MYSTERIES, SPORTS, AND PE

LIFE OF A BOOKMAN

Bookman: 1. a person who has a love of books and especially of reading. 2. a person who is involved in the writing, publishing, or selling of books. Oh, hi that’s me!!

Not my mystery: I finished The God of the Woods, which so many of you have read and loved…but I didn’t! It wasn’t my kind of book, although very readable and very interesting. Let me start with what I appreciated: the timeline at the top of every chapter that told me where I was in the story (because it jumped a few different timelines, and it jumped point of view). Oh, the power of visual design! And the book is very readable, in the way well-written mysteries are. Because I didn’t finish the book, and because I was’t like wow, loved that, I’ve been thinking about why. It came down to a few things: the mystery(s) resolved themselves in ways that were unfulfilling and in one instance unbelievable. And there wasn’t a character that I spent enough time with that I was really rooting, invested, and liking. But maybe you’ll love it?

What I’ve been writing: On Monday, I’m turning in a manuscript for a ghostwriting client, so ever last hour is reading and re-reading and revising pages per the many notes we’re pulling together and solving for in these final hours. It’s always a sprint to a manuscript due date, no matter how long or hard that you’ve worked on it up until that moment. With a dash of adrenaline and a love of story, anything is possible!

WOMEN’S STUDIES

What gets passed down becomes our history.

How Private Equity Ate Youth Sports. This one will piss you off. I repeat, this one will piss you off. Is there nothing sacred anymore?? Not even the sports that kids participate in?? I grew up playing club volleyball. When I joined an elite travel team my junior year, it was expensive. I remember the conversations with my parents at that time, of what was possible, and where I’d need to contribute, and how to make it work. I also thank god we moved forward, however financial stressful, because those two year changed my life. That travel club team put me on a trajectory that I’m still living out today. So that math, mathed out. But listening to what competitive sports has become, and all the financial burdens, really got me in a mood I couldn’t get myself immediately out of.

Women accounted for 98% of job gains in August. Driven by women’s jobs in leisure and hospitality, this was a wild piece to read in Fortune. Essentially, jobs as teachers and servers did it. But loved diving into these structural and seasonal differences, putting women in the driver of the jobs report.

Non-Fiction Book Market is Collapsing. This was a wild read about what’s going on in fiction and non-fiction book markets. It was also weirdly calming to read about the structural (and trends) at play, because obviously I’ve reflected on my own year in publishing and the two non-fiction books that I didn’t get deals for. Sometimes it’s nice to see your challenges within the broader landscape, ya know?

Oh, and I must share the now famous Eileen Gu clip: I train like I’ve never won, and compete like I’ve never lost.

PASS IT ON

Stories are heirlooms. Here’s one of mine:

I’ve never been one to lose things. But on Saturday, I confronted that identity.

With my lipstick on, a brown silk dress, and combat boots, I got ready to leave the house for dinner. Skye gave me a little lick goodbye, I stuffed my keys into my leather jacket pocket, and reached for my NASA wallet.

Hm, No NASA wallet.

I felt for it in my jacket pocket (because sometimes I do this, pack my things without realizing I already packed my things). No wallet. I checked my backpack. I checked my dresser. Nada. I checked my jean pockets from the day prior.

Nothing.

My scooter! Aha! My Vespa had taken me all around town running errands, surely it was in the seat. I practically skipped to my two wheels, knowing I’d find it there.

Fucking empty.

As I racked my brain, then turned my apartment inside out dressed like I was going to a four-course dinner, I eventually had to concede something true about myself:

I’d lost my wallet. And thus, I’m someone who loses her wallet.

But I needed to get to dinner, so I grabbed my Global Entry card (surely this will serve as an ID? Card me baby!) opened up the banking apps on my phone, checked the transactions (no strange activity!) and toggled the cards off. On we go.

OTW. Lost my wallet.

I texted my bestie, who’d planned this beautiful birthday dinner in North Beach for her husband. I’d be late, but I committed to having a great night, lost wallet and all. As the Uber snaked through Saturday-evening Broadway Tunnel traffic, I got a quick response:

We’ll find it.

Ha. We would not find it. It was gone. In the time between when I left the house, and when I got this text, I had retraced my whole day and concluded that my wallet had to have fallen out of my pocket at some point on my scooter, while running errands, which meant it was very, very gone. Which meant, we would not be finding it. I love my galpal, and I loved her optimism, but in this case, all I could do was laugh at misdirected confidence.

I rested my head against the leather seat of my lift, and channeled my inner zen. Cards were off. My friends oozed with generosity and would cover my $19 Negroni. My license could be replaced, but that was a Tuesday problem. And I’d beg my astronaut bestie to find me another NASA coin wallet, the greatest of my amounting loss.

That zen lasted all of 22 seconds, and I reached for my phone with a false hope: what if someone found my wallet? And what if they found me? I opened up my four email accounts. The flash of false hope deflated. Then to instagram, tabbed to the slush pile of DMs from robots and porn stars, and there she was:

Annabanana4 had found my wallet just off union street! And then, she found me! This is why I talk to strangers, nice strangers, because they do nice things!!!

Halle-fucking-lujah. I’ve never returned a DM so fast. Where my frustration and annoyance had tried to stake land just minutes ago, relief and excitement returned.

The next morning, I met up with Annabanana4 for treats, one-directional wallet exchanges, and two-directional chats over coffee. She is a young woman on her way. Listening to her process that path, I heard so much of myself: someone who is trying to figure it out. Someone who feels occasionally lost. Someone who has to quiet the doubt. Someone who is trying to do the right thing.

And someone, who, if I found a wallet on the road, would stop at nothing to make sure it found its way back to whomever it belonged to. Not only to save her the administrative headache, but so she could continue being the woman she knows herself to be, one who doesn’t lose things.

Woman on xx