tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23482154809017369552024-03-05T17:40:10.862-08:00Notes from My Writing Life by Lisa GenovaI've written the novels Still Alice, Left Neglected, and Love Anthony. Here are some thoughts, observations, and lessons learned along the way...Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-13790854348358270342016-04-05T07:23:00.001-07:002016-04-05T07:23:24.209-07:00Beginning Book 5After many months of research, and writing bits of this and that, I need to start chapter 1, the legit beginning of this next book. SO much resistance here. I feel like I don't know these people well enough to get started. But you're not supposed to, remember? That's how this relationship starts. You don't know them yet. You can only know them by writing them. So how do you solve this dilemma, Lisa? You begin writing.<br />
<br />
You can (and will) adjust whatever doesn't work, right? Right. You've done this before, so don't panic. What is this book about other than ALS? Regret. Forgiveness. Feeling trapped. Letting go. Communication. Connection. Death. Freedom. BOOM. There it is, the whole book. Trust that you have it. Your job is to show up to the page/computer and allow it to come, word by word. The story and details will unfold as they come.<br />
<br />
You don't get to know the whole thing before you begin--like any relationship, right? You agree to leap in not knowing everything about the person, not knowing how the journey will unfold, how it will end. This is how it must begin. Beginnings take courage.<br />
<br />
So get to it, girl. Pour your heart and soul into this one. Don't hold back. Let it heal you.Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-70019294726360493562014-04-15T10:46:00.000-07:002014-04-15T10:46:30.054-07:00Lisa Genova's 6 Rules for Research<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. Do your homework before you involve other people,
especially professionals or experts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Don’t use any minutes of the one hour you have with the Chief of Neurology
at Brigham & Women’s Hospital asking questions that you could find easy
answers to online or in a basic text book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put another way, ask the questions you can’t get answers to
online or in the text books.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. Don’t be afraid to ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re thinking, “I’d really like to ask that super famous
world thought leader on linguistics some questions.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then you immediately talk yourself out of it. “But he’ll
never have time to talk to the likes of me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give the
possibility a chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find that
most people say YES.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you have
to go first.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. Create an interview guide. Begin your interview with a
planned set of well-conceived questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I always deviate from this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Learning from the conversation in real time, allow the answers you’re hearing
to lead you to new questions you wouldn’t have even known to ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always end the interview with this
question: Is there anything I haven’t thought of to ask that’s important for me
to know?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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4. Do your interviews in person whenever possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, if you are interviewing a
physician, go to his or her office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’ll pick up on details you can’t get over the phone or via email--what’s
on the walls, on the desk, how he/she is dressed, body language, the feel of
the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might notice an
unexpected detail that is authentic to the character/story you’re writing and
further sparks your imagination.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5. Research is not your new career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can dig forever on any given
subject.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the point here is to
know enough to write your story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
typically front-load with 3-4 months of pure research before I begin
writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I quit my full time
job of researching and begin the real job of writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some research will be ongoing, but it’s a supporting role
now, never the star.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept in
touch daily with people living with Alzheimer’s while writing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Still Alice</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been in communication with a Boston Police Officer many times a week for almost a
year now while writing <i>Inside the O'Briens</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6. Do not show your readers any of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For every novel I write, I could write
a hefty, clinical nonfiction book about a neurological condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I’m done with my research, I’ve
acquired A TON of information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Resist any urge you have to show off how much you know, any guilty
obligation you might feel to not waste all that good stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only use what’s relevant to STORY and
in such a way that makes sense given the story’s voice and point of view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust that nothing is wasted, and the
readers will feel the depth of your knowledge without being hammered over the
head with TMI.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-89809060352860036722014-02-19T12:27:00.004-08:002014-04-15T10:47:27.646-07:00Lisa Genova's 10 Rules of Writing<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. Show up and stay there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay in your seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nothing is coming to you, you say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’re staring at a blank page or the blinking cursor on a white screen?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Resist the urge to flee and do something else (check
Facebook, text someone, eat something, do laundry, take a nap).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Learn how to be comfortable being
uncomfortable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. You can’t edit nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Write something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You can edit something.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. Give yourself permission to begin without it being
perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begin with pen to
paper, writing in a loose, sketch-like, journaling, incomplete sentence
form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This allows me to find a way
into the “real” writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I usually
begin with what I’m unsure of, afraid of, pissed off about, dreading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I jot down a flash of a thought about
what needs to happen next, what a character might say, and then and then and
then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, I’m in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s something magical in the
connection from brain to hand to pen to paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grab a pen and go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let loose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t be
judgmental or afraid to be sloppy here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Julia Cameron calls this process “morning pages.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natalie Goldberg calls it “getting the
pen moving.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call it “permission
to begin.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4. Tell the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you lie to your
readers, they will break up with you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be
present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slow down and be in the
moment within your story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is
there to see, smell, hear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s
the temperature, the emotion, the energy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Go inside moment to moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Breathe and really be there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe it’s
already done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some kind of
time-space continuum, I believe every book I write is already written.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So why am I avoiding writing chapter
12?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s already done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Show up, stay there, and get the words
down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
7.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do your
homework.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not simply a
Google search, people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever
possible, go to the primary source.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Your story takes place at Yellowstone National Park?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your main character is a lawyer?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Start hanging around a courthouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing about a woman with Alzheimer’s?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get to know people who have
Alzheimer’s, their families, caregivers, doctors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three-dimensional research will breathe three-dimensional
life into your story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cross-training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I write novels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read everything—scientific journal
articles, medical textbooks, spiritual texts, nonfiction, memoir, classic
literature, contemporary fiction, plays, poetry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen to all kinds of music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to the theatre, the ballet, museums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep your senses open for what works
and what doesn’t, what’s beautiful, what makes you care, what lights you up,
for the universal threads of human experience.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Show
yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be brave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be vulnerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Open your heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where the real stuff lives and
breathes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now write.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10. You’re going to be dead someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Write it now.</div>
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Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-87210892597599984222014-01-24T10:40:00.000-08:002014-01-24T10:40:01.463-08:00There Is a BridgeI recently attended a 3.5 day "There Is a Bridge" workshop in Stewart, Florida, run by the brilliant Michael Verde of Memory Bridge. Here's what I had to say about the experience:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">“Outside of a cure, the most vital need of people with Alzheimer’s disease and their loved ones is real emotional connection. How do we continue to communicate with someone with AD who doesn’t talk or remember us? How can we be with peopl</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">e with AD so they are not left feeling the pain of isolation, abandonment, and loneliness? How do we overcome our own feelings of self-consciousness, discomfort, and fear of AD to be fully present and connected with someone with dementia?</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />I’m confident that everyone in this workshop came away understanding the answers to these questions, but it wasn’t through taking notes, reading power-point slides or listening to lectures. We embodied the answers. We remembered how to feel safe while vulnerable, how to let go of judgment, to offer empathy, to see the humanity and vulnerability in every person, to remember that everyone matters, how to communicate joy, understanding, and love without words or memories—through body language, emotional connection, and the willingness to be fully present in front of another human being.<br />Everyone should experience this workshop.” -Lisa Genova</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://memorybridge.org/" target="_blank">Memory Bridge Website</a></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://memorybridge.org/videos.php" target="_blank">Video clips from "There Is a Bridge"</a>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-31304948444851416662013-11-05T11:07:00.003-08:002013-11-05T11:07:52.963-08:00Chapter 11: Writing fiction is not for sissiesToday I began chapter 11 of book 4 (still untitled). Here's an excerpt from the writing I did before the writing:<br />
<br />
Okay, this chapter scares the hell out of me. Is this how it's going to go now, scared every chapter? Yes, probably. Because here's the rub--you are falling fast now (momentum is a good thing) into the dark, meaty depths of Huntington's Disease with the O'Briens. You know this family now, and you like them, and bad things are happening to people you care about. What they are about to face is hard and heartbreaking and cruel and scary, and you have to go there with them. And not only that, you can't go there with any armor on. You can't go as a tourist. You have to be as vulnerable as possible, holding their hands, hugging them while they cry. You're going to cry, too. And while we're all exposed and suffering together in the dark, it will be your job to keep an eye open for the pinholes of light, moments and words and spaces where there is the possibility for hope and inspiration, change leading to deeper love and connection and meaning despite this horror. So deep breath. Here we all go.<br />
<br />
And that led me into chapter 11. Writing fiction is not for sissies.<br />
<br />
This also reminded me of a quote from "From Where You Dream: The Process of Writing Fiction" by Robert Olen Butler:<br />
<br />
"You have to go down into that deepest, darkest, most roiling, white hot place….Whatever scared the hell out of you there--and there's plenty--you have to go in there; down into the deepest part of it, and you can't flinch and walk away. That's the only way to create a work of art."<br />
<br />Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-53244519442166324242013-10-14T10:42:00.003-07:002013-10-14T12:28:54.959-07:00Book #4, in progress9/30/13<br />
<br />
I'm concerned about this book on a number of structural levels. Let's list them here on paper so they're not all knocking around in my head all day.<br />
<br />
1. I think it takes too long to get Joe diagnosed.<br />
<br />
2. Mentions of 4/15/13, Boston Marathon, makes this all happening in present day. If I want to advance Joe's HD at all, even assuming he's at least 7 years in from page 1, we have to go into the future. At least 3 years, probably 5? Do you want to write about these characters in 2016, 2018? Is that too weird? You can drop out all reference to 4/15, but then the Red Sox references to post season play will have to jibe with previous seasons. That's doable. But I like the mentions of 4/15 and how it has affected Joe. Readers will be wondering if I don't mention it. Pink elephant in the room. Must figure out how to reconcile all this.<br />
<br />
3. Switching over to Katie's pov now feels like it took too long. Maybe if I introduce her sooner that will give us the chance to know her, care and place her story in advance of her having to be concerned with HD. It might also help "space out" Joe's story over time more. I could make the kids a bit younger at the beginning of the story, allow for more time to go by before mention of B&E (and first mention of 4/15). I like that.<br />
<br />
4. Not taking Joe all the way to end stage. I think I want to leave him vulnerable, in full courage, no longer able to walk or talk much (think Meghan).<br />
<br />
5. Joe's mother, Ruth. Maybe we should be hearing from her. Make this a true generational story. Ruth's story with HD is one of ignorance, shame, isolation. I like this idea of Ruth, Joe, and Katie chapters to portray the different phases of HD: Nursing home/late stage; diagnosis/early and middle years; at risk/gene status questioning/symptom hunting. But man, that scares the shit out of me because that's A TON more work that I haven't even imagined yet.<br />
<br />
Let's say that Joe's story drives the narrative. He's the powerhouse of this book, so keep going with his story. Maybe imagine Ruth and Katie separately and write their chapters as smaller vignettes aimed at revealing the generational tentacles of HD, how this is Joe's story but it is a repeating tale.<br />
<br />
Thinking of that family tree again. Shaded circles and squares....Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-27413569048239494912013-09-24T07:26:00.000-07:002013-09-26T13:14:42.404-07:00Chapter 7, Book # 4A page taken from my writing journal, 9/17/13<br />
<br />
Joe and Rosie are at MGH in Boston, heading into the Wang Building. Joe has been to the ER at MGH while on duty many times, but never in the Wang, never up the elevator. He was referred by his PCP to a neurologist, to a "Movement Specialist." Seems like a lot of fuss over a bad knee. But he's going. He's going for Rosie. She made the appointment.<br />
<br />
Here we go into the meat of the story, Lisa. It feels like it took a long freakin time to get here, and there is still a long way to go. Keep going the way you're going. I think the thing that has you worried is fitting Katie in. She's essential. The kids need their experience and voice represented in this book. Huntington's Disease is a family disease. It affects everyone, every generation. But how will I give Katie enough to make her important and yet not a distraction? Her story needs to stand alone, and then it needs to find interplay, connection with her dad's story. How will their journeys intersect and impact each other?<br />
<br />
I'm not there yet, so all this worrying is about something that hasn't happened. Now you are with Joe, and he is at the neurologist at MGH, and that MUST happen no matter what. So go there with him, Lisa, and find out what happens. Be open, be vulnerable. See it, feel it, moment to moment, and infuse it with real information from your research. Tell the truth.Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-8005322550248770772013-04-11T11:02:00.000-07:002013-04-11T11:02:03.870-07:00Misconceptions
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Love Anthony</i> is now in paperback, which means, among other
things, that it has a new cover design.
