of Dangerous Minds away because you are too young to be watching that, and accept the fact that no matter how many plaid skirts and fluffy pens you own, you will NEVER be Cher Horowitz...

Me, circa 1996

I was skinny, wore giant, colorful glasses and avoided brushing my hair like the plague.  I showed a picture of myself at 13 to my college roommate and her response was, "Yeah, I would have beaten you up."  I would like to note that even though I looked like a typical, skinny nerd I was super athletic and fast.  So even if someone wanted to beat me up, they would have to catch me first.

Not me, but pretty close #DawnWienerForever

The year I became a woman

I became a woman on May 11, 1996 (though put a pair of jeans and a baggy No Fear t-shirt on me, and I was indistinguishable from every boy in my class).  I had been in Hebrew and Sunday school preparing for this day since Kindergarten and it was a BIG deal.  I nailed my Torah and Haftorah portions...naturally.  It was all very nice, but a Bar/Bat Mitzvah meant one thing to me... dancing.  Specifically, slow dancing.  I had been in Hebrew/Sunday school with the same group of kids since we were tiny tots and all of us became adults at some point that summer.  So many parties, so many opportunities to slow dance.

There was so much slow dancing and even one random game of Spin the Bottle where I got my first kiss.  That was a good night, but I have to give props to my BFF Amy for Best Bat Mitzvah Party.  First of all, she had a western theme, so I got to wear cowboy boots and felt super sassy.  Best of all, Amy invited her two guy friends and we both had a slow dance partner ALL NIGHT.  This was heaven for a skinny tomboy like me.  I didn't even care that my parents were watching me.  Cue TLC's Diggin' on You.

Cher-wannabe

The '95/'96 school year was all about Clueless, which had been released the previous summer.  Like every other girl on the planet, I immediately made my mom buy me a plaid skirt, cute sweater and knee-high socks.  To pull the whole look together, I suggested that things would be much easier if I had my own credit card... my mom laughed in my face and bought me the soundtrack instead.

90's Goth Chic

Sure, award winning movies like Fargo and The People vs Larry Flint came out in 1996, but WHO CARES because THE CRAFT!  Thanks to this movie, all subsequent sleepovers consisted of candle ceremonies and "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board".  I also sported black lipstick and nail polish every Halloween... because my gothness expanded no further than those 24 hours.

The Magnificent 7  #bangs

I was a gymnast myself when Team USA won a team gold medal for the first time in Olympic history.  I was OBSESSED with these girls.  This poster hung in my room, surrounded by my Beatles posters, and I would practice my back walkovers and try to improve my splits while dreaming about going to the Olympics.  This gymnastics Olympic dream subsequently replaced my dream of being a Jamaican bobsledder, which I'd harbored since Cool Runnings came out in '93.

Seal's Kiss from a Rose.

OMG THIS SONG!  This song has a powerful, visceral effect on me.  If puberty had a theme song, this would be it.  I slowed danced to this song more times than I can count.  Remember Snowball dances?  You would start out dancing with one person, then the DJ would smoothly croon "snowball" and you would switch to another partner.  Lord help you if you turned around and no one was there to dance with you.

This song made me feel all funny and squirmy in ways I didn't understand.  Honestly, it STILL makes me feel that way.  To a 13 year old me, this song was "Romance" with a capital Man.  Now I think about it, this really should have been the first dance song at my wedding... but I doubt my 7th grade boyfriend could have made the trip.

Speaking of my 7th grade boyfriend...

We "went out" for 4 days, during which we held hands in the halls then pretended like the other didn't exist the rest of the time.  I was at my locker when his friend approached me and said, "Joey breaks up with you."  I responded instantly, "nuh uh, cause I break up with him first."  Later in gym class, Joey told me he liked Ashley more, but if she didn't want to be his girlfriend he would go out with me again.  I was cool with that, but Ashley said yes... slut.

Boys, circa 1996

Are you sensing a theme, yet?  It was all about boys for me this year.  I would have loved a boyfriend, but if that meant actually brushing my hair or wearing something other than a baggy sweatshirt and stirrup leggings, it wasn't worth the effort.  So, I fantasized about boys from afar.

