Reader feedback: one of life's best gifts

I got the greatest gift this week: feedback from a reader.

Every time one of my books hits the market, I feel as if I just sent a kid off to college. And the worst thing? I don't know how he's doing or who he's hanging out with. I have no idea if anyone's reading my book, let alone enjoying it.

And then, one day, an e-mail shows up. I don't recognize the name but curiosity gets the best of me and I open it. And my world gets a little—nay, a lot—brighter. A reader talks back, closes the loop, begins a two-way dialogue with me. Yesterday was one of those days.

Subject line: BTFT (for Beyond the Family Tree, my latest book)

I just wanted to thank you for the book. My wife, who is trying to determine family fact from family fiction, is proud that she has filled out all the boxes on your tree page (and then some). The book is kind of turning into the only family heirloom anyone is likely to inherit in her family. Of course, when your great aunt is born in a cave en route from Mexico some things get left behind… Thanks again, Scott

Scott, wherever you are, know that hearts are coming out of my grateful head towards you and your wife. To know that my book is not only being read, but used and cherished, well, I'm a crier so you can only imagine what's going on up in here. Once I kick my book out the door and off to the printer, it's far too easy for me to get caught up in the next thing and the pressures of the everyday. Hearing from a reader is way to take a pause and take in what I've put out in the world. And that is what makes my writing truly worthwhile.

Downsizing the holidays...in a good way

How did it get to be December 3? And why am I always surprised to find myself behind the tinsel-covered 8-ball when the holidays are nigh?

Last year was hard. I didn’t have a lot of funds for gifts (let alone shipping), and I stayed put in Seattle rather than visiting family in Michigan (or other exotic locales like North Platte, Nebraska and Dahlonega, Georgia). While it’s been a year of personal and professional growth, not much has changed when it comes to Christmas. I’m still financially strapped and I’m not getting patted down by a TSA agent anytime soon.

But I’m not throwing in the towel on the holidays. I still plan on connecting with friends and family in meaningful ways and will be offering up some suggestions all month for you to do the same.

Pulling out a few questions from Beyond the Family Tree is a smart way to change the conversation and the dynamic when you’re tempted to start the snarky monologue in your head or withdraw from the conversation in favor of a Bravo marathon. Try asking older relatives how they celebrated the holidays when they were kids or what their favorite gift was. And ask about high school crushes or how they became a crazy train fanatic (or maybe that’s just my dad). Capture all the goodness on a Flip camera or your iPhone 4 for posterity (and for next year's holiday video, another perfect gift).

Simple Gifts, the other book I published in 2010, features all sorts of gifts you can make on the cheap and on the run. It makes a great gift in itself if you’ve got crafty folks on your list, but before you gift it, crack it open and make a batch of salted caramels, felted wine sleeves, candles, or magnets.

To help you out and prove just how easy these projects are, I’m planning on posting a video tutorial of a craft this month: which would you prefer to see—candles (one of which is featured on the book’s cover) or magnets?

What traditions have you incorporated into your holidays?

Next up: Micro-partying!

The High Bar with Warren Etheredge

A couple of months ago I did an interview with Warren Etheredge on his new show, The High Bar. While sipping on gin and tonics, I talked about my need to connect with family and shared strategies from Behind the Family Tree for how to better communicate with your own family. Check it out for a few tips and giggles.

The supporting characters

I recently wrote a post on my other blog, Things I Want to Punch in the Face. It recounted my worst New Year’s Eves. The list is long and varied, and every entry involved other people. One of them, an ex-boyfriend, contacted me after reading the post, saying it was weird to see himself referenced in someone else’s story, even if I didn’t single him out by name or say anything negative about him.