I love the new cover. I
think it’s eye-catching and aesthetically pleasing, and the image is even
highly relevant to the story. Books
covers are so important. It’s the
first thing a potential reader sees and can be the singular, pivotal reason why
someone picks that book up and decides to see what’s inside or alternatively
decides to walk away and choose something else. The entire content of book can be deemed desirable or
undesirable based on a quick glance at the cover. So many unspoken assumptions are made about the story on the
inside based on the cover on the outside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This has me thinking about autism. I’ve been speaking about autism at book
events since September, and there are a lot of false assumptions circulating
out there, especially among people not directly affected by autism—so many misconceptions
based on a quick glance at someone’s “outside cover” with little or no
experience with the “inside story.” Many of these misconceptions have been told and retold for so
long, they’ve reached an almost urban myth status.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Nonverbal people with
autism don’t understand language.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">People with autism are
cognitively impaired, or less nicely put, mentally retarded.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">People with autism don’t
feel love.</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most people I talk with who aren’t directly
affected by autism often admit to me that the sum total of what they know about
it was gleaned from Dustin Hoffman’s performance in Rain Man.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So let’s “open the book” and debunk these
myths.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myth #1: Nonverbal people with autism don’t understand language.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s possible that for some nonverbal autistic
people, language is not intelligible.
But what if it is? Can you
know for sure? I think it’s safer
and far more humane to assume that all nonverbal people with autism have inner
voices. They understand what
you’re saying. And they are
listening.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d like to share a couple of examples here of
nonverbal autistic people, heroes really, who have battled and broken through
the silence to reveal their inner voices.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carly Fleishman: “I want people to understand
that autistic people are people and we all have an inner voice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://carlysvoice.com/home/">http://carlysvoice.com/home/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Elizabeth Bonker: “On the dark side is the
traditional belief that we have no language. Free your minds from disbelief.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=VcEM-lsAgf8">http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=VcEM-lsAgf8</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myth #2: People with autism are cognitively impaired.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some people with autism do have some
additional cognitive challenges, but IQ tests that rely on expression of
language or pointing, outputs that can be unavailable or severely impaired in
some autistic people, aren’t going to be sensitive enough to reveal to the
intelligence that might lie within.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Autism does not equal unintelligent. Autism does not equal unable to
learn. In fact, some of the
smartest people living on the planet today have Asperger’s--Temple Grandin and
Daniel Tammet, to name two. It’s been speculated by many that if Albert Einstein, Thomas Jefferson, and Wolfgang Mozart were
alive today, they’d be diagnosed on the spectrum. A pretty smart crowd, if you ask me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myth #3: Autistic people don’t feel love.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently did a book event with <a href="http://andrewsolomon.com/andrew-solomon-biography/" target="_blank">AndrewSolomon</a>, author of <i>Far from the Tree</i>,
on World Autism Day in Toronto, and he admitted to having this misapprehension
prior to doing the research for his book.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s easy to see where this preconception
comes from, especially if viewed from a distance, “from the cover” so to
speak. If a child can’t say “I
love you,” if he doesn’t like to be hugged, if he can’t make eye contact and
exchange all the magic that can happen in a shared gaze, if love can’t be
reciprocated in the ways we traditionally show and feel it, is love
there?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is.
Without question.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of the parents I know and spoke with about
autism love their autistic kids and feel loved in return. And I’ve witnessed it—in a knowing
smile, in an exuberant hand flapping, in an unspoken energy, in how hard these
kids work to please their parents.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myth #4: People with autism are poor social communicators.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Wait</i>, you’re thinking, <i>this one can’t be a
myth</i>. This is the actual clinical
description of autism. According
to DSM IV, autism is <span style="color: #0e0e0e; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">characterized by difficulties in social interaction,
verbal and nonverbal communication, and repetitive, restrictive behaviors. </span>Even people with
autism who can speak have trouble communicating, especially with comprehension
of double meaning, facial expression, and body language. This deficit in social communication is
a DEFINING symptom of autism.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So if it’s a defining symptom, how can it be a
myth?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In March, I attended the Tucson Festival of
Books to promote <i>Love Anthony</i>. In addition to the two panels I was on
with other fiction writers, I was scheduled to be on a speaking panel with <a href="http://www.johnrobison.com/" target="_blank">JohnElder Robison</a>. John has written
three books—<i>Look Me in the Eye</i>, <i>Be Different</i>, and <i>Raising Cubby</i>. John
has Asperger’s.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About ten minutes before our scheduled time to
begin, the room was already filled to capacity (300) with people standing in
the hall, willing to stay and only listen. John arrived, and I introduced myself. He said hello, gave me a courtesy,
fleeting moment of eye contact, and then he paced.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were supposed to sit side-by-side at a
table before set microphones and cards bearing our names and next to a
moderator, but John wasn’t going to be able to sit still. He needed to stand and move. The organizers adjusted, and I decided
to join him and stand, too. Meanwhile,
John continued moving, touching everything on the table as he passed it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do a lot of speaking, and I like to think
I’m pretty good at it. One of the
challenges in speaking in front of an audience of 300 is to make everyone feel
included, like they’re part of an intimate conversation. It involves not just getting up and
talking but talking TO PEOPLE, engaging them in what you have to say, sharing
an experience together. In short,
it involves social communication.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And here is John, pacing around with
Asperger’s.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I thought to myself, “Okay, Lisa. You’re probably going to have carry
this hour. He’s not going to be
able to do this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was AWESOME! He was smart, funny, dynamic, and
incredibly entertaining. HE was
the one who could’ve carried the whole hour (and pretty much did). After our presentation, the line of
people waiting to connect with him personally and have books signed far
exceeded the line of people in front of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there you go. John has autism, AND he’s an exceptional communicator. Myth busted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The great lesson in all of this has been told
to me over and over by parents of children with autism. “If you’ve met one child with autism,
you’ve met one child with autism.”
Or, put another way—please don’t judge a book by its cover.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-7044388764581722602013-04-09T05:57:00.001-07:002014-02-27T08:54:05.130-08:00Making a Contribution<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve had the good fortune to see many of my “old” neuroscientist
friends over the past year through book tour and speaking event travels or
through the research I’m doing for my next book. I love listening to them talk passionately about their
research, and I especially love that I can still understand it all, as I now
spend my time writing novels rather than scientific research grants or papers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alzheimer’s, anxiety, bipolar, Huntington’s, autism,
schizophrenia, Parkinson’s.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cytokines, glutamate receptor upregulation, gene expression,
caudate nucleus, amygdala, CAG expansion, GABA.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These brilliant scientists are making exciting and
significant contributions to the body of knowledge that will someday lead to
medical treatments and cures.
While I still love hanging out with scientists and learning about their
latest research results and next set of hypotheses, and I always leave feeling
awed and inspired, I also invariably leave feeling a bit stirred up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to do what they do! I have a Ph.D. in neuroscience from Harvard. I used to do brain research at prestigious
places such as Mass General, McLean Hospital, and the NIH. I still could, but I’ve chosen to
dedicate my career to writing novels instead. At times, this feels like a really strange choice. My former colleagues are making
critical contributions to science.
What am I doing?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I write about people living with neurological diseases or
conditions who are ignored, feared, and misunderstood. I write novels. Not scientific research papers, not
clinical review papers, not even non-fiction. Why on earth do I do this? What is the value in a neuroscientist writing fiction? What is my contribution? Is it to science or literature or
something else entirely?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve spent considerable time pondering these questions. Here’s what I’ve come up with.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fiction is accessible.