At this time, boys all wore their hair the same way.  Long and floppy and parted down the middle.  It would fall into their face where they would casually flip it away.  It was the precursor to Justin Bieber hair and NOBODY wore it better than Devon Sawa.

Just like Kiss from a Rose, this image makes me squirm.  Seriously, isn't he the hottest thing you've ever seen!?  Some girls were all about JTT (if you need to Google that, you probably don't understand any of the references in this post), but Devon was it for me.  Christina Ricci kissed him in TWO MOVIES and I still have never been more jealous of anyone.  I had a picture of Devon from Bop magazine hanging on my wall that I kissed so much his mouth fell apart.  Note: I recommend not looking at a current image of Devon as you might start weeping.

Other boys who rocked that mid-90's floppy hair so well...

Leo D.

Prince William

That kid who played Thackery Binx in Hocus Pocus

These are only a handful of pop culture moments that made 1996 awesome for me.  When I really think deeply about what life was like in 1996, I should hate it.  Being a 13 year old nerd in middle school sucks!  Go watch Welcome to the Dollhouse.  It's basically a documentary of life as a middle schooler in the 90s.  I was Dawn Wiener, but with two major differences... I was never bullied to the extent Dawn is and I didn't give a shit about what anyone thought of me.  Sure, I might have been better liked if I brushed my hair or shaved my legs, but that would take time away from playing kickball with the neighborhood kids, or replaying the final scene in Casper when Devon Sawa kisses Christina Ricci... bitch.

So, if I could say anything to my 13 year old self on the day of my Bat Mitzvah, it would be... "Mazel tov!  And you'll get boobs in high school, no worries."

The Recipe for Romance: Ingredients for a Savory Romance Novel

I was on a plane with my parents and sister on our way back from vacation.  I was 19 years old and bored with nothing to read.  Sick of hearing me whine my mom handed me the book she just finished, a paperback she picked up for free in the hotel lobby, and said, “Here, read this.  You’ll like it, it has lots of sex in it.”  That was a good pitch and I started reading without hesitation.  I don’t remember any details about the plot of this book except that it had, like my mom so succinctly put it, a lot of sex.  This was my introduction to romance novels and the start of a literary obsession and guilty pleasure which lasted years.

I loyally stuck with two categories in the romance genre, Historical and Contemporary (I much preferred the dimly lit ballrooms and tightly laced corsets of the Historical romances).  Within these categories are sub-categories (fetish, time travel, etc).  I have read all types and I have realized that no matter what time zone/country/fetish, the recipe is always the same.  Add the following and stir…

Note:  There is a major difference between Romance and Erotica.  Romance= Fifty Shades of Grey, Erotica= the Sleeping Beauty series by Anne Rice, written under a pseudonym. 

The Recipe

The Man:   Always extremely wealthy.  ALWAYS.  Poor is so gross, barf.  Whether he is a self-made billionaire, the heir to his family’s butter empire which he is being groomed to take over, or a Viscount residing in a country manor and rebelling against his family’s wish for him to marry a Countess, he is loaded.  This is a non-negotiable.

The other non-negotiable… this guy is hot.  No ugly dudes allowed unless they are a villain, a relative or an extra in the background.  He is tall and muscular, but not bulky.  He has a v-shaped frame with those lovely pelvic lines which I dubbed the Penis Trail in high school.  In historical novels, he always has long hair to his shoulders.  In contemporary novels, he usually has longer-than-normal wavy hair.  If not every woman in the story is swooning over him, he definitely has at least one female stalker.

Note:  This image stuck with me and for a long time I found myself strongly attracted to men with long, wavy hair (see: hippies and/or the homeless)

Just as important as his bank account is his large, perfectly shaped penis.  This is a fantasy, right?  And who wants to read about a less than perfect, slightly curved penis?  NO ONE, that’s who.  It’s beautiful, it’s huge… sometimes it’s veiny (commonly found in stories that take place on a ship, perhaps because it’s so important to stay hydrated at sea).  Perfect Penis can often be found straining against a tight pair of breeches, or springing forth once freed from his confines.  I can’t remember ever reading about a flaccid penis in a romance novel.  It’s safe to assume the Man is always hard and ready to ravage his woman.  Swoon.

