Please join me on Friday, November 26 (yes, the infamous Black Friday) at 5 p.m. Eastern on Red River Writers Romance Edition on Blog Talk Radio for an enlightening, informative discussion on writing, marketing and finding success as a self-published author. Social media expert Kimberly Moore will interview me about my existing novel Water Signs, my forthcoming sequel Sea to Shining Sea, and the ways in which social media has helped me identify and engage my audience.
I'll share my experiences, what I've learned, and what I'll do differently the second time around. Whether you are a published author or an aspiring one, you won't want to miss this broadcast!
Live chat and phone lines will be open. Call-in # (646)-595-4478. Looking forward to seeing you on Friday, November 26 at 5 p.m. Eastern.
Oh and if you want to avoid mall and shopping center congestion, you can purchase my book at Amazon in either Kindle or paperback for the romantics on your list. ;)
Note: This piece originally appeared on Smart Girl Nation and Parcbench, written before the mind-boggling popularity of Jersey Shore hit its peak. As I noted on Parcbench, I've never actually watched Jersey Shore, but have heard enough about it to know it's just another show replete with negative stereotypes of Americans with Italian heritage. Wonder when Hollywood will be ready to do something really different and create show about a normal Italian American family facing the same problems and sharing the same experiences as other Americans. I won't hold my breath.
Moving Beyond the Mafia
Surprise! Most Americans of Italian descent speak proper English, work in legitimate professions and make positive contributions to society. So where are they in pop culture?
Let me begin by stating I abhor the notion of a “hyphenated” American. Raised in a patriotic, middle-class family that enthusiastically celebrated quintessential American holidays like Independence Day and Thanksgiving; actively participated in politics at the local, state and national levels; and sincerely appreciated the opportunities the USA afforded all of us, I have always considered myself an American first. Growing up as the youngest of five children, I related well to classic television programs like Little House on the Prairie and Eight is Enough, where conflicts arose out of such relatable things as sibling rivalry and the struggle to resist temptation when presented with a sometimes ambiguous choice between right and wrong.
None of the characters in the above-mentioned programs are Americans of Italian descent, yet they very much mirrored the folks I interacted with on a daily basis, whether family members, friends or acquaintances. The former series, with its emphasis on Christianity and faith, brought to life the values reinforced in my own home and Catholic school; the latter, although not overtly religious, also presented moral conflicts (e.g. when Joanie appeared naked in a stage production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream, to the horror of her unsuspecting father). Yet ironically, whenever pop culture did present characters in film or television that were specifically designated as Italian Americans, more often than not, I’d be left wondering where the hell these people came from.
Even the mostly positive portrayals tended to miss the mark. Take Arthur Fonzarelli (a.k.a. “The Fonz” or “Fonzie”) of Happy Days, for instance. A high school dropout and hard-working mechanic, he and his mother were abandoned by his father when he was just a young child. Fonzie is a typical womanizer who amazes establishment characters like Richie Cunningham with his prowess in attracting one hot babe after another, despite his cavalier love ‘em and leave ‘em relationship philosophy. And while he does evolve over the course of the series, eventually earning his high school diploma and becoming part-owner of Arnold’s Restaurant, he is mostly remembered for catchphrases like “Aaaay!” and for snapping his fingers at any random, attractive “chick” who caught his eye, causing her to immediately stop whatever she was doing and rush over to his side.
At the movie theater, things were not much better. Sure, there was Sly Stallone’sRocky, a film celebrating a scrappy, determined southpaw who against all odds finds incredible success as a professional boxer. Our inspiring hero is also a religious, patriotic family man who seeks counsel from his neighborhood priest before going into the ring, and genuinely falls in love with shy, late-bloomer Adrian, whom he eventually marries (can anyone ever forget his primitive howls of “Adrian!” while standing behind the ropes, beaten and bloodied, at the film’s conclusion?).