Unless directly affected, most people aren’t going to read a scientific
research article about Alzheimer’s, brain injury, or autism. Most people probably aren’t going to
read a non-fiction book about these topics either. Those texts tend to be too dry, too clinical, too technical,
too impersonal, too intellectual.
They’re often filled with facts and statistics.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every 68 seconds, someone in the US is diagnosed with
Alzheimer’s.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 in 88 children in the US is on the autism spectrum.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The science is necessary (and fascinating to neuro-geeks
like me), and the facts and statistics are staggering, but numbers aren’t what
we’re all looking for. Five and
half million Americans have Alzheimer’s Disease. They and all the people who love them are all in desperate
need of learning more about this disease, but they want to understand it in a
way that’s accessible. They want
to understand it with their hearts, not just their heads.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What does it feel like to have Alzheimer’s, a traumatic
brain injury, autism, Huntington's? Most of us
don’t know, and reading the clinical literature is either too daunting or too
scary or both.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fiction is a powerful way in. Most people aren’t going to read the article about autism in
the April issue of the <i>Journal of
Neuroscience</i>. But they might
read a novel about a family living with autism. Fiction gives us access to what might otherwise be too overwhelming
to consider. Fiction can give us
the humanity behind the science and the statistics.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you read my novels, you will learn some real science and
clinical information (yes, I sneak it in). But beyond intellectual knowledge, what I think and hope most
readers take away from my books is a compassionate awareness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Compassionate awareness. This is my contribution. And I believe it’s an important contribution because it is
this kind of awareness that can help break down the stigma and alienation imposed
on families affected by these diseases and conditions. It is compassionate awareness that says
to the world, “I see you. You
exist. You matter. And I care.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I’m proud of this contribution, I’d like to do more,
and I’d like to ask for your help.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This month is Autism Awareness Month. My third novel, <i>Love Anthony</i>, is about autism. If you’ve read <i>Love
Anthony</i>, and it’s made you more compassionately aware of autism as you walk
through the world, if you finished it and felt educated, entertained, inspired,
if you feel like you now have more sensitivity and empathy for families living
with autism, then I’m asking you to get involved.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m asking you to take that compassionate awareness you now
have and donate something to Autism Speaks or an autism organization of your
choice. It doesn’t have to be much
to make a big impact. I think it’s
fair to guesstimate that at least two million Americans have read <i>Still Alice</i>. Imagine if each reader had donated $1 to the Alzheimer’s
Association. That would’ve made a
powerful and amazing contribution to Alzheimer’s care and research. Let’s do that for autism. Let’s see how powerful and amazing this
readership can be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please consider making a contribution to Autism Speaks
though this link:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/ways-give?utm_source=autismspeaks.org&utm_content=ways-to-give&utm_medium=menu&utm_campaign=waysgive">http://www.autismspeaks.org/ways-give?utm_source=autismspeaks.org&utm_content=ways-to-give&utm_medium=menu&utm_campaign=waysgive</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if you do, please comment here or shout it out on
Facebook or Twitter. Let others
know, and maybe you’ll inspire them to contribute, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisa Genova</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-81411501016515980332012-11-19T12:51:00.000-08:002012-11-29T13:28:03.228-08:00From Love Anthony Morning Pages, 3/31/11I bought this notebook as a treat to myself. I love it--the words on the cover*, the size, its bendable frame. I'm hoping it inspires me to pick it up every day, to write Morning Pages and jot down ideas, capturing those flashes of divine lightning that will become <i>Love Anthony</i>.<br />
<br />
I'm already in love with this book I haven't written yet, and I'm terrified of it. I need to release the fear surrounding this book, this topic of autism. Lisa, be fearless. I give you permission to write this story. Don't worry about whether it will please everyone--it won't. Make sure Tracey loves it--you don't have to please anyone else.<br />
<br />
I need to figure out how this book begins. All books begin in the middle of something--these characters are already alive and moving around, doing something, feeling something.<br />
<br />
What am I in the middle of doing? Today I'm going to yoga, the grocery store, I'm watching an autism video, and I'm interviewing Corinne Murphy about ABA therapy tonight at 7:00. I need to go through my notebooks and notes from interviews and organize them, see what I have, what I know.<br />
<br />
This book is going to be challenging. Olivia is in present time and sharing flashbacks. Through journal entries? Put them in italics--like in <i>The Paris Wife</i>? I think so. And Beth's novel will be Anthony's voice. This will be first person, present tense, different font.<br />
<br />
I need to organize the story so that it flows from one character, one piece of the puzzle, one revelation to the next without confusion. All threads need to tie. I really do love how difficult this is--I love the challenge of it. People talk about writing fiction as being so right brain, using your creative mind. But it also requires a lot of left brain--the pace, the plot points, the rhythm--these elements seem analytical to me.<br />
<br />
Again, how do I begin this story? I think both women go to the mailbox on the same morning--Beth receives a letter that will change her life, and Olivia receives some of Anthony's rocks.<br />
<br />
Olivia will remember receiving news that changed her life--Anthony has autism. Dr. asked her, "How's your marriage?" Thought it was good at the time, normal good, fighting-making up. She thought at the time--this will either force us to get close or tear us apart. It put pressure on all the fault lines that had been dormant, unbothered, unnoticed before autism. They had never been great at communicating, at leaning on each on each other, resolving problems, but it had never much mattered before. Before. After, it mattered, and they didn't have what it took to survive. She wonders if she has contributed to the statistics--1 in 70 boys, 80% of marriages with an autistic child will end in divorce. She's part of a large and growing population, but that doesn't do a damn thing about the loneliness; she feels no comfort in being included in this crowd. She's a woman, not a statistic.<br />
<br />
So begin it with Beth walking to the mailbox, noticing another woman. It is Olivia, and they are strangers noticing each other. This is where their lives, already in motion, begin to intersect.<br />
<br />
<br />
* On the cover of this notebook: "First it begins inside your heart. Something moves. Then opens. Then frees itself. And now you feel a rhythm breaking its long silence. This is going to be good."Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-84606937763862181132012-07-31T08:10:00.002-07:002012-07-31T08:10:52.450-07:00Creativity, Fear, and FlyingFrom my writing journal, 4/16/11<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm in Cranston, RI, early for my very first <a href="http://www.raffayoga.com/anti-gravity-yoga/" target="_blank">anti-gravity yoga class</a> (check out the video at the link to see what it looks like). SO excited! I love this feeling--trying something new, opening up to a new experience. It reminds me of the year when I was writing STILL ALICE--acting, dancing, dating again after my divorce. I hope this class opens up the parts of me having to do with creativity and fearlessness. I need to call on both of these qualities to write LOVE ANTHONY.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I haven't really started writing yet. I've done a TON of research on autism, much more than I did for Alzheimer's even and much more than for Left Neglect. There's so much more written about autism--and oddly, really less is known about it. I've talked to about a half dozen parents so far--raw, honest, incredibly moving conversations that still play in my head. Lisa, you've done enough to get started. Go to Nantucket next week, then begin.</div>
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Creativity and fearlessness. I love this combination. So powerful, so ALIVE. The ingredients of powerful, alive writing. I need to feed this as much as possible through things like this yoga class. Maybe also an improv class in Boston? That would awaken an old muscle, a part of my soul I've been ignoring. What else? A dance class would be great. Make the time.</div>
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How else can I feed creativity and fearlessness? Maybe rock wall climbing? Maybe go to Italy in November for Ann Hood's writing retreat. The energy of the writers, the scenery, the FOOD--talk about feeding creativity, feeding the soul!</div>
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And I will have two weeks in the Margo Gelb Dune Shack in September, which does scare me a bit, to be totally alone, especially at night (plus no electricity, no plumbing)--that should help with fearlessness, making me feel powerful, giving me the courage that I need to write this book. And it will give me the quiet space and time to create.</div>
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Okay, it's time for class. I'm scared but excited--ready to fly!</div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-40347342730049303852012-06-11T19:46:00.001-07:002012-06-11T19:46:25.881-07:00Remembering Jenny, 1937-2012<br />
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I can’t really talk about Jenny without including Don. Don is Jenny’s husband. And more than anyone else I’ve met with Alzheimer’s, they are in this experience together.</div>
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I meet up with Jenny and Don at a café. Around lunchtime, it’s crowded and noisy with customers. We decide we need to find a quieter and less distracting place to sit and talk. Jenny is thirsty, so Don leaves us to buy a bottled water for her before we go. He has just finished telling me that Jenny fell outside on the pavement.</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Are you cut?</span></div>
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“What do you mean?”</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Are you bleeding anywhere?</span></div>
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“Why?”</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">You just fell?</span></div>
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I’m unsure that I want to pursue this line of questioning. I don’t want to shine a spotlight on her Alzheimer’s like this. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.</div>
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“I did? Is that what he said?”</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Yes.</span></div>
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“Oh, then I must’ve. I’m fine.”</div>
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She smiles and puts me at ease. So much about Jenny strikes me as vibrant and playful and young in spirit. She’s wearing a hot pink shirt and crocs. Her gray hair is pulled back tight into a high ponytail. Even her name, Jenny, and not Jenn or Jennifer, is fun.</div>