Finally, this guy is always named Lucien, Duke of Litchfield.  Or Cal, the horse rancher down the way with a secret.  Or Edward, lord of overrated vampire novel.  He is never Todd Jones.  No one wants to fuck Todd Jones.

The Woman:  Aside from the prerequisite beauty (No uggos need apply), there is more flexibility when it comes to the Woman’s backstory and body shape.  She is not required to be wealthy (the Man is wealthy enough for everyone).  She can be a Lady of the court trying to avoid eye contact with that rogue with the reputation, or she can be a former magazine editor who moved to the ranch after experiencing painful trauma which we won’t learn the details of until the last chapter of the book.

The Woman’s body can be any shape and size as long as the Man finds it appealing.  She can be tall and willowy or short and busty.  She can have heavy red curls falling around her face symbolizing the free spirit she is, or she can have glossy chestnut hair pinned back and cascading around her shoulders.  Now that I think about it, the Woman has Disney Princess hair.  She never has to worry about teasing at the roots or dry shampoo.  This is important because the Man spends a lot of time running his fingers through it and tightly grasping it at the base of the Woman’s neck so he can pull her head back and kiss her deeply.  Non-negotiable:  good hair.

The Woman is inexperienced with sex.  The only sexually adventurous women in these novels are friends or feisty aunts.  Generally in historical romance, she is a virgin and he must educate her in the ways of love making.  In contemporary novels, she has only experienced boring vanilla sex so the Man opens her up, so to speak, to a new world full of unexpected fellatio and afternoon romps in the Man’s office while the Board of Directors is waiting in the conference room.

 

So why are there so many requirements for the Man and not the Woman?  Because these books were written for straight women.  The Man is our fantasy (apparently none of us are fantasizing about Steve Buscemi) and the Woman comes in every variety so we can easily insert ourselves into her story (I love a story with a tall brunette with a booty… that’s me!)

The Sex:  Just like reality, the first time is always the best.  The first time our lovers have sex it is the most fleshed out (heh) sex scene in the book.  The Woman meets Perfect Penis for the first time and he takes her breath away.  So beautiful yet intimidating.  Don’t worry, girl, he knows what he’s doing.  As inexperienced as the Woman is, the Man is equally experienced.  In historical romances, her maidenhead is still intact.  He must pierce her maidenhead with his manhood quickly to get the pain over with.  After this initial shock and momentary discomfort, the Woman is immediately overcome with body melting pleasure the likes of which we can only imagine (and we are, because that’s why this book was written in the first place).  The pleasure builds until she has a body quaking, hair raising orgasm.  She will have an orgasm like this every time they have sex. 

Spoiler Alert:  They live happily ever after.  Even if you think one of them isn’t going to make it, they always do.  They experience their conflict (Contemporary romance- with the help of her lawyer lover, the Woman saves her father’s struggling corner shop from the evil corporate suit who also wants to sleep with her.  Historical romance- Woman is kidnapped), and they end up together.  They also have kids, thoroughly ruining the fantasy for me.

That’s it!  Now you have everything you need to write a romance novel.  You can judge how well your story is written by whether or not your book ends up on a shelf in the grocery store (that’s bad). 

Confessions of a Failed Breastfeeder

When I first started writing this blog, I started writing EVERYTHING, the entire breastfeeding timeline.  It was really really long... and boring.  I realized that this was my attempt to explain why things went bad and why I shouldn't be blamed.  Then I reminded myself that I was just here to confess, so I erased everything and just created my list.  Here are my confessions:

• I'm afraid that breastfeeding didn't work, because I didn't keep the ideal breastfeeding diet (lots of avocado and water, apparently).

• I feel guilty for feeling relief that I could start supplementing with formula and getting a firm grasp of just how much my baby was eating.

• I feel like I might have damaged our Mother/Baby bonding time.

• I didn't pump often enough and that's why I didn't make enough milk.