Now don’t get me wrong: as a Philadelphia native and a sucker for a good triumph-over-tragedy story, I absolutely love the character of Rocky Balboa. I’m just wondering where the educated, proper-English-speaking, Italian-American suburban dwellers with whom I am intimately acquainted, are represented in the entertainment industry. Most Hollywood productions would leave aliens visiting from outer space with the impression that all Italians are mobsters, wife-beaters (or at the very least, skirt chasers) and hooligans who either operate outside of the law or precariously on its fringes.
The most egregious example in recent times is of course, The Sopranos, described by Wikipedia as “a major commercial and critical success,” and “the most financially successful cable series in the history of television,” frequently hailed by critics as “one of the greatest television series of all time.” For those who have been hiding under a rock for the past ten years, the drama revolves around mobster Tony Soprano, a man who constantly struggles to reconcile the competing obligations of family with his role as head of a crime syndicate. Stereotypically, Tony’s problems include an overbearing mother and an inclination to cheat on his wife, in spite of his love for her.
David Chase (himself an Italian-American), The Sopranos creator, based the plot and characters on his own personal life and experiences growing up in New Jersey—in his own words, “applying his own family dynamic to mobsters.” Raised on gangster films like The Public Enemy and the crime series, The Untouchables, Mr. Chase “thought the Mafia setting would allow him to explore themes such as Italian-American identity and the nature of violence.”
I don’t begrudge David Chase his right to free speech or his authentic remembrances of childhood and adolescence. But it’s exceedingly frustrating that my upbringing and experience as an Italian-American are rarely, if ever, celebrated anywhere in pop culture. Where’s the representation of folks like my maternal grandfather, Raphael, who arrived on American shores at the age of eight with his widowed mother and two brothers? A gifted scholar, he learned and spoke proper English, attended the prestigious Central High School in Germantown, Philadelphia, and graduated from Temple University School of Pharmacy in 1919—an almost unheard of achievement for an immigrant. He then opened up a thriving corner drugstore, which became a neighborhood landmark for over 25 years.
Where are Italian-Americans like my Uncle Dan, an Admiral in the United States Navy? Where are all the strong, yet loving women like my Aunt Emma, who owned her own beauty salon, or my mom’s cousin Millicent, the first female graduate of Temple University School of Pharmacy? What about talented musicians like my cousins Joseph, Francis, Robert and William DePasquale, all of whom were in the Philadelphia Orchestra? Whither decent, upstanding men like my father, Dr. Alphonse J. DiGiovanni, son of blue-collar immigrants who worked his way through medical school and went on to a distinguished career as a general and vascular surgeon?
And let’s not forget about offspring. Out of my four siblings, two became successful attorneys (brother, Mark and sister, Carolyn), one a respected pathologist (brother, Paul) and still another, a productive, loving human being who beat the odds and worked for 24 years in material services at a local hospital (brother Ralph, born with Down syndrome in 1959). Among my closest friends and extended family members, there’s Lisa Macci, Family Law Attorney and host of The Justice Hour, a weekly talk radio program; Trish Doll, owner of a renowned PR firm; Frank Lavalla, highly competent dentist and entrepreneur; and Theresa Bonnie, small business owner and moving estimator extraordinaire. (While this list is impressive, it is by no means exhaustive. I wish I could include every individual that comes to mind, but alas, space constraints do not allow for that).
None of the aforementioned people have mob ties, nor do they talk as if they have a mouthful of food they forgot to swallow. All are bright, intelligent, law-abiding citizens who continue to make meaningful contributions to their country, clients and family. Yet none are represented specifically as Italian-Americans on film or television. That is a grave disservice, not only to them, but to their hard-working immigrant forefathers who came to America in search of a better life, and left an indelible mark on the country in the process.
Note: In honor of my brother Ralph's upcoming birthday on October 4, I am posting a piece I'd originally written in 1997, then updated a few years ago. Last year, this amazing human being, son, brother, uncle and friend celebrated a remarkable milestone -- his 50th birthday -- which drew family and friends together for a Hollywood-style gala in Springfield, PA (although he's a big conservative, Ralph is also an avid movie-buff ;).
