Notable | Setting and its metaphorical role in shaping our reality

Launching a book from a hometown that is not mine but that I love like my mother

My book—Blissful Thinking: A Memoir of Overcoming the Wellness Revolution—comes out Sept 26, and I’m throwing a party at Tombolo Books complete with a Tarot card reader and an energy healer (it’s going to be EPIC, if you’re in or near St. Pete, please come! RSVP here). If that’s not enough, on Sept 24, I’m hosting a free creativity masterclass on Zoom for preorders, and putting on my regular storytelling show. Yet I spent August (plus ten days in September) away from home, in Chicago.

This was a plan. My partner and I can both work remotely so, to escape the hell that is August in Florida, we picked Chicago long before I had a pub date. The cooler weather did not disappoint.

Then I needed to mail an ARC (advance reader copy) to an influencer.

I found the post office and a place to print out the press release, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find a decent card. The best option was for a wedding shower. I stuffed the greeting into the priority envelope, amending the words, “May you [AND MY BOOK] live happily ever after.” I turned it into an Instagram reel and hoped she’d find it hilarious.

Yet, as the release date for my second memoir charged closer, I wondered if I might be away from home at an inopportune moment.

Then I recalled these words:

“To know who you are, you have to have a place to come from.”

—Carson McCullers

This quote even appears during a moment of hand-wringing in Blissful Thinking, proof I’d never know myself (or anyone else) because I’d moved so much. I even took this angst to an Ayurvedic astrologer. (In the book, I never return overtly to this quote and how my feelings changed about it, nor do I mention the astrology reading, so, bonus BTS here.)

“Where is my ideal home?’ I asked.

“You’re a true world citizen,” she said. “You make yourself at home wherever you are.”

That answer confirmed my hopelessness, more “proof” I was untethered. But not long after, while putting together a story for Susan Kent’s show in Brooklyn, I saw the good in the astrologer’s proclamation.

My story, about running away from home at 15, got me thinking about the infamous nomads, the Polynesians. Without the benefit of even a map, those ancient wanderers navigated between islands that would barely register as one degree on a compass. They had only the stars to guide their way, and they moved forward by knowing where they were. Direction was relational.

That resonated. Places, the settings in which I’ve found myself, have been symbolic of other things. Dramatic as my life’s moves might appear from the outside, when I’ve been able to choose, I’ve been drawn to locations for what they represent. California meant freedom. New York, accomplishment. And Chicago, my mother.

My mother, a strikingly beautiful woman with thick dark hair, razor blade cheekbones and an even sharper wit, loved her hometown. And Chicago is where the bulk of my family still lives. Without her, my book would not exist literally. Without her death, it wouldn’t exist figuratively.

The book began as a look at life through the lens of a 10-day silent meditation, and how the world was a constructed story. One of the stories I’d long told myself was that my mother didn’t like me much. Example: unlike everyone else in the family, I wasn’t named after either a saint or a family member.

We never had a heart-to-heart about that. My mother wasn’t big on those. But through her long illness and death, I started seeing how the stories I’d been telling were damaging. And how to change them.

Back to my wavering resolve on Chicago, where I found myself wondering if having to figure out everything — where to get a haircut, buy a stamp, or a go-to takeout meal — was a bit much on top of putting out a book.

As we embark on the long drive home, I know that the answer is HELL NO. I don’t think I could have been in a better place. Of the books I read while in the windy city, two in particular reminded me how every place I’ve called home is part of knowing where I’m from—

1. Maggie Smith
   ’s You Could Make This Place Beautiful. I loved this book in no small part because I knew the people and places of Columbus that she renders so lovingly.

2. Ann Napolitano’s Hello Beautiful, a love letter to family and Chicago.

Both these books rendered setting so lovingly, I recalled the many places I’ve called home, and came to the same conclusion. Setting is the drumbeat. My reality has been stamped by geography, and that movement that has not been random, but relational. And this trip was no exception.

Besides, being a career author means that life doesn’t stop for any single book. And this city has embraced me.

For one, and with huge thanks to Amy Eaton, I got hooked up with Chicago’s Live Lit community. I made it to three shows and got to perform in two. That meant two new essay ideas.

The author with Amy Eaton at the BOATS show, Based on a True Story..

I got to connect with a group of writers I’d only ever met online.

At Eataly, which—despite internet rumor—does NOT have happy hour specials.

And see some epic things.

It’s also not lost on me that my show, True Stories, will be on my mother’s birthday. My story is about her. I’m beginning to suspect they all are.

UPCOMING:

Now, I would LOVE to see you at the Zoom, titled after my New Year mantra. If you’ve already preordered, just go to this link and scroll down to join the Zoom. No receipt? No problem. I trust you. Upload a pet pic!

YOUR HOMETOWN?

I love a book club! Reach me here if you’d like me to join yours via Zoom. If you’d like to order copies of Blissful Thinking: A Memoir of Overcoming the Wellness Revolution for your book club at a discount, reach out to Diane (at) MotinaBooks (dot) com.

Hope to see you somewhere soon.

XO,

*We haven’t heard back from that influencer, but who knows?