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Don returns with her water, and we head off and find a quiet spot.</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Tell me about a typical day for you.</span></div>
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“I always go out. I walk a whole lot. We live near water, so I love walking down by the…the….the…”</div>
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“Lake Michigan,” says Don.</div>
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“Lake Michigan, yes. I love walking. I always have.”</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Do you walk alone?</span></div>
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“Oh, yes.”</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Where do you live?</span></div>
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“Up at the top…it looks right down to the water. It’s wonderful. It’s a lovely view. I walk there and almost anywhere. I walk up to…within…ahh, it’s so clear to me.”</div>
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“The Art Institute,” says Don.</div>
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“Yes, the Art Institute. The Cultural Center. You know, it’s very nice.”</div>
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Jenny’s anomia is quite severe and interferes with almost every answer she gives.</div>
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“I go to concerts at the Cultural Center. No set schedule. I can’t do as much as I used to do. But I always want to walk forward. I get angry at people who don’t want to let me do things or insist that I do or don’t, whether it’s silly or important. I don’t like those rules. On the other side of it…I…it’s doing what I really love to do…is spend time down close to the water.”</div>
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I wonder if her experience of this symptom is frustrating or embarrassing. It doesn’t seem to bother her. She appears to be genuinely enjoying our conversation.</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">What is it like having Alzheimer’s?</span></div>
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“I don’t think about it. I think I know all I want to know about Alzheimer’s. I do most things now that I did before. I definitely got annoyed when I found out I had it. But I thought it was me. It was a relief to know it was something other than me causing the problem.”</div>
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“Jenny was diagnosed April 1, 2002. Some joke! Her major symptom was agitation. As soon as she was diagnosed, the agitation stopped,” said Don.</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Tell me about what you like to do at home.</span></div>
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“I look at some of the old bits of…I’ve been putting things away for years and years and years and years.”</div>
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“Letters to your mother. What she’s been putting away. She’s been going through letters she wrote to her mother,” explains Don.</div>
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“They’re steamy!” Jenny laughs.</div>
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She doesn’t remember her own letters to her mother when she reads them, but she enjoys them, often laughing out loud as she reads. She doesn’t mind that she doesn’t remember writing them or the stories as belonging to her own history. This feels normal to her. The stories in those letters happened so long ago, she feels that anyone could forget them. She’s not disturbed at all. She enjoys the letters for the content that’s there and doesn’t see them as evidence of a woman she once was who she can no longer remember.</div>
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“I sometimes look at some of the old stuff. I was an only child.”</div>
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“For a while you were. You have a sibling. There are two of you,” says Don.</div>
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“Oh, yes, that’s right. Anyway…”</div>
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Jenny and Don have many of these exchanges. Jenny can’t find a word, and Don fills in the blank. Jenny says something inaccurate, and Don corrects her. And she then agrees or disagrees or chooses to ignore him and continues on in stride, unruffled. Don is never patronizing. He’s not correcting an Alzheimer’s victim. The respect he has for his wife is obvious and enormous, and I can’t imagine it has been diminished at all by this disease. These little sidebars feel like the ordinary exchanges between a husband and wife who’ve been married for a long time. Of course, what Jenny can’t remember isn’t ordinary. But they both treat it that way. And it moves the conversation along. No one is embarrassed or upset or apologizing.</div>
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“I’m English to begin with. I came here in…”</div>
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She looks to Don.</div>
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“’64.”</div>
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“Yes, ‘64, and I actually didn’t like it very much. It seemed a stuffy place!”</div>
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She laughs.</div>
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“Well, she’d been in Africa for five years.”</div>
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“I was in Nigeria for four years, so I’d already done all that.”</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">What were you doing in Nigeria?</span></div>
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For the rest of my conversation with Jenny, we don’t talk about Alzheimer’s. She tells me about Nigeria, about college at Oxford, about her former job in health advocacy, about her travels and friends. At one point, I realize that we don’t have much time left together, and I’m tempted to ask her to get back to talking about Alzheimer’s. But thankfully, I don’t. Jenny isn’t about Alzheimer’s. Don isn’t about Alzheimer’s either. I remember what she’d said earlier:</div>
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“I don’t think about it.”</div>
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Her Alzheimer’s is like a naughty toddler throwing a tantrum in the middle of the room. If they were to try to tame it, bargain with it, or beg it to stop, if they became embarrassed or enraged by it, they’d only be feeding energy into it, making it bigger. It would take over and define their experience. Instead they ignore it and carry on. It’s there, but they don’t focus on it.</div>
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When I think back on my conversation with Jenny, I picture sunny walks along Lake Michigan, concerts at the Cultural Center, and Africa. I remember her pink shirt, her ponytail, and her laugh. And I remember the big hug she gave me when we were done.</div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-36846600568307132122012-01-30T08:47:00.000-08:002012-01-30T08:47:58.687-08:00Anthony's RocksI have about two months left to finish LOVE ANTHONY. Two months of writing, and then I need to edit, edit, edit, make sure the story WORKS, make sure I've told the truth. Please, God, let the story work. Please, when it's done, let the story leave the reader with resonance, thinking, stunned, wowed.<br />
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But I have A LOT left to write before it's done, and I'm scared. How do I get there from here? Lisa, you know the answer to this--word by word. See what's in front of you and keep going. Today you are writing about Anthony's rocks, and THAT IS ALL. Don't get ahead of yourself. Yes, the end is near, but you can't see it yet. You can't skip over this part and be done. You have to write every word before you get to write THE END.<br />
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How great is that going to feel? I remember exactly how I felt when I declared the first drafts of STILL ALICE and LEFT NEGLECTED done. Euphoric. Like giving birth. Unburdened. Like I could finally exhale.<br />
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It's not long now. Two more months. You're almost there. Write about Anthony's rocks. His pebbles. His beach stones. That's all. Today is not THE END. So stop thinking about that and write.Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-24737450892140253292012-01-27T10:03:00.000-08:002012-01-27T10:03:38.756-08:002011 Year in ReviewI realize we're well into 2012 now, and I'm a bit late with this. I was late sending out my Christmas cards this year, too. If you keep reading, you'll understand and forgive me.<br />
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I traveled A LOT in 2011, mostly for Left Neglected but also for Still Alice. It was an amazing year and a real privilege to get to meet and connect with so many people from all over the world. But it was also quite challenging, talking to readers in Australia about Left Neglect or talking about Alzheimer's in Saskatoon when I was also supposed to be writing my next book about autism. And while I always at first reveled in the break from changing diapers, managing tantrums, and being my oldest's chauffeur, by the second day away, I was usually missing them all so much that I could (and sometimes did) cry. Note: If you come to my book event with your baby, please don't be alarmed if I ask you if I can hold him/her.<br />
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Here's where I went in 2011:<br />
<br />
New York, NY<br />
Framingham, MA<br />
Boston, MA<br />
Pawley's Island, SC<br />
Isle of Palms, SC<br />
Mt. Pleasant, SC<br />
Concord, NH<br />
Toronto, Canada<br />
Duxbury, MA<br />
Washington, D.C.<br />
Madison, CT<br />
Long Island, NY<br />
Sandwich, MA<br />
Savannah, GA<br />
Vero Beach, FL<br />
Toronto, Canada (yes, again)<br />
Denver, CO<br />
Tucson, AZ<br />
Hyannis, MA<br />
Danvers, MA<br />
Sydney, Australia<br />
Perth, Australia,<br />
Brisbane, Australia<br />
Yarmouth, MA<br />
Wyomissing, PA<br />
Tulsa, OK<br />
Orleans, MA<br />
Dennis, MA<br />
Harwich, MA<br />
Martha's Vineyard<br />
Truro, MA<br />
Centerville, MA<br />
London, England<br />
Lake Forest, IL<br />
Cheshire, CT<br />
Toronto, Canada (again)<br />
Vancouver, BC<br />
Saskatoon, Canada<br />
Indianapolis, IN<br />
Montreal, QC<br />
Ottawa, ON<br />
Halifax, NS<br />
Swampscott, MA<br />
Saint John, NB<br />
Siena, Italy<br />
Sandwich, MA<br />
New York, NY<br />
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I'll be spending MUCH LESS time in airport security in 2012, but I do have a few book events already on the calendar for this year. Go to www.lisagenova.com to see where I'll be in 2012!Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-88443377416365261872011-12-13T09:14:00.000-08:002011-12-13T09:14:26.048-08:00Notes from Italy, 11/15/11I'm at Spannocchia (a 900-year-old farmhouse near Siena), sitting outside on a cool, sunny day at a rickety round table, about the size of a large pizza, on the lawn overlooking the hills of Tuscany.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE1p6tQfd5KS2WAXrOo4ovifVQ8k0DxMOYOWJVHeFUHVQ94tsQlrE1i_HtZ6PipNTBCji2ouz80IJpatVFJ9SaKAklomyLjHScWVQUVL-ALlNguj6KQAli9u6xojrdqn9oR4mbpEN7P75/s1600/tuscany.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE1p6tQfd5KS2WAXrOo4ovifVQ8k0DxMOYOWJVHeFUHVQ94tsQlrE1i_HtZ6PipNTBCji2ouz80IJpatVFJ9SaKAklomyLjHScWVQUVL-ALlNguj6KQAli9u6xojrdqn9oR4mbpEN7P75/s320/tuscany.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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They took the lemon trees inside yesterday. Winter is coming. The two cypress trees and bench that I woodblock printed with Sabra Field five years ago are to my left. I have such fondness for that time in my life. The last time I came to this magical place, I'd just finished STILL ALICE. And here I am again, this time in the middle of writing my third book.<br />