I worry about a lot of stuff, so it’s not surprising that I worry about what my friends and family will think after writing about them (I worry about what they think when I'm not writing about them). I have been thoughtless in the past about oversharing and processing my thoughts and feelings through my writings. A man I was dating mistakenly thought I was referring to him in a column that was primarily about my grandfather, who had just passed away. He brought me to tears over a story that was supposed to be a love letter to my grandpa and his many admirable qualities vs. some of the men I had previously dated. In an article about my high-school reunion, I didn’t even change the names, thinking none of my classmates would see it. I was wrong.

I was wrong in many ways. See, my story isn’t just mine. My perspective and my voice are, certainly, but events, well, they usually involve other folks even if we remember things differently.

I’m working on a memoir, which wasn’t really music to my mom’s ears. Shit happened when I was growing up. And I’m trying to capture it from my point of view, through my eyes. But I’m having a tough time. I can’t help fast-forwarding to family reactions when I spill secrets that might not be only mine to share. Many memoirists (Augusten Burroughs, for example) have left a wake of ill will and severed relationships behind them for the sake of a fantastic, compelling read. I sure as hell don’t want that. Mom told me to wait until she was dead before publishing the memoir. I’m not going to do that, either. One, I want her to live for a long, long time. Two, it feels dishonest. If I’m going to risk someone’s reputation post-mortem, I should be willing to do it while they’re alive and face the music, even if I don’t want to hear it.

What are your thoughts on writing an honest memoir? Can it be done while protecting those who are part of the story?

U-M alumni magazine interview

The publicity train steams on. After a year of plotting, LSA Magazine (which goes out to all U-M alumni who were in the College of Literature, Science, and the Arts) features a three-page interview on me and The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life. The editor who interviewed me, Lara Zielin, was a delight (and my new best friend) and I'm tickled pink by the results, although I might have been a bit too forthcoming about my life. Download the entire article (scroll down to "Alumni" and click on "The Prairie Queen."

Scenes from Nebraska

Just a few pictures from my short and sweet trip to visit my brother John and his family in North Platte, Nebraska. Check out the handwritten ticket from the incredibly lame Great Lakes Airlines (I was stuck in Denver for 8 1/2 hours with this rinky-dink airlines on Monday). Classic.

Family ties

As many of you know, I'm working on a book of outdoor crafts. Since I don't get out as much as I'd like, I've been asking friends and family to keep an eye peeled for feathers, pine cones, sticks, shells, etc.

My mom is a member of the funeral detail at her American Legion in Coloma, Michigan. She had wrapped up a funeral in my grandparents' cemetery so she went off in search of their graves. As she happened upon them, she also found a birds' nest laying on the ground. She made sure that there were no eggs or birds anywhere and brought it home for me. Maybe Grandma and Grandpa Hamlin are helping out as well...

Flower therapy

I got back to Seattle on Monday night, after an emotional roller-coaster trip to Michigan. My stepbrother Paul passed away unexpectedly, so we were all grieving even as we gathered to celebrate my dad and stepmom's 25th anniversary. I thought once I got back here, I'd be able to pull myself together and refocus on my writing and business.

It hasn't exactly worked out that way.

I'm doing dumb things like walking the wrong way down the sidewalk or layering a pizza in the wrong order. After finishing a big deadline on Wednesday, I totally lost it and slid into a self-indulgent stress spiral. I've snapped at friends. I went to a women's networking party last night and had to slink away after gritting my teeth for an hour. A master wheeler-dealer, in that moment, I knew talking to strangers was the last thing I wanted to do.

I'm feeling better. I'm regrouping. But I haven't been exactly motivated to write.

Until I saw the daffodils.

I'm sitting in Cupcake Royale and there's a bouquet of mixed daffodils at the cash wrap. And as soon as I saw them, I thought of my grandma.

Growing up in a ranch-style house next to my grandparents' farmhouse, I would often walk over to their place to get away from my brothers (usually, it was because I wanted to watch The Waltons and they wouldn't relinquish control of the TV). The grassy path took me between the shed and the barn, past oak and pine trees, and, in the spring, by bunch after bunch of daffodils. My grandma liked crocuses just fine but it was daffodils that I remember trumpeting spring. She had every variety, too, from the palest white petals with an orange center to bright yellow ones. I hope the barista didn't think me too weird when I sniffed the bouquet, for even the smell brings back comforting memories of Michigan and searching for Easter eggs in the flower beds.

