What I've Learned About Myself. Lately.

Also, let's get back to my reading life.

I had this funny thing happen one night at dinner during my vacation on Martha’s Vineyard. There was a lady at the table next to us who had too much to drink and she kept butting into our conversation. My husband and I would politely respond, then we attempted (more than once) to turn back to each other and chat.

When the twenty-something woman asked my 9-year-old if she liked to read Colleen Hoover novels, I looked at her straight in the eye: “That would be very inappropriate for a 9-year-old and we’re not interested in talking anymore. We’re going to return to our dinner now.”

The woman’s face fell and I turned away toward my husband and kids. I wasn’t trying to be rude — she was being rude constantly inserting herself into our conversation — but it occurred to me at a certain moment that we didn’t have to sit there and listen to her. We didn't have to smile and be polite. With my body angled away from her, I heard the woman turn to her date and whisper a rather nasty word about me. He soothed her and asked for the check.

The view from our rental house on Martha’s Vineyard. OH my goodness. A dream.

When she was gone, my kids told me that I went into “beast mode."

This made me laugh. It certainly wasn’t my intention to act like a beast. But I also feel like I’ve hit a point in my life where I’m not always willing to nod along and be polite when people are doing or saying something offensive. I can remember doing this frequently in my twenties and thirties: Smiling like I was in on an obnoxious joke a male coworker made. Listening with interest as a stranger on the train made conversation with me when all I wanted to do was read my book.

Maybe it’s the me-too movement emboldening women, maybe it’s just age. But while I rarely will be as direct as I was with the woman in the restaurant, I would now be willing to pick up my book, turn to a chatty stranger and say, “Excuse me, but I’d really like to read.”

This behavior feels new for me. Bold. Unapologetic. I like thinking that I’m evolving, and it was fun to learn something new about myself.

It got me thinking about what I’ve learned about myself as a writer this year, too. I’ve spent most of the year working on my next book while publicizing the recent one. And the answer I came up with was surprising.

I’ve learned how much I needed to connect with other writers. This year, I have spent so much time meeting and getting to know so many different authors. I have made so many new friends on the road, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until recently when I finished my latest book event on Nantucket. I did a book signing with Nancy Thayer, and she was so full of insight into her writing career and the trouble with plots and what it’s like to show up at events sometimes that only have three people.

But she is one of many. I have met so many special writers and readers these last few months, and without trying to name all of them, I just want to express gratitude to every single one.

I used to think that if I disappeared in my office everyday and wrote stories about pretend people, I was lucky enough. Now I feel lucky for the community of authors that writing novels has brought me, to those who live near and far.

I think being an author was a bit lonely before this last book tour. Now I feel so full inside. It feels silly to admit, but it just feels great to have so many friends that love writing as much as I do.

Nancy Thayer and I during our book signing at Mitchell’s in Nantucket.

Book Club: Not Just Shelterwood

When I went to Martha’s Vineyard, I planned to read Lisa Wingate’s new historical fiction novel Shelterwood. I did read it — about three-quarters of the powerful and fascinating story. Then I was distracted by a biography I couldn’t put down, and then I became engrossed in that new Kennedy book called Ask Not: The Kennedys and the Women They Destroyed. Have you heard of it?

The premise of Ask Not is that it gives voice to all of the Kennedy women whose voices have been ignored in the interest of lionizing the iconic family. Maureen Callahan, who wrote the book, is a dogged reporter who researched the novel extensively and wrote it in story form. It’s soooooo good. I honestly can’t stop reading this one.

I also started listening to The God of the Woods since it’s set at a sleepaway camp in the Adirondacks and I began my summer up in Lake Placid. It’s so spooky in all of the best ways. I’ll keep you posted on this one.

I will finish Shelterwood this week though — and I really want to share my thoughts about Wingate’s writing overall. There’s something special about what she does in this novel but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it yet. Stay turned.

What are you reading these last few weeks of summer? Also, if you enjoy reading Dear Fiction, please heart this post. xo

Later this week, I’ll have an Author Confessions column for you. Then next week: All about my two glorious weeks in Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.