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I can smell lunch cooking. Onions and garlic. And fennel? Not sure. It smells delicious. People are chatting behind me on the terrace where we drank wine every evening five years ago. We don't drink there now because it's November and too cold (last time I was here, it was June).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3UyFQEO54Qy_B_iIPuhzEoYoRk8EAUScYKqtAAQQsDDx8empnvaU-aJcWLK44spSrk0QvG-xpoInFdwhi-pPFqps-9kWQ7-1e82gyqLxgvi9YnGHyLxk2kotfbASKrpz_0IFqTjN4iEF/s1600/terrace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3UyFQEO54Qy_B_iIPuhzEoYoRk8EAUScYKqtAAQQsDDx8empnvaU-aJcWLK44spSrk0QvG-xpoInFdwhi-pPFqps-9kWQ7-1e82gyqLxgvi9YnGHyLxk2kotfbASKrpz_0IFqTjN4iEF/s320/terrace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
A man is picking something from a tree and dropping it into a ceramic bowl. Something for dinner maybe. I love how connected Italians are to their land, the earth, their food. Back at home, my yard is a place where my kids play or ground that I walk over to get to the car. Here, it is tended to and touched daily. It is eaten. I like that. It's what we should be doing. Connection to the earth and what we eat, nourishing our environment and ourselves. At home, we go to the grocery store. We're disconnected from this process.<br />
<br />
Connection and disconnection. LOVE ANTHONY is about this. Faith and loss of faith. Communication and silence. Connection and isolation. How do we love? What do we need in order to experience love?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ts-JKQViRfXd0oVL19XF1WmpsnBwsv91PiPhFla0gw1iqHbnnGppFQgd4LL8SYZpG8VKcbQJmnOS0paq3iuTAqh5gV-PIzHE2F-J30xTgFDwor7BoaIUGGQKvKJGklZlwIzZr7qyGnrz/s1600/spannocchia1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ts-JKQViRfXd0oVL19XF1WmpsnBwsv91PiPhFla0gw1iqHbnnGppFQgd4LL8SYZpG8VKcbQJmnOS0paq3iuTAqh5gV-PIzHE2F-J30xTgFDwor7BoaIUGGQKvKJGklZlwIzZr7qyGnrz/s320/spannocchia1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-85920606678433352482011-12-08T10:51:00.000-08:002011-12-09T11:06:55.290-08:00Notes from My LOVE ANTHONY Writing Journal, 11/30/11Just realized I'm on chapter 20. Sounds substantial, doesn't it? I'm at about 46,000 words and 200 pages, so it's getting there, baby. I go back and forth lately between thinking it's brilliant to thinking it's an absolute mess. I'm worried that Beth's story doesn't tie in strongly enough to Olivia's, that it's like--SO WHAT? Why not just tell Olivia's and Anthony's story?<br />
<br />
I think because their story is too internal. Beth's story provides the movement, the action and immediacy. But why not tell Olivia's story in that way--tell the story of this mother who has a son with autism, how she first suspects it, then the diagnosis, living with it, etc--and make it linear? Because that's too predictable. It's been done. Mother has a child, expects a "normal" life, then there is a diagnosis and a deviated development, a deviated life. This mother's point of view has been told.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping that this story offers something new and unexpected, that readers will learn about the experience of autism from the more severely affected end of the spectrum without feeling like they're reading a clinical manual, without being hit directly over the head with it. I want to tell a great story and give a voice to this voiceless child. How does he experience the world, emotions, relationships? How does his life matter? I want readers to experience what it might feel like to have this kind of autism. I think a straightforward, linear story of only Olivia and Anthony without Beth doesn't hold as much power somehow.<br />
<br />
So finish the first draft, Lisa, and if there are ways that you can tighten Beth's ties to autism in metaphor, do it then. You've planted the seeds. Make sure that elements from each Anthony and Olivia chapter tie in to elements of Beths' chapters--illustrate that the spectrum is long and wide, and we're all on it. And then it will be brilliant, my dear. And when the first draft is done, have Tracey read it, and listen with an open heart to her feedback.<br />
<br />
For now though, you are writing chapter 20. So what happens next?Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-54399289802078705842011-11-28T06:39:00.000-08:002011-11-28T07:12:30.821-08:00Still Alice--Deleted SceneMy husband and I love watching the Deleted Scenes from the movies we rent. I love these bonus scenes because they give us a private peek into the creative process of that film. Those scenes were written, the actors memorized their lines. Time and money were spent on costume, lighting, makeup, direction. But some honest and brave editing minds decided that these scenes didn't serve the film as a whole, and they were cut. Out they went!<br />
<br />
Manuscripts go through a similar editing process. If there are words, sentences, or scenes in the draft of my novel (and there always are) that don't serve the story as a whole, it's my responsibility to take them out. William Faulkner called it "killing your darlings."<br />
<br />
I wish books, like rented movies, included a Deleted Scenes section at the back. Here's a deleted scene from STILL ALICE for you. It includes a character you don't know, Alice's friend Susanna. You don't know her because I deleted her entire character from the story. It didn't need her.<br />
<br />
Sorry, Susanna darling, nothing personal. Just doing my job. Editing isn't for soft-hearted sissies.<br />
<br />
"John?"<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Yeah?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “We’re going to go take a walk down to the beach.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Alright, call me when you want me to come pick you up. You have your cell?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> She smiled and patted her baby blue Anna Williams bag. Satisfied with that answer, he kissed her, squeezed her hand, got in their car and pulled away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Susanna arrived in Chatham five hours ago, and Alice was running out of time. John insisted that Susanna know about her Alzheimer’s before he left for Philadelphia in the morning. He was anxious to detail for her the rules and regulations surrounding Alice’s medication, her running routine, her cell phone, the Safe Return program, and to give Susanna her neurologist’s and his phone numbers, just in case. When she played this instructional speech in her head, it sounded very much like the ones she and John had delivered to their teenaged babysitters before leaving their children for weekends away in Maine or Vermont. She remembered feeling so excited to get away on those weekends, but also nervous about leaving their children behind with someone else to watch them. Anxiously pulled in opposite directions. Now she needed to be watched. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is how I want you to look after Alice while I’m out. </i>She imagined that he might’ve actually composed a list that he planned to magnetize to the refrigerator. He was nervous about leaving her behind. Was he also excited to get away? Anxiously pulled in opposite directions.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> She asked him if he would let her tell Susanna herself, and she promised that she would, but they’d just finished eating dinner at the Squire, and she hadn’t yet mustered up the courage to reveal her sad secret to her dearest friend. She felt completely clear-headed today. She’d come to recognize the difference between days that would be fraught with difficulties finding memories and words and bathrooms and days that her Alzheimer’s would lay silent and not interfere. On those quiescent days, she was her normal self, the self she understood and had confidence in. On those days, she could almost convince herself that Dr. Davis and the genetic screening had been wrong, or that the last six months had been a horrible dream. Only a nightmare, the monster under her bed and clawing at her covers not real. She was having one of those days today, and she wanted to hold on to being normal with Susanna for as long as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> They walked down Main Street without talking. The line of luxury cars and SUVs parked along the curb, outfitted with bike racks and kayaks bungeed on roofs, crammed with baby strollers, beach chairs and umbrellas, and sporting license plates from Connecticut, New York and New Jersey in addition to Massachusetts was an indisputable indication that the summer season was officially in full swing. Families walked along the sidewalk without regard for lanes of pedestrian traffic, unhurried and without specific destinations, strolling, stopping, backtracking and window-shopping. Like they had all the time in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> An easy, ten-minute stroll removed them completely from the bustling evening of downtown, early-July Chatham. As it always did, the spectacular view of Lighthouse Beach from the road filled her with awe and gratitude. They walked the thirty steps down to the sand. A modest row of sandals and flip-flops were waiting at the bottom where they’d been kicked off earlier in the day. It was nearing sunset, and there weren’t many people left on the beach. The sign in front of them read:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> <i> </i><i>Warning: Strong Current. Surf subject to unexpected life-threatening waves and currents. No lifeguard. Hazardous area for: Swimming and wading, diving and water skiing, sailboards and small boats, rafts and canoes.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Aside from sand, water and sky, Lighthouse Beach shared little or nothing else in common with Hardings. At Hardings earlier that day, the water was pleasant and welcoming, and Nantucket Island could be seen in the distance. At Lighthouse Beach on the same day, the water was choppy and wild, and Alice knew from brief experience and reputation that is was always painfully cold. And, there was nothing to see in the distance but more ocean, nothing else between here and Europe. It was vast, impersonal, a little scary.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> The breaking waves were relentless, powerful and loud, rumbling and churning, pounding at its shore. If it weren’t for the colossal seawall constructed at the edges of the properties of the million-dollar homes along Shore Drive, the ocean would’ve taken each house in, devouring them all without sympathy or apology. Alzheimer’s was like this ocean at Lighthouse Beach, unstoppable, ferocious, destructive. Only, there were no seawalls in her brain to protect her memories and thoughts from the onslaught.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Susanna hadn’t yet mentioned Greg. She probably wanted him to be here, but Alice requested in an email, without explanation or excuse, that she come to Chatham alone. Susanna replied with the word “fine”. It was equally vague without knowing the tone, but Alice guessed she was pissed. But, if she’d hinted that there was something important that she needed to tell her, Susanna would’ve dragged it out of her that day, over the phone, and Alice didn’t want to tell her like that. She wanted to tell her friend face-to-face, and she wanted to spend the week alone with her, without John and without Greg. It’s not that she didn’t want to meet Greg, but she didn’t want the week made superficial with good manners and appropriate guest considerations and entertaining. Even if they had another opportunity to spend a week together in the near future, this disease only got worse. She may not understand what her friend meant to her in the future. It was time to be a little selfish.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I know you probably wanted to bring Greg.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I absolutely wanted to bring Greg.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Well, now she knew. She was pissed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No, you don’t know. If he were my husband, you wouldn’t even think of not inviting him. I’d never tell you not to bring John or the kids. I accept your life and everything and everyone in it, but you don’t accept mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I do, Suz. This isn’t about him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Then what, what is it about?