On Winning: Reflections
“No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.”
— Robin Williams
One of the things that publicists usually do for writers is submit (or encourage them to submit) their work for various awards that are available to authors of small, hybrid, and even self-published books. I wasn’t aware of these opportunities with my first novel, but I did for my second, Play for Me, and I was a finalist in three different awards. I was enormously grateful, and enormously pleased, but there was also that nagging thought: If only I had WON! I had that, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride” kind of feeling.
This time around, for The Stark Beauty of Last Things, I actually WON. I won first place in fiction from the National Indie Excellence Awards in Regional Fiction/Northeast). (I am also a finalist in their literary fiction category.) And I won a bronze medal from Independent Publisher Book Awards, also in Regional Fiction/Northeast. Last but not least, I was a finalist in the Eric Hoffer Book Awards in general fiction. There were several others we applied to, for which I did not win or place.
How important is any of this, though? If it’s not the Pulitzer or the National Book Award, which arguably have huge impacts on sales and careers, do these “lesser” awards matter?
On the one hand, it’s validation, which helps compensate for the nagging self-doubt and angst we writers always feel. After a moment of glee when I got the news, I found myself thinking, well, is being a finalist worth mentioning? Then, when I “won,” I found myself thinking, does winning in a regional category actually count for much? This is what many writers do, up the stakes and second guess ourselves.
Then again, there are the glossy seals that get affixed to the books. Who knows, maybe the “shiny object’ will induce someone to buy a copy, or persuade a bookstore to carry the book.
Fun stickers or no, “winning” makes me more aware than ever that if we look outside ourselves for validation we are never satisfied—or at least not for long. Doing the work and finding the deep connection that comes from harnessing our creativity is the only true reward.
Life on the Coast/ Environment/Nature
Having lived in Montauk and now Rhode Island, I’ve seen coastal erosion and sea level rise caused by climate change first hand. As someone who would never want to live away from the ocean, I also acknowledge that having so many of us crowded along the coast is problematic. In Montauk, homes and motels were built right on the primary dune, interfering with the natural ebb and flow of the tides. There, and here in RI, environmental organizations and local government are attempting to correct for past building mistakes while also looking for ways to protect the homes and businesses from the loss of coastline, flooding, and other effects.
I spent many years researching and writing my novel The Stark Beauty of Last Things partly as a way to delve into and explore my own thoughts and feelings about how best to balance human and ecological concerns. My characters face them head on as their very homes are threatened in different ways by sea level rise. One character is in a decision-making role, contemplating the best uses of land, and I knew what he would decide only when I was finishing the novel.
Municipalities are beginning to face up to the threats of climate change with a focus on what is known as “coastal resiliency.” That includes planning for ways to mitigate the effects of climate change that is too late to reverse, and can include ideas such as creating living shorelines like oyster reefs to funding buybacks to move houses and businesses back from the coast.
The environmental organization I am a part of recently hosted an excellent forum on this issue. It’s specific to Montauk, but has much of value to other coastal areas. Take a listen.
Recent Happenings
A lively discussion at the Keene Valley library on "Writing about Place,” with (l-r) former NY Times editor Jim Gorman, moderator; nonfiction writer and poet, Caperton Tissot; yours truly; and memoirist Lorraine Duvall.
I was an “artist in residence” at Linden Place this spring, which culminated in a “walking tour and reading” event. Each of the writers was stationed somewhere on the grounds to do a reading, and then we assembled for a Q&A discussion in the ballroom afterward.
BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS
The Equanimity of Fishes, Stories and Reflections from Seven Decades in Montauk by Bill Akin
This collection of prose and poems is Montauk-specific, and yes, fish are featured in several stories, but you don’t have to love Montauk or fishing to love this collection. Bill Akin is the unofficial poet of Montauk. He captures its essence and wild natural beauty with lush sensory details mixed with social commentary graced with wit and penetrating insight. While the book is a testament to a specific lost time and place, its themes—community, connection, love—transcend any.
The Sea House by Esther Freud
Once in a while you come upon a novel you fall so deeply in love with that it becomes a lifetime favorites. This novel became that for me. I’d never heard of Esther Freud, and was shocked I hadn’t. For one thing, she wrote the novel that became one of my favorite movies, Hideous Kinky. For another, she’s the daughter of artist Lucien Freud and great-granddaughter of that other Freud—yes, that one.
I came upon this novel while browsing randomly in the library, and the cover and title drew me in (no surprise there—“beach houses”! “sea”!). It was written in 2004 and feels somehow older. The writing style is leisurely with a kind of old-fashioned charm. The story is set on the coast in Suffolk, England, in a tiny town, and has two timelines. In one, an artist comes to do a painting and meets a women who fascinates him; in the later timeline, a young woman comes to the same village to research the life of an architect whose love letters to his wife fascinate her, as does the village itself. The two stories are related—the wife of the architect is the woman who fascinates the artist of the earlier era—but they only overlap at one tiny point at the very end of the novel. I was myself fascinated to learn that Esther Freud based the novel on the letters of her own grandfather, Ernst Freud.
There are secrets, romantic passions, sad endings, and adorable children, but what most captivated me is the way Freud depicts the natural world surrounding this small town. The prose is stunning. I can’t resist giving you a taste of it. “[Lily] walked slowly, lulled by the swish and rustle of the sedge, past a hollow hill of hawthorn, its flowers scattered into the pool below it, leaving white petal pebbles on the surface like a witch’s stew.”
I’m a glutton for such language, such landscapes. Feel free to reach out and suggest some of your favorites!
Thanks so much for that, Genevieve - means a lot coming from another writer, and one who is so accomplished!
Thanks - it makes you think twice about submitting, doesn't it?