• I scoffed when someone told me I should pump 10 TIMES A DAY.  Even if it would work, I wouldn't do it.

• Mira had no trouble latching so, obviously, it's my fault.

• I gave Mira a pacifier when she was a week old, so obviously that ruined it.

• I was so excited when I no longer had to sleep in a bra.

• I feel judged by every successful breastfeeding mother.

• I feel guilty for not feeling bad when I hand my husband a bottle in the middle of the night and go back to sleep.

• I hated pumping at work and carrying my few, pathetic drops home every night.

• I'm frustrated that I took advice from others that I feel made it all worse.

• I feel bad for not feeling bad when my baby shoved my breast away the last time I ever tried to breastfeed her.  Here's your bottle, baby!  Enjoy!

• I will feel guilty if it works next time.

• I will feel guilty if it doesn't.

The End.   ( o )( o ) 

Mira's Birth Story!

This post is long overdue (Mira is 3 1/2 months old!), but I really wanted to write this down.  Hey!  I finally have something interesting to write about. :)

When I was pregnant, I was slightly obsessed with birth stories and videos.  I wanted to see what other women experienced, though I was fully aware that no birth is the same.  One of the scariest things about having a baby is the unknown... you know you are going to go through this huge life event that will result in a child, but you have NO idea how that event is going to play out.  It was a daunting, and sometimes intimidating, prospect.  So, I watched a lot of birth videos and read a lot of birth stories.  Some were lovely and painless (really??), while others were traumatizing and terrible, and all the others in between.  The possibilities were endless.

This post is not only for posterity, but for anyone who wants to read another's birth story, whether it's out of curiosity or for a desperate desire to get some inkling of what they can expect.  FYI, yours won't be like this... please, proceed. :)

After doing some research, I decided I wanted to take a "natural" approach to birthing while still having a hospital birth.*  I found a midwifery practice in NJ which is associated with a great hospital in their area.  It was a 45 minute drive from my house, but it was worth it.  I loved every midwife in the practice and would have been pleased with whoever ended up at my delivery.  The hospital has a fantastic, modern maternity ward with gorgeous private rooms and a fantastic staff.  Through the whole process, I felt I was in great hands.  

* I put that word in quotes, because I think it suggests that a birth with any type of medical intervention is "unnatural" which is NOT true!

Our room with lovely views of a parking lot in NJ.  Baby stayed with us our entire stay, per our request.

My main goal, besides having a healthy baby, was to delivery vaginally.  I had always wanted to experience a vaginal delivery and I felt like this was a realistic goal.  To that end, I wanted to try to give birth without any pain meds.  New York has an incredibly high c-section rate and part of that is due to too much medical intervention.  So, while it was noted in my birth plan that I did not want anyone to offer me pain meds, I wanted it to be known that if I asked for them they should GIVE THEM TO ME!  While I loved the idea of delivering drug-free, I have a pathetically low pain tolerance and doubted whether I would hold out.

My baby girl was due January 15, 2015 and I hired a doula in November.  I interviewed several before making my decision, which was easy as I felt like we had a really great connection during our interview.  One of the biggest lessons I took from birthing my daughter was not to underestimate your "team".  That is, the people in the room watching you go through this crazy thing.  For me, it was my husband, my doula, my midwife and her student midwife, and later on, my mother.  I was surrounded by supportive, loving people and it really made all the difference in the world.

1 week before Mira and my last day of work.

Whoa, baby!

The day before my due date, I was running around getting last minute stuff done (the nesting instinct is real).  Around 4pm, I was waddling through Target when I had to lean against a clothing rack and take some deep breaths.  I was having some very uncomfortable round-ligament pains and felt a little light-headed.  I headed home where I started experiencing some cramping.  However, I was told that contractions feel like menstrual cramps and that is not what this felt like.  Honestly... I felt CONSTIPATED.  And it sucked, so bad.  Nothing was moving down there.  I called my midwife to ask what I could take.  I was told I could give myself an enema... it might send me into labor, but whatevs, I'm full term.  So there I was, a 40 week preggo with the most rotund belly, lying naked on the bathroom floor giving myself an enema.  You like that visual?... you're welcome. :)  I'm still not sure how I did that.  P.S.  It didn't work.

