Spotted: Author in the Wild

It should come as no surprise to find out writers often hang with people other than writers. How else do we acquire the stories, the openmindedness, the ability to see beyond the world of our own pens or laptops?

As such, a newer friend recently asked, “What’s it like, publishing a book, going on a (mini-tour), selling the books, talking to readers, etc?” You mean, aside from a young cousin displaying her artistic skills below, in this sketch of my book cover?

Like selling a piece of myself, I want to say. Like owning your own business—again and again. And the product, sometimes depending wholly on the book but always partially, is YOU. People buy a story that existed only in your head for so so long. Or readers invest in a version of you. And, when complete, you ask yourself, “Am I (still) that person?”

*

Years ago, Margaret Atwood fielded a question from the audience at Cincinnati’s Mercantile Niehoff Lecture. She was asked, “How do you think of yourself as the writer of Handmaid’s Tale after all these years?” Ms. Atwood answered, “I am no longer the person who wrote that book.”

Of course she was the same person in name, but not in substance or priorities. She’d grown to hardly recall the lines, the passages, the compilation of a sentence. Hardly able recognize the creation and the creator as one.

After a time, writers separate themselves from the book.

Another example of this is another author who once said, “My favorite part of the book was writing the last line.” When you know the story has been tucked in, the book is no longer a part of your day.

My recent round of book events brought with them their own set of funny and poignant circumstances that, padded by time, I’ll fondly recall even if I’ve forgotten some of what I’d written, and wonder how much in the book is still “me?” And how much of me exists outside of it?

*

To kick off Something Italian at Cincinnati’s famed Mercantile Library, the date was set for a Tuesday in January. This date happened to follow one of the worst snow storms in Cincinnati history. A dumping of 10 inches of snow within hours the Sunday prior. By Tuesday, I busied myself emailing my contact at the Mercantile about emergency backup plans. My friends anxiously texted too. By then, roads had been cleared. Wind chills dropped to 13 degrees below 0 at the beginning of the day though ice had yet to form because of frigid temperatures. At the evening kickoff, I doubt if we reached zero. However, the warmth spread in the room overcame whatever doubt had lodged itself deep in my psyche and melted the wind chill wrought outside.

Events continued after a quick trip to Puerto Rico with my husband. However, I’d brought home a little gift from the US territory, a reminder my ego should not inflate too much with this book tour.

Typically, Mark and I buy groceries when in PR. We port them with us from Airbnb to Airbnb. The final night in our hotel in Old San Juan, we mixed our own cocktails, with one last lime to use up. But no knife. I bit into the lime and tore away two wedges. Two mornings later, I woke in Cincinnati with the sensation of a rug burn on my chin. The burn worsened as the day wore on. Itched, burned, spread into other brown spots around my mouth. Patches of brown smeared across my cheeks and chin, like I’d been eating dirt mid-wintertime.

Several speaking events were ahead of me. I wracked my brain. What was happening? One morning, severely depressed over this horror upon my face, I looked up “lime” and “burn.”

The diagnosis was margarita dermatitis, also known as phytophotodermatitis. Yes, there is such a thing. Think lime burn. The lime juice, when combined with sun (it was sunny that last day in PR) and salt, (no salt for any cocktail, but salt spray from the sea counts), causes a chemical burn. The reddit pages went deep on this with horrific photos from bartenders who’d been burned along their hands, arms, legs.

For the next two weeks, I tried to moisturize, and timidly hide from this temporary pain and scarring around my mouth and chin. In turn, due to the vitamin E I slathered across lips and cheeks, a number of pimples broke out (damn Italian skin—I’m 60 and still getting pimples).

When the rash finally settled down, I did too. But only for a time.

*

I’d been noticing how dry my mouth was when I woke in the mornings. I wasn’t dehydrated, but needed to check in with some medical folks. After rounds of blood testing to rule out diabetes, thyroid disease, HRT outcomes, Sjogren’s disease and other autoimmune diseases, I underwent a painful lip biopsy.

When? The date coincided with a number of my next events. To be honest, I wanted a resolution before heading to Oregon to meet our newest grandchild. That Friday morning, the ENT scooped a few skin samples from inside my mouth and sewed up several stitches inside, below the lip. My speech was impacted. The nerves along those areas lit up anytime I swallowed. Unable to eat for several days, I managed to teach a writing workshop, take a day off, moderate an event about women’s reproductive rights, and give a talk at the United Italian Society.

*

Along the way, I’d become so grateful for my supporters, including my sisters. When I visited northern Ohio for a talk at the Lorain Historical Society, my baby sis, Jeanne, arrived to help. She watched as I yanked boxes, bags, and folders from my car, arranged them on a metal dolly kept in my trunk, leftover from another book in another time, I’ll Have Some of Yours. “Perhaps I should have been a poet,” I said wryly, producing slimmer volumes of work. Instead, my work came with slides, and cookies, and sometimes soup.

Seeing the two-wheeled hand-truck, Jeanne said, “That’s great you have the dolly. I guess that makes sense.” Then she snapped the photo I have since titled, “Author in the Wild.”

That Lorain event brought forth a special healing with my cousins. Later my cousin, Tom, wrote to me as we continued some of our conversations online. The book prompted conversations about citizenship, who had a right to belong, about families and the ugly tradition of the family grudge. About people considering their own ancestors’ journeys back in time. About my cousins overseas wanting a copy of the book—in Italian. About my own family cheering me on.

And about this quote, from the author of After Oscar, Merlin Holland, grandson of Oscar Wilde, who wasn’t known to have the best reputation. “Blood and history flowed together,” he writes in a new book, “and I found myself the unwilling conduit for a century of unwept family grief.”

Instead, though, mine was a conduit of “can do” that included the grief of leaving, the joy of having stayed, and the complexity of not always not thriving. Looking back, those families didn’t thrive. That’s romanticized. They “made do,” they worked hard, they endured the taunts prevalent of the times, and spent many days “in the wild.” Then, they made better.

Recently, when I joined a friend for her birthday celebration, we met at a dart club downtown. The dart board was hung a bit high for someone of a shorter stature—like me. During one of the games, I threw three darts and landed one bullseye. When I retrieved my darts to hand off to the next player, a dart plummeted from the board, at the rate of Artemis II dropping out of the sky, and tip punctured my upper cheek. One could say I had two bullseyes that night.

Oh well, one more scar for the face, another battle scar for “Author in the Wild.”

May 15 - 7 p.m. Women Writing for a Change - Friday evening book talk.

May 16 - 10 a.m. WWfaC - Finding Memoir in Food writing workshop. Renowned chef James Beard writes, “Food is our common ground, a universal experience,” providing us with a center as we seek commonalities among others. Join in the conversation. Details.

July 28 - Caring for the Caregiver Writing experience, virtual, FREE. REGISTER. Contact Kara Pierson Harper. Phone: (513) 244-5494. Email: kpierson@muchmorethanameal.org.

Oct 15 & Oct 29 - LitCleveland - Finding Memoir in Food. Sign up for LitCleveland, or return here for details.

October 21 - Lloyd Library and Museum in partnership with Fotofocus, Presentation - Chestnuts: The New Comeback Kids.

Annette Januzzi Wick’s Morning Finds is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.