I have never liked the color yellow but cheery daffodils always get a pass. They remind me of home, and that always puts a spring in my step.

Apron strings

I learned to operate a sewing machine tonight, thanks to my new pal Sandra Watson. An event planner, she also makes gorgeous reversible aprons and I was keen to learn a new old craft in 2008.

So I went to JoAnn Fabric this weekend and picked up some more of my prairie-meets-the-kitchen-table fabric. As I cruised by the pattern area, I was reminded of looking through giant Butterick pattern books when I was a kid, as I waited for my mom or grandma to finish up at the fabric store. It was sort of magical to find a pattern (illustrated with a groovy 70s style that is still used today) I liked and then look up the packet in the giant drawers. I remember my mom pinning the tissue patterns to far-out fabrics on the living room floor.

I'm ready to pick up where she left off. In addition to fabric, I bought Lotta Jansdotter's Simple Sewing and picked out a cute café apron. Sandra came over with her tote bag filled with sewing machine and various needles, trims, and thread. In an hour and a half (I did all the cutting and pressing last night), I strapped on my new apron. The seams are a bit wonky but I love it. What do you think? Cute, huh?

I can't wait to buy a machine. Anyone got suggestions on what model I should buy as my first sewing machine (please, no Hello Kitty suggestions)? Sandra uses a pedal Kenmore and I have to say, I like the pedal idea. It's old school and will prevent the needle from taking on a life of its own.

Bundt cake love

A few months ago I attended the Midwest Booksellers Association meeting in Minneapolis, where I met Susanna Short, author of Bundt Cake Bliss. We discussed handing down recipes amongst women in a family; she had to really quiz her mother to get the quantities down for each ingredient. Somehow our generation lacks that gene that just automatically knows to add a quarter cup of softened butter to the mix.

Anyway, it got me to thinking how much I love Bundt cakes and how I didn't have a Bundt cake pan.

So I asked for one for Christmas and my brother Chris came through. Here's my third attempt in four days. The first was a cinnamon strudel cake with a cinnamon glaze I made for a baby shower. Yum. The second was a lemon cake for New Year's Eve. It was so-so, but the fresh raspberries elevated it. This is a double chocolate cake with a vanilla glaze and sprinkles.

Next up: rum cake.

Prairie crafts at the library

My talk and pioneer craft night at the Maud Preston Palenske Memorial (i.e. the St. Joe) Library last night was a big hit. I'd say about 30 gals of all ages showed up and after I chatted about my childhood growing up in Sodus, Michigan, reading and scraping up my knees chasing after my brothers, and my writing career, we got down to the crafts. Pat Peterson from the library staff did a wonderful job, preparing instructions and supplies so gals could try their hand at quilting, rug hooking, braiding rag rugs, embroidering, sewing a small purse, making rock candy, mixing up a rosewater spritzer, and playing jacks. Robin from Forever Books sold copies of The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life and Backcountry Betty and I was happy to sign copies and chat with the girls and the grownups.

It was delightful. Even more delightful were the people who showed up. I went to a Christmas dance in high school with Eric Ford (he was so smart and dreamy) and his mom Judy showed up to have me sign a copy for him, now a cancer researcher at Johns Hopkins. My dad's smooth friend Russell swung by. Mom's friend Mary came and presented me with the shirt I gave her to hem at the Christmas Eve Open House. Virginia Handy pulled out all sorts of photos and information about her family, who lived across the street from me growing up (in fact, it was her half-brother Paul who introduced my parents).