I went to sleep, but around 2am I was insanely uncomfortable and the cramps were not letting up.  So, I decided to call the one person who I knew was up... my sister in Israel.  While I was describing to her what was going on, I had another cramp.  She listened to me breathe and moan through it, then said calmly, "Ok, hang up the phone and call your doula.  You are in labor."

"What?  Are you sure?"  I asked.

"Definitely!  Isn't it weird how you don't think you're in labor?"  Yes, yes it was.  And she would know, having almost given birth on her couch two years prior.

I called my doula who was at my house by 3am.  While my husband ran around downstairs getting last minute stuff ready, my doula climbed right into bed with me.  It was really extraordinary... before she got there, the pain was intense, but the minute she walked into my bedroom it became totally bearable.  Just her presence was so calming.  So, we would nap for 5 minutes or so, then I would sit up and work through a contraction.  She had a bag of tricks which included lovely massage equipment.  I was especially fond of the Rebozo technique, it really helped take the edge off.

I labored at home for 12 hours with my doula.  I labored everywhere you can think of... bed, birth ball, walking around my neighborhood, climbing my stairs, sitting in the shower, standing in the shower, bent over a railing, bent over my neighbor's mailbox, EVERYWHERE!  And honestly, it was great!  Yes, it was hard and painful, but I felt so positive, so excited knowing I was working with my baby to bring her into the world.  It felt comfortable and natural.

Around 3pm, the contractions were becoming more intense and I was feeling the need to bear down.  Since the hospital was a 45 minute drive, we decided to hit the road.  With my husband driving, I sat in the back with my doula and moaned through a few bad contractions (being stuck in the car sucked).  We made it to the hospital where I was wheeled into triage.

I was so excited to see that one of my favorite midwives was on call with her lovely student midwife.  I was feeling great... if not tired and in pain.  Because I had been laboring for such a significant amount of time, I didn't want to know how many centimeters dilated I was.  If I did all this work just to be told, "Hey!  You're two centimeters!" I would give in to the epidural immediately.  I was told that I had to be at least 4 cm to check in, and after the exam, I was sent straight to my room.

Since I was going without meds, I didn't need to get an IV.  My lovely room had a big jacuzzi and I immediately jumped (I use this term loosely) in.  It was always my plan to labor in the tub.  As I soaked in the hot water, my midwives continuously checked the baby's heart rate with a doppler.  Unfortunately, the only position I was comfortable in was floating on my back and swaying my hips.  I stayed in the tub for an hour before my midwife said I needed to get out.  The position was just not conducive for labor.  So, I climbed out and then things changed...

*Note:  I thought I would be wearing at least a sports bra for all of this, but when the time came, I was a giant, fully naked preggo waddling around the room.  Hence, no pics of tub time.

I was finding it really difficult to work through the pain.  I was in and out of the shower, on the bed on my hands and knees, and bent over anything that was stationary, but relief was elusive.  My midwife decided to check my progress and while she was down there my water broke!  I'll never forget that feeling.  There was a pop and the biggest gush of water.

"I think you just lost 5 pounds," my midwife remarked.

At this point, I was starting to lose it.  I was crying through my contractions and feeling out of control.  The only position I was remotely comfortable in was bent over the bed.  I hadn't slept in 2 days and the exhaustion was overwhelming.

I asked if I could get something for the pain through an IV.  I could, but it would make me loopy and out of it.  I cried through another contraction.  My midwife checked me again and said, "Your cervix is starting to harden."  Well, that doesn't sound conducive to labor.  My body was actually going backwards!  "And your baby is posterior," she added.  Turns out, my baby was sunny side up which always slows things down and causes painful back labor.  Hearing this news, I asked if it was too late for an epidural.  I was hoping to hear "Oh yeah!  You are 9 1/2 centimeters dilated.  You're almost there!  You can do it!"  Instead I heard, "there's always time for an epidural."

