That’s right—I am now a card-carrying member of the Shameless Promotion Club. I often say it, tongue in cheek right before chatting up an unsuspecting potential reader about my forthcoming debut novel No More Empty Spaces, but it seems to me that pondering the “shameless” part of my imaginary club’s name is in order.
I have worked for more than two decades learning the craft of writing, and I have worked for more than one of those on this book. It was a story I had to tell, and for me, that meant I had to tell it well. So I read and studied, got coached and critiqued, and wrote and rewrote (and rewrote and rewrote…you get the idea). The result is solid, perhaps even beautiful in places. Then along with my labor of love, my publisher’s, She Writes Press, team made it more so, including its stunning cover! I believe in this book, and so do my literary agent, my publisher, and my publicist—a team of professionals who stand beside me in getting it out in the world.
So why should I feel shame in promoting it? Well, I shouldn’t, but promoting isn’t something I feel comfortable doing. I was taught, from the beginning, to do for others, not myself. I know I’m not alone in this. And promoting my work does not mean I am not humble in the knowledge of how many great writers are out there. It does not mean that I am not aware of how many great books readers have to choose from. I am humble and I am aware. At the same time, I trust that No More Empty Spaces also belongs on bookstore, library, and your bookshelves (or bedside tables) come April 9, 2024, its publication date.
When I was working as an environmental and engineering geologist, no one would have looked at me askance for promoting my consulting practice, in fact I was often advised to do more of it. Though marketing was not anything close to my favorite part of the work, I did it. And so, I will as a writer too, because like my first career as a professional geologist, I take my second career seriously, and this is simply part of that work in the publishing business these days. So, here goes…
My debut novel, No More Empty Spaces, is told in multiple voices, and explores rifts and shifts in an American family, and the landscape, when they move from the US to a remote and rugged region of Turkey. Timely and gripping, the book will make you think about how you relate to yourself, your family, and the Earth and its ever-changing processes. Learn more about it on my website or at She Write Press or at Goodreads.
No More Empty Spaces is available for pre-order now—ask at your favorite local independent bookstore, or anywhere else books are sold, including Bookshop or Bookworks, the great (yes, more shameless promotion!) local independent bookstore in Albuquerque, where I am a partner.
Thank you! And hey, let’s all let go of shame, and sign up for the Shameless Promotion Club in support of whatever we have worked hard to achieve.
Not red or green chile. Though I could wax poetic about our spicy and savory New Mexican cuisine, I’ll save that for another day. And not gift wrap, though perhaps some of you are untying red or green ribbons for Christmas.
But red or green, or yellow, pink, blue, mauve, silver, or burgundy, and a few I can’t find words for—those are colors I saw this morning while hiking in the muted light of an overcast morning on the Sandia Mountain foothill trails I love to tramp. Once I began to notice them, color was everywhere. Some might view the desert as drab, but I see myriad shades of green—from the olive tones of the junipers to the epidote (its own hue, as far as I’m concerned) in the Sandia granite to the chartreuse lichen growing out of a crack in a boulder.
And what of the deep blue of a year-round resident Western bluebird’s back and wings (viewed through my binoculars, so I couldn’t get a picture) and the lighter brighter blue of his cousins, the Mountain bluebirds who winter here, but only let me see a flash of their vibrant feathers as the flock winged by on the chill breeze.
Flora, fauna, and, of course, stones of all sorts flaunted their varied shades, all seemingly enhanced by the subtle light.
The everyday wonder of nature’s palette filled me with delight.
I’d never be able to choose a favorite.
But if you have a favorite color, what is it? And, why?
This is my tenth holiday shopping season as a bookseller, at locally-owned independent Bookworks in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It also happens to be my first as a partner in the shop.
On January 1, 2023, Bookworks changed hands, and is now a partnership with the managing partners being the brilliant daughter-mother team of Shannon Guinn-Collins and Nancy Guinn—and a group of investors from the community, including myself, rounds out the team. Bookworks is truly a community effort!
It has been a year of learning and growing (we have about 30% more books in stock!), updating computers and training staff on new systems, re-starting author events after the pandemic (we’ve hosted authors from near and far in the store and Pulitzer Prize winner Colson Whitehead was in conversation with former Albuquerque Poet Laureate Hakim Bellamy at the Kimo Theater in downtown in July…and more to come, including Pulitzer Prize winner, Michael Cunningham at the Main Albuquerque Public Library in January (get your tickets here), brightening the store’s colors and adding murals—I am prouder than ever to be a part of the Bookworks crew.