An inspiration to all, my 2nd oldest brother is just one of many special souls who never fails to demonstrate the very best of human nature. While it's heartening to witness society's evolution in mainstreaming and accepting our brothers and sisters with Down's and other handicaps, one of the most troubling statistics I learned during the 2008 election, thanks to Sarah Palin's beautiful son Trig, is that 90% of unborn babies discovered to have Down syndrome are aborted. I pray for those loving creations of God who never had an opportunity to bless this world with their presence.
Happy Birthday, Ralph!
A Little Down Syndrome
As the youngest child in a family of five children and two wonderful parents, I have never had to look far for role-models. My positioning in the family line-up afforded me the opportunity not only to observe the behavior and personal characteristics of the people around me, but also to learn from their experiences.
Looking back, I realize that we all faced our own unique challenges, as is true today. As a slightly overweight child, adolescent, and young adult (I’ve since toned down to a healthy weight, which I’ve maintained for the most part), there were times when I felt as if I were the only put-upon soul on this earth. During my school years, I came to know and understand through personal experience the validity of the expression, “kids are cruel.”
But what I didn’t appreciate back then was that my elementary and high school angst paled in comparison to the obstacles life threw at one very special family member, someone whom I’ve come to regard as a hero — my brother, Ralph.
Ralph recently celebrated his 49th birthday, surrounded by his adoring nieces and nephews, siblings, and parents. For 23 years he worked in material services at a local hospital, where he was loved and respected by his boss, co-workers, and other hospital personnel.
In his spare time, he enjoys movies, both in the theater and at home (his DVD collection now exceeds 250 titles), attending wrestling matches, swimming, dancing (the guy can cut a rug!), babysitting for his nieces and nephews (characterized by lively rounds of “PlayStation”), and traveling (he often spends time with me at my place in Boca Raton, FL). Ralph is also an active member of the Knights of Columbus—not bad for someone who at birth, was predicted to amount to nothing more than a vegetable.
Ralph arrived on October 4, 1959, the second-born child of my parents, Rose and Al. Despite the trauma of his premature birth and the absence of my father who was working in upstate Pennsylvania as part of his medical residency, Mom was thrilled to have a baby brother for her older child, Mark, then 17 months-old. When she held the beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed infant in her arms, the young 28 year-old mother felt truly blessed. Ralph was a sight to behold.
Her joy was shattered early the next morning, however, by a visit from Ralph’s pediatrician, who matter-of-factly informed her that her baby had been born with a terrible affliction known as Down syndrome. With clinical certainty, he pronounced that Ralph’s future would indeed be bleak. Pointing to a tree outside the window, he explained that my brother would be just like a tree trunk—unable to do anything but stand there. To say that this guy had no bedside manner would be an understatement. He completed his “professional analysis” by recommending Ralph’s institutionalization since my Dad was a resident doctor, and the presence of a handicapped child would be a “stigma” on the young family.
The more he spoke, the angrier my mother became—after the initial shock. Summoning her courage and faith in God, she ordered the doctor out of her room with the firm admonition to stay away from her baby. As of that moment, he was no longer Ralph’s pediatrician. Filled with an inner strength and supported by my father and close family members, she vowed to do everything in her power to help this special boy reach his full potential. And she would soon discover its scope went far beyond anything the “experts” foresaw.
Under the guidance and tutelage of my determined mother, Ralph crawled early, walked early, ate with no problems, and even toilet-trained early. A loving, affectionate child, he was a source of joy for his parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and a wonderful playmate for his big brother. Mom switched to a new pediatrician—a kind, caring man named Dr. John Williams—who applauded her efforts and was amazed at all that Ralph had accomplished.
As he grew, Ralph attended kindergarten, followed by first-grade where he was placed in the special education section. It was there that he flowered under the supervision of a dedicated teacher named Ruth Izumi. Ruth’s patience and caring assisted Ralph in garnering all of the knowledge and skills he would need to live a happy, productive life. Above all, she taught him to believe in himself and his abilities.