I was told that I was currently 7cm and I was 6cm when I checked into the hospital 8 HOURS AGO!  1cm in 8 hours.  Nope, I was done.  I said I wanted the epidural.  At that moment, I felt disappointed... then I had another brutal contraction and any disappointment flew out the window.

So, an epidural was on the way.  Hooray, right?  Haha, yeah right.  Turns out I had to have a bag of fluids before the anesthesiologist would give it to me.  As I said previously, I hadn't needed an IV until now, so I stayed crouched over the bed wailing while the nicest nurse on the planet squeezed the IV bag to make it move faster.  And this, my friends, is where I became my most dramatic.  I'M DYING!  SOMEONE KILL ME!  SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD!  WHAT WAS I THINKING!  SOMEBODY HELP ME, I BEG YOU!  I screamed all of these phrases and more, and I screamed as loud as I could.  The pain was so intense I started vomiting, but I was incredibly dehydrated at this point so there was nothing to throw up.  At one point, my brain seemed to float out of my body and just look down on me.  I remember thinking, "lol, no no no, this isn't you, Rachel!  You're not cut out for this."  This 30 minutes of waiting for the bag of fluids to get into my body was the hardest part of the whole experience.

And then, the anesthesiologist came in.  I had to sit completely still for 3 contractions while he was administering the epidural.  I can't believe I was ever afraid to get an epidural.  HA HA HA!  Nothing will ever hurt again after labor pains.

The epidural was magical.  I could cry just thinking about it now.  There was no pain, none.  I could still feel and move my legs.  I could lift my butt off the bed for nurses to change sheets.  I felt every contraction, but it was only a dull feeling of pressure.  I could feel everything BUT the pain.  I love you, my anesthesiologist.  Good job.

Post-epidural and feeling much better.  Getting a hand massage from my amazing doula. :)

And that's when my mom walked in. :)  She was lucky enough to miss all the dramatic stuff and find me curled up in bed, resting peacefully.  I had to lie on my side with my leg propped on a table in an attempt to get that sunny-side up baby to turn.  After an hour, they would flip me to the other side.  A couple hours later and I still wasn't progressing.  At that point, my midwife thought it was best to use pitocin.  I was hesitant, but I trusted her and agreed.  A few hours later, she checked me again and said, "you're 10cm, time to push."

I pushed for an hour and a half.  I will never forget the feeling of reaching down and feeling my baby's head.  I will never forget the feeling of her body sliding out and being put on my belly.  She was so warm and her scream was insanely loud.  I started sobbing immediately.  It was the most wonderful, intense, happiest moment of my life.  Nothing but joy.

Mira Zohara (named after our grandmothers) was 8lbs 14oz and 20in long.

Picture of placenta upon request.

So, there it is.  If you're reading this and expecting your own little one, I hope this brings you hope and makes you feel excited.  I look back on my birth experience with so much happiness.  It was so positive and I wouldn't have done anything different (though next time, I will ask for the IV when I get to the hospital.  I think being dehydrated through labor didn't help.  I will also avoid the tub.  I don't know for sure, but I feel like it slowed everything down.).  Though things didn't go exactly according to plan, in the end I got what I wanted... a vaginal delivery and a healthy baby.

Motivation, Inspiration, and Good Ideas

I haven't blogged in ages.  I'm really bad at this, as it turns out.  Perhaps it's because my life has become increasingly mundane since I started the blog, and I always assumed a blog was made up of only exciting/funny/interesting/ridiculous stories.  Well, I don't have one of those today, but what I do have is an intense desire TO WRITE.

I miss writing.  When I was in college, there was always a short story I needed to bang out or a long literary theory essay I had procrastinated (I never enjoyed writing these essays, but I did enjoy the feeling of accomplishment I got when I finished one).  While in school, I even started what I had intended to be my first novel.  I started writing it while I was bored in some history class and felt inspired.  It was "chick-lit" to the extreme and I enjoyed coming home to my apartment and reading it to my roommate who always wanted more.  Then, one sad day, my hard drive crashed and it was gone.  I have considered rewriting the same story, but it was based off of a personal experience and so much time has passed that I don't feel any connection to the story anymore.  Since then, I haven't written anything for fun or for myself, except this blog.