And then, toward the end of the event, something miraculous happened. I received a phone call through the library: it was my wonderful English teacher Jane Lindenmuth, calling from Holland, Michigan, where she recently retired. She only knew about the signing because her husband saw an article about the event on the Herald-Palladium website. I had tried to call her earlier in the week but without luck, since I didn't know she had moved. So it was a marvelous gift to hear from her (I immediately recognized her voice on the phone) and I can't wait to catch up with her properly.

Thanks again to the wonderful library staff and Forever Books for being so supportive and enthusiastic about The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life. It all started here in Michigan and it's nice to know it continues here as well.

Happy Holidays!

From our second trip to the Four Winds Casino. The first trip was on Christmas Day. Merry Christmas, indeed!

Scenes from a blue-collar open house

A few photos from my mom's Christmas Even open house. Why write much when pictures say it all?

First up, a battered jar of whiskey cherries from 1990. Potent. Jim and I sampled a few vintages around 4pm. After a couple, I realized I was going to have to pace myself to make it to the end of the evening without passing out.

Then a photo of mom and me. This is what happens when you eat the whiskey cherries.

Terry brought about 10 pounds of venison stew in a Crockpot. He's on the left, my stepdad Jim is in the middle, and Toby is on the right, standing by the door to the back porch, where he planted himself for most of the evening. I visited with him every time I went to the pantry for another gin and tonic.

Then we've got the ladies: my stepaunt Pat, stepsister Denise, Legion friend Mary, stepniece Megan, and mom Judy. They are a fine-looking group of gals.

Legion post commander Pete stopped by with his daughter Crystal and her beau Nick, an aspiring writer.






"Jason, do you make Kelly walk behind you all the time?" I thought I was hilarious.

Kelly thought I was mildly amusing (check out her $9 Steve and Barrys sweatshirt! I am jealous!).

Mom and Mary are great friends. A handy seamstress (I am jealous of her too), Mary took home a nightshirt I bought at Old Navy and is going to transform it into a shirt for me.

And then there's mom and me. It was a great party, and we were a bit tired (i.e. corned) at this point. Merry Christmas to us.

The memories keep on comin'

My book signing at Forever Books was a whopping success yesterday, both personally and professionally. My mom and I spent the morning going to 10 places before hitting the signing (hairdresser, party store, Staples, Steve & Barrys, JC Penney, Gordons Food Service, Angelo's liquor store, Rite Aid, Schu's for lunch, and the dime store). I realize that I get my need to be productive and highly scheduled at all times from her. I am a novice practicing at the feet of the master!

Anyway, the signing. Mom was there, of course, but my dad (the photo is of mom and dad—see the resemblance?), stepmom, step-aunt, step-cousins, and step-grandmother all represented. Then Lake Michigan Catholic High School classmates Kelly, Jennifer, and Sheila all showed up to support me. I am truly blessed to have had such cool and caring women in my life, both then and now. Man, I used to love going to Jennifer's (then Jenny Rice's) home in junior high. Her basement was tricked out with a pool table, Intellivision, and some old version of plinko, and her house had a Betamax (we watched Zuma Beach with Suzanne Somers over and over) and a pool. It was a sweet crib.

Anyway, right after the signing, mom scooted me out of St. Joe so we could get back, prep dinner, and get to the Legion for some more socializing and storytelling. I heard a few things about my stepdad that I'm having a hard time blotting out of my mind, but overall it was a good, productive, and highly entertaining day.

Today was spent with my stepfamily, opening gifts and eating. I videotaped my stepbrother Jay talking about his love of the Cubs, and my dad and stepmom talking about their first date and wedding day. With all the activity, it's no surprise I sacked out on the magic sofa until it was time to drive to the beach to check out the wicked whitecaps (the wind has been relentless all day), as well as light displays along the St. Joe bluff and various neighborhoods (some folks can still afford to pay huge electric bills, bless their hearts). Now chilling back at home, I'm finding a moment of quiet. But in the spirit of Midwestern industriousness, I'm finishing up knitting a scarf before turning in.