Ralph continued his education through the public school system, eventually graduating from Marple-Newtown Senior High in 1978. Though only 11 years-old at the time, I remember watching the ceremony and observing how gratifying it was that the school did not separate these “special” graduates; they processed in line with all of the other seniors. Additionally, Ralph had interacted with everyone during his high school years, attending class trips, parties and other festivities. He’d also been a member of the swim team and a participant in the Special Olympics. It sure was a long way from that dismissive doctor’s ominous prediction the day after his birth!
Growing up, I didn’t truly appreciate Ralph as I do now, though I understood his challenges in being “different.” There were days at the Springfield Swim Club when, standing in line at the snack bar or diving board, we’d hear the taunts of “Retard!” Though visibly shaken and misty-eyed, Ralph maintained his dignity and bravely ignored the ignorant comments of their limited young minds. As a little girl, I wasn’t quite so accommodating. On several occasions, I remember physically pushing the bullies who ridiculed him with the clear admonition to “leave my brother alone!”
Sometimes in the movie theater, Ralph and I would be forced to change our seats when the gawking stares of other people became unbearable. It would be comforting to report that most of this bad behavior originated from immature children; however, many “mature” adults were some of the most-guilty parties. To this day, I find that difficult to accept.
Perhaps the taunts of strangers seemed particularly tasteless given the way my parents raised all of us. Ralph was never babied or pampered because of his condition. When he did something worthy of special recognition, he was praised; if he did something bad (like tell a lie), he was disciplined appropriately. Because he was subject to the same rules and treated as one of the family, I never perceived Ralph as being “handicapped.” He was simply one of my older brothers, all of whom I adored.
But it wasn’t long before the world told me differently. And soon, he caught on too. One telling evening, my sister Carolyn, Ralph, and I — ages 9, 12, and 4, respectively — were playing in the finished basement of our house. Amid the merriment, Ralph suddenly became very thoughtful. Looking at the two of us with very serious eyes, he asked if he was “retarded.” After some careful consideration, during which Carolyn and I exchanged worried glances, she finally proclaimed with the wisdom of a 9 year-old, “Just a tiny, tiny bit.” In an effort to emphasize the extent of the insignificance, she brought her thumb and index finger close together. Then she assured Ralph that, no matter what, he was our brother and always would be. Satisfied with that explanation, he resumed his activity.
Over the years, Ralph has been so much more than just an older brother. He’s been a loyal friend, a good listener, a fun-loving companion, and an excellent “hugger.” When there was no one else to play with, Ralph was always a willing participant. From mimicking the dance routine of John Travolta and Olivia Newtown-John to “You’re The One That I Want,” from the movie musical Grease to challenging each other to swimming games in the pool (like trying to determine who could hold their breath longer under water), time spent with Ralph was invaluable and precious.
As a young adult, he faced another challenge: alopecia, a scalp condition that causes irreversible hair loss. Within weeks, it claimed his light-brown hair. To bolster his self-esteem, Mom had him fitted for a wig. Though he continues to wear one to this day, there are times when he must summon the courage to go without. Those first few days at the beach or by the pool were the most difficult, but, like everything else, Ralph took it all in stride.
Inevitably, as time went by, Ralph also had to deal with separation. Perhaps the most difficult was my brother Paul’s departure from the family nest to attend Vanderbilt Medical School in Tennessee, since Paul and Ralph had always shared a room. It marked the end of an era and the beginning of new transitions as eventually, Paul, Mark, and Carolyn married and moved out permanently. Though he felt these changes deeply, Ralph accepted them graciously. He stood up for Paul as best man in his wedding and acted as an usher for both Mark and Carolyn. Today, he enjoys close relationships with his sisters-in-law and brother-in-law, as well as their offspring.
When I decided to move away soon after Carolyn’s wedding, Ralph found himself an only child. Though I’ve never regretted my decisions, I miss Ralph’s “huggies” and taking him to the movies at the spur-of-the-moment. We visit as often as we can, and, in between, I love hearing about his social life and latest escapades. Ralph has a way of endearing himself to people in a way that is difficult to explain yet marvelous to witness. He exudes a combination of honesty and warmth that is as rare as it is irresistible.