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I have something to tell you, and it really can’t wait, and I couldn’t imagine combining what I have to tell you and the week I want to have with you with meeting Greg.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Well? What is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Here it was, the moment she had to cross over. No more normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I have Alzheimer’s Disease.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> She saw Susanna’s defensive anger leave her muscles and posture and drift away. She saw the fight in her pickle green eyes dissolve into fearful questioning. She waited a long time for Susanna to speak the questions her eyes asked. But they just stayed there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I was diagnosed in January, we told the kids over Easter. I couldn’t tell you over the phone, I have a really hard time on the phone now. And I couldn’t email this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> The questions in Susanna’s eyes, now blurry with tears, begged for some other answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I’m forgetting things, I’m getting confused and lost, I’m making all sorts of bizarre mistakes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> It was news neither of them wanted to hold, but they’d been burdened with this kind of load before, and they were strong enough to carry it together. Susanna finally spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “What’s going to happen to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “It’s Alzheimer’s. You know what’s going to happen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “But there’s got to be something that can at least stop it from progressing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Alice watched the tide coming in, erasing footprints, demolishing an elaborate sandcastle decorated with shells, filling in a hole dug earlier that day with plastic shovels, ridding the shore of its daily history. She envied the beautiful homes behind the seawall.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No, there’s nothing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “But we’re too young for you to have Alzheimer’s. It’s just wrong. It has to be something else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> This was, predictably now, everyone’s rebuttal, including her own, what seemed like so very long ago. It just wasn’t valid. In fact, the first patient ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, a woman named Auguste D, was fifty-one when she was first admitted to a hospital in Frankfurt with symptoms of abrupt personality changes and profound memory loss. She died at the age of fifty-six.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No, it’s definitely Alzheimer’s. You can be this young. I’m positive for a mutated gene that causes it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “How long before--?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I don’t know. They don’t know. Two years, twenty years. Hopefully, long enough for me to meet Greg.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Susanna smiled, but her eyes didn’t agree.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Do the people at Harvard know?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No, but I probably won’t be able to keep it hidden too much longer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “What are you going to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “About Harvard?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “About everything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I don’t know. I thought about trying to write one last paper. But, it would really be so hard for me now. I could do it, but it wouldn’t be my best work, not even close. Not what I want to be remembered by.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice Howland, is best remembered for ‘Molecules to Mind’, a ground-breaking text coauthored with her husband, John.</i> It was her proudest written achievement, her words and ideas blended with John’s, creating something together that was unique in this universe, informing and influencing the words and ideas of others. She’d assumed they’d write another.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Right now, I’m just living in my life, continuing the best I can at Harvard, trying to contribute for as long as I can and trying to really notice and enjoy all of the details in everything while I still can. I don’t know what else to do. What would you do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I don’t know. If I could bring myself to leave my bed, probably the same thing. It’s what we should all be doing, actually. What are you going to do when you have to leave Harvard?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No idea. I’ve been terrified to think about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “How long have you known about this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “For sure, since January.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I can’t believe you’ve been going through all this without me. I hate living so far away from you. How’s Johnny handling this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Really well in some ways and not so well in others. I don’t think he’s entirely accepted that this is happening. I think he actually thinks he’s going to come home from this conference with a cure for me. And there just isn’t one. I’m worried about what it’ll do to him when he realizes that. And I’m worried about what this is going to do to him as I get worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Have you thought about taking some time off and traveling together?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “We’ve both already traveled everywhere. There’s nowhere that I’m really dying to see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Still, it might be nice to get away, go somewhere beautiful and relax without a conference or symposium lecture hanging over your heads.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> It wouldn’t matter where they went, her Alzheimer’s was coming with her. There was nowhere to run, no vacation from dementia.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “True, but that’s what this place is for us. I love it here. And being here on the Cape, the kids can come and visit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “How are the kids?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Anna—Anna…”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> She was trying to say that Anna was positive for the same mutation, but her voice became unexpectedly flooded with emotion, and her breath was involuntarily redirected from the task of speaking to crying. She hadn’t spoken of Anna’s genetic testing results to anyone other than Anna since Easter. They were hugging each other now, both crying. It felt so good. Susanna’s arms had always been a safe place for her to cry. It was several minutes before Alice was able to finish her sentence.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Anna and Tom underwent the same genetic testing I did. Anna has what I have.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Oh my God. What about Tom and Lydia?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Tom’s fine, and Lydia won’t get tested.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> They both laughed a little.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Anna’s okay though. She’s not looking at this like a death sentence. The best thing to come of this, I guess, is that she’d been trying to get pregnant and couldn’t. So now she’s doing in vitro, and because they know she has the mutation, they can actually test the embryos as well and only implant the ones that are mutation-free. So we’ve all been focusing on the fact that Anna is going to have a baby that won’t get Alzheimer’s. It’s truly amazing what they can do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “But what about something truly amazing for you? There’s got to be something. What about clinical trials?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “I’m in one. But, I don’t even know if I’m getting the drug or a sugar pill. I’ve read everything about this disease and everything about this drug. They may be on the right track with this one, but I don’t think it’s the magic bullet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “So maybe your progression will be really slow. You caught this really early, and your progression will be slow, and they’ll discover the magic bullet in time for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Maybe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Alice, you’re going to be okay. You can hold on for the magic bullet and get through this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Susanna had told her that she was going to be okay before. She’d said it with the same tenderness and conviction that was in her voice now. Alice believed her whole-heartedly thirty-two years ago, and that magical belief helped move her through the morning of her mother’s and sister’s funeral, their birthdays, holidays, her graduation, her wedding day. And Susanna had been right. Eventually, Alice was okay. But Alice didn’t believe her now. She wished that she did.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “And you’re too smart anyway. You can afford to lose a few brain cells. This is just God’s way of showing you what it’s like to be the rest of us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> They both smiled. The sun, low and impossibly big in the pink and blue sky, was readying to plunge into the Altantic. This wild and dangerous ocean before her was as beautiful as anything she’d ever seen. She wondered if Auguste D had ever seen something this beautiful before being admitted to that asylum in Frankfurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “What should we do?” asked Susanna.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “About my Alzheimer’s?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No, together, tonight, right now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Want me to call John to come get us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “No, not yet. Let’s go enjoy the view and a big fat glass of wine from the Chatham Bars Inn.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Perfect. Oh, you’ll love this. The antioxidants in red wine and dark chocolate are thought to be as effective at treating this as any drug.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> “Alright then, my love, let’s go get you some medicine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-11689831653042665562011-11-01T07:35:00.000-07:002011-12-09T11:30:23.867-08:00Oh Canada!2011 will be remembered by me as the Year I Went to Canada. Before 2011, I'd never been. I wasn't allowed to go on my high school class trip to Montreal, and I believe my brother's hockey team traveled north at least once to play a Canadian team, but I stayed warm and snug at home.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>That all changed this year. I went to Toronto twice in February, both times to promote LEFT NEGLECTED (note to Simon & Schuster--how about promoting my books in Hawaii in February? Just a thought). The second February trip was for an Indigo Book Event with Jeannette Walls (author of The Glass Castle and Half Broke Horses) and Elena Gorokova (author of Mountain of Crumbs) hosted by Heather Reisman. An amazing event!</div><div><br />