I find blogging challenging the same way I find journaling challenging.  I'm just not interested in myself enough to write about myself consistently.  Maybe this will change when something exciting happens, like starting a family or adopting a cat behind my husband's back, but until then... yawn.

So, why the sudden urge to start writing again?  The answer is simple... Harry Potter.  Or more specifically, JK Rowling.

 I just got back from visiting my family in Colorado. My sister was in from Israel with her husband and my baby niece who I was meeting for the first time.  For the record, her name is Malka, she's delicious, and I'm in love with her.  My sister and her husband are strict about television around the baby.  They don't watch TV in their home, and they preferred that while we were watching the baby, we avoid having the television on.  So, while I fed Malka a bottle or rocked her to sleep in my arms, I would listen to Harry Potter audiobooks. 

I LOVE Harry Potter (seriously, who doesn't?).  I never, EVER, get sick of those books and just thinking about them makes me all weepy.  How amazing is a story if it evokes that kind of emotion from a reader?  Pretty...Freaking...Amazing. 

So, after listening to the audiobooks I ended up googling interviews with JK Rowling.  Her story is truly incredible and she's a fascinating woman.  I love the way she talks about Harry Potter and the world she created.  She seems to really enjoy discussing the books with her fans and we all appreciate that.  I was really moved by her dedication to her work and how much she loves writing in general.  Listening to her speak about writing made me want to write! 

Rowling says the idea of Harry Potter just came to her fully formed one day.  A flood of ideas just rushed into her head and she scrambled for a pen.  This, I am truly jealous of.  It's all about a good idea, isn't it?  When I was writing short stories in school, I had to come up with an idea.  I was doing this for a grade and I needed something good enough for 20 or so pages of interesting (see: not terrible) reading which would be critiqued by my professor and classmates.  Looking back, I don't remember this as being particularly hard.  Since it was a requirement, it was always in the back of my head.  Ideas for short stories would pop up and I would write them down so I wouldn't forget.  Some of those ideas were fleshed out in my stories and some fell to the wayside.  I should probably note that most of the ideas weren't very good and so the writing wasn't fantastic either.

Now, 5 years after graduating, I am itching to write again... but what about?  I have no ideas!  For me, coming up with a good story idea is much harder than writing it.  And what about an original idea!?  Does that even exist anymore?

My favorite writing teacher used to start class with free-writing.  Just sit and write without stopping for a few minutes.  A writer's warm-up.  Consider this blog entry a warm-up.  Getting my feet wet after a long hiatus.  It's rambling and a bit "stream of conciousness," but at least I'm writing... and it feels good.

Acknowledgement

If you click back to the earliest entries in my blog, you'll read about my time working as a literary agent's assistant. While I had some interesting experiences while I was there, it was today, 2 years later, that the greatest experience occurred.

I was sorting through the mail at work when I came across an envelope addressed to me. This was very unusual as I never get mail sent to me at work. I opened it up and inside I found a paperback novel with a note.

Here's what it says:


Dear Rachel,


You may not remember me, but while you were at Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, you read and critiqued my novel manuscript. Your notes were a big help when I made revisions and I was (and still am) grateful for your editorial insights.


Enclosed is the book, now titled FAVORITE, and finally published. :)


Thank you for all your help.


Best,


Karen McQuestion


AND, to my utter disbelief, she thanked me in the acknowledgments!

Amazing, right?! I remember her very well. I had liked her manuscript and had presented it to the agent I was working for. The agent liked it as well and had me send her my suggested revisions (this involves going page by page through book and breaking down everything from plot to grammar). In the end, the agent decided to pass, but I couldn't be happier that she found another home for her book.

There were only a few (seriously, about 4 in 6 months) manuscripts that I really thought could be published and be successful. I found it very frustrating that they weren't garnering interest from publishers and that readers were being kept from some really fantastic, original writing. So the feeling I get from knowing that one writer is seeing her book published, and actually giving me credit for having a hand in helping it get there, is the most wonderful feeling.