Scenes from a blue-collar Friday night

A few photos from the Legion post 362. Pete Petric (the current commander) hosted a hot dog bar tonight. My stepdad Jim sprung for my mom and me: it cost the three of us $8 to eat five hot dogs, loaded up with chili, cheese, relish, onions, ketchup, mustard, olives, hot peppers, and more (not all on one dog, obviously). Life is good.

Pictures include photos of me and my mom, me and high school classmate Kelly Robinson, the bulletin board featuring my brother John (who's currently serving in Kuwait), and, my favorite, the signage in the right stall of the ladies' room: "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat." Word.

Michigan, Where the beer is cold and the people are warm

Ah, finally, the holidays are here (in a good way).

After 14 hours of travel (that included a three-hour layover in Vegas that netted me $150 on video poker), I arrived in Michigan late last night, exhausted and cranky.

Today is another story. I woke up refreshed and, after taking mom to work, I drove her car, complete with “Mrs. Eck” personalized plates (my stepdad’s last name is Eckelbarger and he goes by “Eck” for short), over to St. Joe so I could hunker down at a coffee shop and work.

I did some online research at Caffe Tosi for a spell, my dad came by for a visit, and even though I have three different deadlines to hit by Friday, I was really enjoying myself. I took a break and stopped by the bookstore where I’m signing books on Saturday. I chatted at length with a woman in a local artists’ coop. I poked my head into the paint-your-own-pottery place to visit high school classmate Stephanie Hosbein (she owns the shop). She is going to try to swing by my signing and wants me to bring her some Prairie Girl Potions to check out.

I freakin' love Michigan. Folks are so nice. They take time to talk, whether they know you or not.

I went down to the beach and took some photos of the North Pier before doing some Christmas shopping and meeting up with my mom for a drink (or two) at the Legion (post 362). My brother’s photo was on the bulletin board with various well wishes (John is stationed in Kuwait). My stepdad Jim was playing poker and we sat at the bar with Kelly Robinson, another high school classmate who is active at the Legion and who set up my mom’s computer at home. (Thank you, Kelly, for bringing my mom into the 21st century.) I finally feel as if I am experiencing the holidays. I’m talking with people, drawing stories out of them (like how my stepdad proposed to my mom at the kitchen sink or how my brother rifled through his wife’s glove compartment on their first date). I even got some great stories out of the woman at the artists’ coop, who is going to try to come with her artsy teenage son (who takes tea outside every evening at his boarding school) to my talk at the library next week. Forget presents: these experiences are my real gifts. I’m totally addicted.

Ask your family a few questions about high school, likes and dislikes, how they met their spouse or significant other, childhood crushes, or what they wanted to be when they grew up. You might be surprised at the answers!

Happy holidays, wherever you may be. Stay tuned for more Michigan posts…

It's a family affair

When I couldn't sleep last night, I started thinking about my grandma's farmhouse. While it's been years and years since I've seen it, it is still vivid in my mind, from the grate we huddled over in the winter, doing crosswords on a metal TV tray (my grandma, a German immigrant, was a whiz at wordplay), to the wonder of the many drawers and shelves in her bedroom, to the attic, chockablock with my grandfather's WWI uniform, Mason jars of buttons, dried bunches of flowers, and dusty furniture.

I long for such a home, but I don't have to long for the comfort of family. Copies of The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life went out to various family members and I'm getting wonderful comments. My brother Chris writes from Georgia, "My personal favorite story was your mention of Marvel Gordon and the fresh roadkill in the pot. I had to turn my nose up when you described the recipe on rhubarb pie. I never liked it. Somehow it always reminded me of red celery and just didn't look like a pie." Hmm, he's got a point. My stepmom Pat sent encouraging words from Michigan. My niece Rebekah e-mailed me, telling me that she has to try the rock candy project again, as her fifth-grade experiment didn't work.