</div><div>The next time I traveled to Canada was in October, also known as The Month I Was in Canada. I went to Toronto, Vancouver, Saskatoon, Montreal (finally!), Ottawa, and Halifax on a speaking tour---the Coping with Care series sponsored by Dundeewealth. I spoke to audiences about the emotional effects of living with Alzheimer's and then tax expert, Evelyn Jacks, spoke about financial planning for aging and ailing parents. We fielded questions, and I signed books. And then we went to the next airport and hotel. We (along with the wonderful people from Dundeewealth) were a great team, and it actually feels strange now to travel anywhere without them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2vBFY3PaGG49yhhBgtbtZu7rczweDSok-LiLJPV_GnmF78OIupfX0JxukaYBBCyXFknaz4pDDIEGo531iD2O8TLce1Cxgov-lnFaQn221B-3sb3UDDmKkZcrAa8RDEZQD5hdojIP_ZLG/s1600/dundee3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2vBFY3PaGG49yhhBgtbtZu7rczweDSok-LiLJPV_GnmF78OIupfX0JxukaYBBCyXFknaz4pDDIEGo531iD2O8TLce1Cxgov-lnFaQn221B-3sb3UDDmKkZcrAa8RDEZQD5hdojIP_ZLG/s320/dundee3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-DZGTF5BN2RgUwcTb1Q2HIeWbhxsuxIFvsCiRO5CIlEn0LE-Eu5USusXAac_ntEPIvEdTKXLORWJt8p9ykotlY89cFjnEOdJe4IV7cThxA6wHjmx0cNiOYJ5ogVnyMkWfdfvK_mMgVbH/s1600/dundee1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-DZGTF5BN2RgUwcTb1Q2HIeWbhxsuxIFvsCiRO5CIlEn0LE-Eu5USusXAac_ntEPIvEdTKXLORWJt8p9ykotlY89cFjnEOdJe4IV7cThxA6wHjmx0cNiOYJ5ogVnyMkWfdfvK_mMgVbH/s320/dundee1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
To wrap up my tour of Canada, I then went to Saint John to give a similar talk about STILL ALICE and Alzheimer's for the St. Joseph's Hospital Foundation.</div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Although I was in Canada for much of October, I unfortunately didn't get to see much of it. I went from airport to hotel to hotel grand ballroom to sleep to the next airport. It looked beautiful from the sky. But I did get to see so many friendly, warmhearted, and beautiful Canadians, including my friend Lynn from Vancouver and my friends Mike, Sue, and Karyn from New Brunswick. I met Lynn originally online in 2004 through DASNI when I was doing research for STILL ALICE, and we finally got to meet in person in Vancouver. What a thrill!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJUh331V_0Vx6BQgnwIZQyHP-BBJ6ahMLvjema3SnQhMNWidumFWTQa7Tb03MgKKtTPHXj9SPWPPNUEeaTTUGY8cEg4-Eb6ugNaAgsVj4N4_2BFXBaG0Fd3CgvXIKm_QRl7db_AIFuyp0F/s1600/lynn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJUh331V_0Vx6BQgnwIZQyHP-BBJ6ahMLvjema3SnQhMNWidumFWTQa7Tb03MgKKtTPHXj9SPWPPNUEeaTTUGY8cEg4-Eb6ugNaAgsVj4N4_2BFXBaG0Fd3CgvXIKm_QRl7db_AIFuyp0F/s320/lynn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And I originally met Mike, his wife Sue, and his sister Karyn online when doing research for LEFT NEGLECTED. Mike has Left Neglect. We've been in touch quite a bit since and have become good friends, and it was so much fun to spend a little time with them in Saint John.</div><div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWkzEk05UWei20tT2AArEgPrNuLqNA66Gtm_LpPyZ6ZDNH-Zdukf94X8zBt908m9NorT0giVCFHl4tAE-bRK5ub682C-K7S2AaOWQweujArl_FHM6aSJ8z3-1cJW2k78ewEmkJatBbJwa/s1600/saintjohn2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWkzEk05UWei20tT2AArEgPrNuLqNA66Gtm_LpPyZ6ZDNH-Zdukf94X8zBt908m9NorT0giVCFHl4tAE-bRK5ub682C-K7S2AaOWQweujArl_FHM6aSJ8z3-1cJW2k78ewEmkJatBbJwa/s320/saintjohn2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
</div><div>It's November 1, and so The Month I Was in Canada is officially over. I made it through, and more impressively, my husband and three children made it through. It feels good to be home. Home, husband, kids, Starbucks, writing LOVE ANTHONY. Sounds relaxing, eh?</div><div><br />
</div><div>No more travel...until I go to Italy in 9 days...</div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-14111764457306809302011-09-08T08:26:00.000-07:002011-11-16T10:18:50.316-08:00Notes from My Writing Journal, August 29, 2011<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was in London last month because LEFT NEGLECTED was chosen by <a href="http://www.whsmith.co.uk/CatalogAndSearch/RichardAndJudyBookClub.aspx">Richard and Judy</a> for their autumn 2011 book club. For those in the US who haven't heard of Richard and Judy, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">their Book Club "has as powerful an influence on the UK book-buying public as the Oprah Winfrey book club had in America." So this was a huge and an exciting trip! I did the Richard and Judy interview, recorded a podcast for WH Smith, signed books, went sightseeing, and had a lovely time meeting the Simon & Schuster UK team in person. AND I wrote some of LOVE ANTHONY every morning. Good author. Here's a snippet from my writing journal:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i>I'm in London, baby! I'm at a Starbucks (I know this is lame, but I can't resist; it calls me like home) near the Charlotte Street hotel, drinking chai, and facing the street while I write this. London looks a lot like Boston but much GRANDER in scale. Love the red double decker buses that go by every minute, the funny little black cars. Lots of walkers, all in sensible flats. So far the people here are super friendly and cheery--I expected more reserved, abrupt, aloof, but not the case. Just saw the first smoker. I expected more smokers, too.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i>But I've barely been here yet. It's 9:30 am, and I'm meeting my editor and publicist here at 10:30 for a day of sightseeing. YAY! How crazy lucky am I?</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i>I've seen four street sweepers go by in less than 15 minutes (Ethan would be in heaven here!)--this place is CLEAN. Seriously, the streets and sidewalks are spotless.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i>I'm on chapter 8, back with Olivia before we go to LoLa with Beth. Okay, so what the hell happens in chapter 8 with Olivia? I have no freakin idea. Okay, don't panic. Let's find it. So she just read her journal for the first time, is facing/confronting her past. Huh! Just like Beth is confronting her past, looking for pieces of herself, looking for answers. And in facing the past, both women will make room for the possibility of a new future...</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">And today is September 8. I'm home from London, sitting at my local Starbucks, and I just finished chapter 8. On to chapter 9! Now what happens in chapter 9? Don't panic...</span></span>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-34720533835138650162011-08-10T09:41:00.000-07:002011-08-10T09:41:23.243-07:00Top 5 Reasons Ellen Should Have Me On Her Show <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>I mention Ellen and her show 13 times in my novel, LEFT NEGLECTED.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having me on her show would be a great way to thank me in person.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Portia would be amazing as Sarah Nickerson in the movie.<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Oprah’s not the only one who reads.<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Like Ellen, my mission is to not only entertain, but to also educate and connect people through gained understanding, sensitivity, and empathy.<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>If she doesn’t want to talk about my book, we could always discuss my three-year-old son’s youtube video, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xll1hjW_Kyw&feature=player_embedded">Dog Poopy in My Pocket.</a><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-88178125417098984322011-06-20T08:43:00.000-07:002011-11-16T10:22:18.527-08:00Tantrums in Sacred SpacesI've listened to a lot of writers talk about having "sacred spaces" for writing. Places that are pristine, quiet, beautiful. I always listen, nod, and smile.<br />
<br />
If you've been to one of my talks or follow me on Facebook, you know I write at Starbucks. It's noisy and busy, and people know I write here now, so there's usually a distraction or two or four. The table I'm at now is wobbly, and the chair isn't ergonomically designed to protect my lumbar spine. But I love it here. It's my sacred space.<br />
<br />
I write at Starbucks instead of in my beautiful home office because if I write at home, I end up not writing. Ethan (3) will ask me to fix the wheel on one of his trucks, Stella (10 months) will press her pudgy face up against the glass of the French doors and cry for me, Alena (11) will come in and want to chat about jump rope or school or the funny thing she just thought about. And I can't resist any of it. Or I'll think, "I really should throw in a load of laundry," or "I have bills to pay," or "I wonder if we have any chocolate?"<br />
<br />
So I write at Starbucks.<br />
<br />
And the Starbucks nearest me is tucked inside a Stop & Shop. With a book deadline, three kids, two in diapers, and one drinking formula, this basically means I'm here ALL THE TIME. Seriously, how many of you hug and kiss the woman who checks out your groceries? I do because I feel like I know her that well.<br />
<br />
I was here this weekend with all three kids because I needed to pick up food for dinner. To make the chore more fun for Alena and Ethan, I told them I'd get them a treat at Starbucks. I knew Alena would want an iced chai (like her mom), and Ethan would want an apple fritter. He's obsessed with them.<br />
<br />
So we're in line, and for no reason whatsoever, Ethan winds up and slaps Alena. We still don't know why he committed this crime. I'm blaming systemic testosterone. Toxic stuff.<br />
<br />
I said, "Ethan, you can't hit Alena. Tell her you're sorry."<br />
<br />
He stared at me. No way. Not happening.<br />
<br />
"Okay, Ethan, that's not a good choice. You hit her, and you won't say sorry. You're not getting a fritter. You sure about this?"<br />
<br />
No apology.<br />
<br />
Alena gets her iced chai, Ethan gets nothing. Ethan then throws the biggest tantrum Starbucks and Stop & Shop have ever seen. As he was losing his mind on the floor of Starbucks, I actually laughed to myself, thinking, "There's no screaming in my sacred space!"<br />
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I snapped this photo of him in the produce aisle:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMA5vjOYnDc7wyISekHuhfnp7qFYTNOA-i-wGl8U9e1MRhJajcrrVvVM9qJNlEBSV98GSLmJuaDlaCZ3SYWazD-vyTzZb-v15aJiMN1uuPf6AA8kGwKk7h_S0PL0jbTYzwyAif25zuZftS/s1600/tantrum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMA5vjOYnDc7wyISekHuhfnp7qFYTNOA-i-wGl8U9e1MRhJajcrrVvVM9qJNlEBSV98GSLmJuaDlaCZ3SYWazD-vyTzZb-v15aJiMN1uuPf6AA8kGwKk7h_S0PL0jbTYzwyAif25zuZftS/s320/tantrum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I'm in Starbucks now, writing in my imperfect yet sacred space. And everyone here is still talking about the tantrum...Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-52216356166574535632011-05-20T07:21:00.000-07:002011-11-16T10:21:08.145-08:00Still Alice, still going!My books feel in some ways like my children (so far, I've given birth to 3 babies and 2 books). Each one is unique, I love them all, and you'd better watch out if you have anything bad to say about any of them (well, I understand that not all reviewers and readers are going to love all of my books, but they're not allowed to say anything mean about my kids!).<br />
<br />
And even though I have no favorites, there's a special place in my heart for the first one, both child and book. I didn't know what the heck I was doing with either one (as a mother or an author), and I'm eternally grateful to both of them for bumping their way into this world and into my life, however ungraceful and ignorant I was in guiding them here.<br />
<br />