It is an amazing feeling to have someone, after all this time, be so appreciative of the work I did. I am beyond flattered and so freaking HAPPY for Karen! :)

Click here to check out Karen's book on Amazon!

The 'Acts of G-d' Clause

Last week, my BFF Amy invited me to be her date to a friends wedding in New Rochelle. I jumped at the opportunity, knowing that I would get cake and also a chance to get some good wedding ideas to call my own. Walking out the door should have tipped me off that this wasn't going to be a good evening...

The minute I walked out my front door, freezing rain and wind smacked me in the face. I opened my umbrella, fighting to keep it from breaking apart in the torrent. I ran to the main highway a block from my house, desperately waving at the yellow cabs who, for some reason, don't like to stop when the weather's bad. By the time I finally jumped into a cab that was stopped at the light, my exposed legs were soaking wet, and the wind and rain had managed to smudge my mascara to my hairline. This is New York in March...gross.

By the time we made it through the bumper to bumper traffic on the Queensboro Bridge, I was 30 minutes late and ran to meet Amy in Grand Central. During the half hour train ride, we took the opportunity to dry ourselves the best we could with napkins.

When we disembarked the train, the rain and wind had gotten worse, and we scrambled to catch a cab. Down the dark and swerving road to the venue, we veered out of the way of a fallen tree, which had collapsed across the road and now rested on the powerlines. Concerned someone might hit it, Amy decided to call the police. Unfortunately, no one picked up at 911... seriously.

We were relieved to find that we hadn't missed the ceremony as we originally thought. Everything was behind, because of a power outage. The lobby of the venue had candles everywhere and the staff desperately scrambled to collect more to light the ceremony. Finally, we were let into the ceremony. It was beautiful. The candlelight made it really cozy, and you could see the Long Island Sound crashing violently against the rocks out the window.

After the ceremony, we enjoyed an elaborate cocktail hour, then were led into the reception room where we sat down to dinner. The meal was really delicious and the decor was simple and lovely. Three quarters of the room was surrounded by windows overlooking the sound and as we ate dinner, the water seemed to rise higher and higher until it was crashing against the windows.

When the bride and groom stopped by our table, they seemed stressed. Apparently, water was starting to leak through the doors and into the room, and instead of dealing with it quietly, the staff at the venue was stressing out the happy couple. I was incredibly annoyed for them. It's their wedding day! Why would you want to stress them out like this? Every now and then through out dinner, a staff member dramatically gestured to the groom and pulled him aside to whisper something to him. At one point, a staff member came charging through the reception with a pile of towels in his arms and literally dove for the door, where water was slowly creeping in at the bottom towards the DJ booth. I realize he was trying to help, but he couldn't have drawn more attention to himself.

All of a sudden, the cake was wheeled into the middle of the room, where it was cut by the unhappy couple, and one of the staff members made an announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's almost high tide and the water is rising quickly. We need to evacuate and get to higher ground." That's when the bride started crying.

We were ushered back into the dark lobby, where the bride was bombarded by drunk relatives trying to comfort her, until she finally hid herself away in the bridal suit where she could cry in peace.

Some policemen came into the room to announce that there were buses coming that would transport us to higher ground. When the first bus came, Amy and I made a bee-line for the door, hoping desperately we would make our train. When we stepped outside we looked up to see that we would be moved to higher ground in a prisoner transport bus... ala The Fugitive.

Amy and I clasped hands in the back of the bus as we lumbered through the rain, realizing that if we were to tip over or get in an accident there was absolutely no way out, and apparently 911 had better things to do then answer phones.

Luckily, we made it to our destination, which was another country club up the road from the one we were at. We could hear music pounding in a room down the hall as the guests from the rained-out party sat in the lobby. Finally, we were able to hitch a ride on the prisoner transport bus back to the train station and made it back to the city in one piece.

I felt so bad for the bride and groom. People kept saying to them, "Hey, the worse the wedding, the better the marriage," and "this is a wedding no one will ever forget." It's true...in a few years, they will be laughing about it. But right now, they're crying about it and wondering if they can get their deposit back.