And speaking of crews, it’s all hands on deck for the holiday shopping season. I hope to be happily exhausted when we lock the doors on Christmas Eve. This season can make, or break, the year for a small business, so please SHOP SMALL and SHOP LOCAL!
Of course, I’m biased, but books sure do make great gifts. Talking with customers, helping them find books their loved ones will love, is my favorite part of this work. And there’s still time to order books, if we don’t happen to have the one you want (but not much time…at Bookworks, we’ll get books into the store in time for Christmas if you order by December 13th). Shop with us, or at your favorite local independent bookstore—we make a real difference in all our communities!
And remember, those of us on the other side of the counter are pushing pretty hard right now to get you what you really want, so please be patient with us while we do.
Happy holidays, everyone! See you on the other side…of the counter, and of the holiday rush.
In the few quiet moments this week, I find myself …
I was going to continue that sentence, but the pen in my hand simply hovered over the page, stopped by I don’t know what… And unlike me, I heeded the pause. Finally, I decided—a period after ‘myself’ was the best end to that sentence.
IN THE QUIET MOMENTS, I FIND MYSELF.
That was the message I needed to write—to me, for me. (And maybe for you too?)
I like to think I’m a generous person, and I also need to remember that I have more to give when I feel grounded, solid, and strong—in myself. That in this quiet moment those words unspooled on the page feels like a huge gift. And I am grateful for it. I hope I remember to carry it with me every single day.
So, I give thanks, for so much that is good in my life, and in the world. And I hold hope, because I choose to hope, rather than to despair, at least in this moment—for more good, for more love, for more peace—in myself, and in the world.
In whatever way you want, or need, to answer—WHERE/HOW DO YOU FIND YOURSELF?
[For my non-geological readers—gneiss is pronounced nice]
In March of 2019, during my term as the Richard H. Jahns Lecturer, I had the honor of speaking at the Seattle Science Center for their Science in the City series. The Q&A following my talk wound up with a girl of about 12 years asking, “What rock would you describe yourself as?”
Most of my Jahns presentations were given at Geology Departments at colleges and universities where students asked about technical aspects of the work or the logistics of jobs in our profession. To say I was not prepared for the girl’s question that evening would be an understatement. But what geologist wouldn’t love a question like that? I took a moment, took a breath, then said, “Gneiss.” After pausing to enjoy the ripple of laughter from the audience, I elaborated.
Although I do hope that at least a few people consider me nice, that wasn’t why I chose it. A metamorphic rock, gneiss is formed when another rock is recrystallized due to intense heat and pressure. Metamorphosis is a process of transformation. I like to think that I, and my life, have been transformed by the heat and pressure withstood over my lifetime. It’s a metaphor, of course, for no human could survive the conditions that recrystallize stone, but there are times I wonder how we survive the conditions that confront us day to day, year to year. Yet, so often we do.
And like gneisses—varied in composition and color, often beautiful, with minerals aligned in bands, sometimes straight and sometimes contorted—our lives may be metamorphosed into complex structures, layered in light and dark, sparkling in certain light. I also like to think that the components of my life—my home, my sailboat, my work, my volunteer activities, what I eat, how I dress, the car I drive, how I spend my time and money, in sum, my values—like the minerals that form gneiss, have been arranged and rearranged as stresses have acted on me.
We don’t always get to choose what precipitates our metamorphoses, but like rocks transformed at depth whose minerals gleam when unearthed, we too can shine, having recrystallized into who we are now, knowing that we can only be that for the heat and pressure we have endured. Our stories, geological or human, shape us.
Today, a dear friend told me of a metamorphic event that is occurring in her life. Already strong and beautiful, I know she will persevere. And I trust she will emerge, transformed, in some way different than she began, but no less exquisite, and maybe more so.
It is a gneiss life, indeed.
But maybe you would choose a different rock, for a different reason, and so I ask:
Geologists study the earth and the processes that shape it. Writers study the human heart and the processes that shape it. The GeologistWriter builds a bridge between the two. Come across it with me!
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