This week I received phenomenal news about STILL ALICE, my firstborn book. STILL ALICE won the <a href="http://elibrary.bexley.gov.uk/rooms/portal/page/22415_Bexley_Book_of_the_Year">Bexley 2011 Book of the Year award</a>! More than two years after its publication date, I couldn't be more proud!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Because this distinction is awarded from England, I thought I'd share with you some of the UK STILL ALICE covers (the different covers are like showing people pictures of your baby dressed in different outfits).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Here's the original UK cover concept that was rejected:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqyVxrsOZLH8MNmdhvTSr_Mhyj1sq_BQC_ucyeVDNFHzon1mxHyyRzhY_AT1rpbWDLwN29xoV1iskvUiJIwf5Ai9vUa0wwKTDpYZQLA_9Oc2aGObtMzKSNdwDe9tNy6Q_ZP85aW-FNpcP/s1600/ukcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqyVxrsOZLH8MNmdhvTSr_Mhyj1sq_BQC_ucyeVDNFHzon1mxHyyRzhY_AT1rpbWDLwN29xoV1iskvUiJIwf5Ai9vUa0wwKTDpYZQLA_9Oc2aGObtMzKSNdwDe9tNy6Q_ZP85aW-FNpcP/s320/ukcover.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And the original UK paperback that was released in March 2009:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbiOTP9q31u4Nd-xBEZGMmpkwPOvhn-Qhl9BtYTp2ybvW6ywwvARwxeOwz2h8PlasduFl_ESZiWk7Q_s5PLfRnOCIfM8OsO4bKI3W7EodteAjUlB2CWDXsrezflO2h2llg9nzawSMNcNE/s1600/newukcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbiOTP9q31u4Nd-xBEZGMmpkwPOvhn-Qhl9BtYTp2ybvW6ywwvARwxeOwz2h8PlasduFl_ESZiWk7Q_s5PLfRnOCIfM8OsO4bKI3W7EodteAjUlB2CWDXsrezflO2h2llg9nzawSMNcNE/s320/newukcover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And the STILL ALICE paperback released in the UK a year later, the copy on the stands there now:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3MntGUtx-sEY0ldDBrUB-zDkhJzGB4GD1SvyYF6JmdhhxL5DpSopzIMNcphAobQ3pHu7aQEuaBENocJ0t9IA0XU8Tj_PhwKn5kQQT4wGezaf7AQAkodm2qgpWvM9wlnZ4scEuWGQIGZdW/s1600/stillaliceuk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3MntGUtx-sEY0ldDBrUB-zDkhJzGB4GD1SvyYF6JmdhhxL5DpSopzIMNcphAobQ3pHu7aQEuaBENocJ0t9IA0XU8Tj_PhwKn5kQQT4wGezaf7AQAkodm2qgpWvM9wlnZ4scEuWGQIGZdW/s1600/stillaliceuk.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Cute, huh?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Thank you so much for choosing STILL ALICE as the 2011 Bexley Book of the Year. I'm truly honored and thrilled! Thank you for reading STILL ALICE and for using the book as a vehicle to discuss Alzheimer's. So many people are afraid to talk about Alzheimer's. It's incredibly rewarding to know that readers are braving this scary topic and coming away with a better understanding of this disease, the people who live with it, and that we are more than what we can remember.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Again, so proud. Now off to pay some attention to my third "baby," LOVE ANTHONY....</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span></span>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-41440934782166814232011-05-16T10:37:00.000-07:002011-11-16T10:23:08.204-08:00Australia Book Tour 2011: Most Memorable MomentsMeeting Christine and Paul Bryden in Brisbane (see previous post).<br />
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Fireworks over the river during dinner in Brisbane, arranged just for me by my publicist (not really, but we had front row seats and no knowledge that this would be happening--we were delighted!).<br />
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The complete, circular rainbow my husband and I saw at the top of the Harbor Bridge. It was huge and breathtaking, and it encircled the Opera House. I don't have a photo for you because Bridge Climb Sydney doesn't allow anyone to carry cameras on the climb (my poor photographer husband was beside himself--missing the best photo opportunity of his life!).<br />
<br />
The many times I was stumped by the accent. And I grew up with a THICK Boston accent, so this surprises me a bit. Let me give you an example: At a book signing in Perth, a reader told me her name and handed me her copy of LEFT NEGLECTED. I looked up at her, stumped. She said her name again. I asked her to repeat it. I still couldn't make out what she was saying. I finally asked her to spell it: "Sue." (She's from New Zealand.)<br />
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Koalas, caramel and real.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuNRadkPD74oOu_u78H5npu7-4wm6v0MWcDnncWKXYTLXojtgFO5kairT_YOPTmUYKHI0fNEkvwzyPGQurvYmBLxrNa8q4FqGDf6aY9XuEsx5w64wj0vQhbJhgH0P1M8zlJqjhMA3HC9h/s1600/koala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuNRadkPD74oOu_u78H5npu7-4wm6v0MWcDnncWKXYTLXojtgFO5kairT_YOPTmUYKHI0fNEkvwzyPGQurvYmBLxrNa8q4FqGDf6aY9XuEsx5w64wj0vQhbJhgH0P1M8zlJqjhMA3HC9h/s320/koala.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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Fish and chips on Watson's Bay.<br />
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My beautiful publicist, Anabel. Thank you for a most memorable and amazing tour and for taking such good care of us!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITaS5p5zPV4cisxtiE-rkg362wRLIETfjtTu1K8xY8J8YTX3AgKRcGu6P8wQsD0uaYn059R-JvghiEimF3nmIycJoHezZcJxmxfI3YrFUAO7S9szsIHeZp0FK-T4Gmc08s31zT75oODAV/s1600/anabel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhITaS5p5zPV4cisxtiE-rkg362wRLIETfjtTu1K8xY8J8YTX3AgKRcGu6P8wQsD0uaYn059R-JvghiEimF3nmIycJoHezZcJxmxfI3YrFUAO7S9szsIHeZp0FK-T4Gmc08s31zT75oODAV/s320/anabel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-69377548277490078702011-05-12T07:43:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:37:56.736-07:00Christine BrydenI had a book event in Sydney last week and was talking about STILL ALICE and the <a href="http://www.dasninternational.org/">Dementia Advocacy & Support Network International (DASNI</a>). And because I was in Sydney, I mentioned Christine Bryden. Christine was one of the founding members of DASNI and one of the amazingly generous people who shared with me what it's like to live with dementia while I was writing STILL ALICE. Christine was diagnosed with Alzheimer's when she was 46 years old. She wrote two incredible books, <a href="http://www.christinebryden.com/">WHO WILL I BE WHEN I DIE? and DANCING WITH DEMENTIA</a>. She is also an Australian, which is what made me think of and mention her aloud to the audience.<br />
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I met Christine online through DASNI in 2004. I think it was around 2006 when the group at DASNI received an email from her husband, Paul, saying that she wasn't doing so well and would be taking a step back from things. She would no longer be active on DASNI email or chat. I remember wondering and worrying about her many times since, but fearing the worst, I never had the courage to send a personal email to ask, "How are you doing?"<br />
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So during this book event in Sydney, I remained preoccupied with thoughts of Christine. When I returned to my hotel room, I turned on my computer, logged on to my email, and there, in my inbox, was an email from CHRISTINE BRYDEN.<br />
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!!!<br />
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She was just back from a vacation and wanted to let me know that she'd read STILL ALICE. She loved it and thanked me for thanking her in the acknowledgments. And she ended the email with, "if you're ever in Brisbane, let us know!"<br />
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Again, !!!<br />
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I was dumbstruck and thrilled, staring at an email from Christine after at least five years of not receiving an email from Christine on the very day I mentioned her name aloud after five years of not saying her name aloud while I'm in Australia and heading to, of all places, Brisbane!<br />
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I love coincidences like this because I don't believe in coincidences. I believe in magic and God and the spirituality of the Universe.<br />
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A few days later, I was in Brisbane, and Christine and her lovely husband, Paul, came to my book event at Dymock's. We had coffee outside after the event, then walked along the river, then shared stories over beers. I feel so grateful for having had the chance to meet her in person, to hug her and thank her again for all she's given to me, to get to know her and Paul better. And I feel peace in my heart, knowing that she is doing well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBA0bbgoOWFqE3BtSr3gu_4-sgZjCpISRmw37p206QF_AxSH4sBGmtPum7krrQC2suZLGLL68OMV1XjjRo6DaeRP0ZIM2XntzlINl3YQ4OdIC0UIagO155gtr7EJdkLipaBvhX4prVcCAz/s1600/christinebryden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBA0bbgoOWFqE3BtSr3gu_4-sgZjCpISRmw37p206QF_AxSH4sBGmtPum7krrQC2suZLGLL68OMV1XjjRo6DaeRP0ZIM2XntzlINl3YQ4OdIC0UIagO155gtr7EJdkLipaBvhX4prVcCAz/s320/christinebryden.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXVpe3ni4x4GNDNsyBuVf8SfJqsauDPXoh6eLKCzc6yrNBlZHDtEzIRzfihkTVWr7M7l5bLgmbSFPTc9uj6k3hGufNG0TDT2vvTRcxq9PlqWS4YwnqSkmZsRyhT4RF_TNXq7YQ4MfObli/s1600/christinepaul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXVpe3ni4x4GNDNsyBuVf8SfJqsauDPXoh6eLKCzc6yrNBlZHDtEzIRzfihkTVWr7M7l5bLgmbSFPTc9uj6k3hGufNG0TDT2vvTRcxq9PlqWS4YwnqSkmZsRyhT4RF_TNXq7YQ4MfObli/s320/christinepaul.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2348215480901736955.post-5372118655028528572011-05-01T15:57:00.000-07:002011-05-01T15:57:30.150-07:00A Confession and ApologySo first, the obvious. I'm a terrible blogger. I have no stamina. I started out with the best of intentions, all gung-ho. And then...I haven't been here since February. Which brings me to the apology. I'm so very sorry for bringing you here with the promise of a blog, and then leaving you here, awkwardly wondering if I'm ever coming back. Actually, I can't imagine that anyone's still here, so maybe I'm apologizing to cyber air. Is anybody still here?<br />
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In any case, I'm back! Let me catch everyone (if anyone's reading) up on the last few months. The US book tour was amazing. It brought me to Toronto twice, NYC twice, Boston, New Hampshire, Washington, D.C., Connecticut, South Carolina, Colorado, Arizona, Georgia, and Florida. I was up in the air A LOT this winter (and didn't see George Clooney once--so disappointed!). It was a stormy winter with TONS of snow in New England, and I faced flight delays and event cancellations (RJ Julia was postponed due to snow twice!). In fact, all of Boston Logan airport shut down once, and I had to regroup and take an Amtrak train. Dear Simon & Schuster, please consider releasing my next book in the spring.<br />
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Some highlights of the US tour:<br />
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Meeting Diane Rehm.<br />
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Meeting authors Jeannette Walls and Elena Gorokhova in Toronto.<br />
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Meeting authors Jamie Ford (and wife Leesha), Helen Simonson, Luis Alberto Urrea (and wife Cindy), Ann Hood, and Julia Glass at the Tucson Festival of Books.<br />
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Meeting my friend Kris just before giving the keynote at the Savannah Book Festival. Kris and I have known each other for years, but only online and over the phone. Kris has early onset Alzheimer's. It was so moving for both of us to finally meet in person.<br />
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Seeing so many volunteers from NEHSA, including Tom Kersey, at Gibson's Bookstore in New Hampshire. Remembering Tom presenting me with the signed snowboard and official NEHSA jacket still moves me to tears.<br />
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Getting to spend time with my Aunt Mary in South Carolina and my Aunt Anne in Florida.<br />
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Okay, now that you're caught up, I can start from where I am---SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA! I'll be touring here (Sydney, Perth, and Brisbane) for the next ten days. And since I left my darling husband home with three kids all winter for the US tour, it was only fair that I bring him to Australia, so he's here with me (a HUGE thank you to our parents and Sue for watching our children while we're on the other side of the world!).<br />
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I'm off to Circular Queue to write a little of LOVE ANTHONY by the Opera House before my book events today--sure to be a highlight of this tour! And I'll keep you posted on what happens while I'm down under--I promise!Lisa Genovahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341881302531610864noreply@blogger.com4