While I love getting praise from the media, friends, and readers of my books, hearing my family embrace my words, thoughts, and memories brings me to tears. Not only do I want to do them proud, I want to represent them accurately and lovingly. With The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life, I hope I'm on the right track.

I'd love to hear your thoughts about the book. What was your favorite part? What project are you interested in trying? Holla back here, post a review on amazon, or e-mail me.

KUOW Sound Focus interview now online

I taped an interview this morning at KUOW (the awesome NPR station in Seattle) for their Sound Focus program. It aired this afternoon and I heard the beginning of the interview as I was driving home from a doctor's appointment. I ended up sitting in a parking lot listening to the rest of the piece and crying.

Admittedly, it was just a few tears but I was affected by the experience because I opened up and talked about my family and the struggles I've had connecting with them, pretty much all my life. As the previous author on the program (the awesome Amanda Ford) pointed out, life is not a checklist and for me, that's certainly true. My relationship with my family is improving but it's ever-evolving with setbacks and breakthroughs.

What's your relationship like with your family? I'd love to hear from those of you who struggle with finding common ground or who feel like they are the white sheep of the family.

Listen to the interview.

P.S. As I'm writing this in a coffee shop, there is a woman on the phone talking to her mom on her cell, and asking about her grandparents' history (profession, date of birth, hometown, etc.) for a geneology project. I kid you not.

The birth father

Stuck at the border after a whirlwind trip to Vancouver, I read anything I could get my hands on. I had already exhausted my Us Weekly (dang, that Hilary Duff is a hottie) so I idly looked over my dad's birth certificate. A few things I knew: his name, his birthdate. I saw that he was born in "Sodus Township," so I asked if he was born at home. Yep. I asked if grandma had a midwife or any real assistance. Dad replied that it was just grandpa and a rusty knife. He was joking—I'm sure the knife was clean.

Anyway, that sort of gave me pause. The days of pushing out a baby from your home without monitors or meds seems to have gone by the wayside. (And that's a-ok with me.)

But more interesting were two other parts of the birth certificate. One was a column headed "white, black, mulatto, etc." Are you kidding me? I guess there wasn't a lot of diversity in rural Michigan in 1939. Thankfully, this sort of ethnicity classification has disappeared over time. Mulatto? I haven't heard that word since reading a Kathleen Woodiwiss bodice ripper set on a plantation in the West Indies.

And the last thing I saw that made me thankful to be living in this day and age was an area for "father's occupation." Nothing about the mother; her occupation was assumed. My dad's birth certificate is a quaint memento of another time, but as I looked it over, it seemed to me to be a benchmark of how far I—along with the world—have moved away from that place and time. At this point the line, mercifully, started to move.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

My parents are in town. My friends kept asking me if when I was picking them up at the airport. Yo, my parents do it up old school. They drove cross country, even stopping in Pepin, Wisconsin, birthplace of Laura Ingalls Wilder, without any prompting from me (who just wrote my love letter to Laura in the form of The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life).

As much I get carsick sitting in the backseat of a car for hours on end, I miss the two-week epic vacations that involve bad road food, amazing scenery, and unexpected conversations with colorful but kind strangers. Working for myself, I haven't done a good job of clearing my schedule and my mind for a proper holiday. Instead, I take weekends here and there, crashing at friends' houses and apartments.

It was refreshing to take the keys from my dad (which guaranteed that the trainspotting would be kept to a minimum) and point their car for Whidbey Island yesterday. Without a map, we drove onto a ferry, poked around in shops, hunted for interesting rocks on the rugged waterfront, stuffed down fish and chips, tasted a few bad wines, took photos of stunning scenery, and gambled at two casinos on the way home.

I've done the trip before so it wasn't completely spontaneous but it was as close to a stress-free, work-free day as I've had in a long time. And there was no threat of an early-morning departure to yet another trainyard.

This weekend: Vancouver and, I suspect, another casino or two.