Once, my dad went to the movie theater to pick up Ralph at the agreed-upon time. Not finding him in the lobby, Dad then went next door to Pizzeria Uno, knowing it was one of his favorite hangouts. When he described Ralph to the hostess, her face lit up as she pointed to the bar. Sure enough, there he was, having a few beers with the guys. Noticing my father, he promptly introduced him to his friends. As they made their way out of the restaurant, Dad asked if they were people he knew from work. “Oh no, Dad,” he’d replied, “I just met them and started talking to them when I went in for a pizza.”
So it seems Carolyn was correct in her assessment of Ralph’s condition. It is such a small part of who he is that it is nearly insignificant. Viewing it from a spiritual standpoint, I’m convinced that Ralph is an advanced soul, put on the earth to make other people better. He’s been an inspiration and a testament to faith for my entire family, and my siblings and I are more sensitive, considerate human beings as a result of growing up with him.
Several years after Carolyn’s childhood observation, Ralph was solicited for life insurance through the Knights of Columbus. He had just received his 4th degree, which is quite an achievement. The salesman sat down with him and methodically posed a series of health-related questions: “Do you have high blood pressure? Do you get dizzy spells? Do you have diabetes?” After a lengthy period of negative responses, a frustrated Ralph echoed his sister’s long-ago words: “Look, Mister, there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. All I have is a little Down syndrome, that’s it!” As he spoke, he gestured to make his point by bringing his thumb and index finger together, as Carolyn had done. There were no more questions. The next week, Ralph received approval for his life insurance.
Today, Ralph is inspiring the next generation, as his nieces and nephews — ranging in age from four to 16—clamor to spend quality time with “Uncle Ralph.” A particularly proud moment took place recently involving my then eight-year-old nephew Mark. My sister-in-law Lisa had taken a few of them to the movies, and, when one of his friends remarked that Ralph was “funny looking,” young Mark snapped back that insults to his uncle would not be tolerated.
And with my parents aging (though at 77, they are in excellent health), inevitable thoughts of the future pop into my head from time to time, though I absolutely dread the day when they are no longer with us. As devastated as I know I’ll be, Ralph will feel the loss even more deeply when his live-in companions make their transition. It will rattle his feelings of security and call the rest of us to action. I’d already determined countless years ago that any potential mate must be open to the possibility of welcoming Ralph into our home, whether on a permanent or part-time basis. My married siblings are also prepared for that new phase of life, and I pray that their spouses remain understanding when it finally arrives.
It’s the least we can do for a brother who’s taught us that even the worst prognosis can be overcome with a little love, faith, courage, and determination.
In my last post, I discussed Madeline's "weighty" insecurities, and their detrimental effect upon her relationship with Ken. Intertwined with other fears and hang-ups about the opposite sex, these insecurities will ultimately lead to a formidable bout with panic and anxiety disorder (from which she eventually emerges victorious) as part of her own personal growth and spiritual development. In this sense, her insecurities are also a catalyst for positive, profound change in her life, much like Ken himself (although at a conscious level, he's quite unaware of it).
One of Maddy's biggest obstacles to success is her inability to fully and clearly articulate her deepest fears and feelings, especially to Ken. To get this point across dramatically in the book I employed italics to denote the thoughts swirling through her head, juxtaposed with her conflicting statements.
There's a dramatic example of this in Chapter 6, in a scene that also reveals the inner conflict between traditional values and contemporary culture:
“Maddy?” he asked softly, as he traced her arm from shoulder to wrist.
“Mmm-hmm?” She was exquisitely lost in the moment.
“Don’t you ever get curious?”
She turned her body so that she was now looking at him directly.
“Curious about what?”
“You know,” he gave her a telling glance, followed by a raised eyebrow. Then he felt sudden regret for even having asked the question.
But relief washed over him when he saw a smile slowly form on her face. “Well…” she began, her voice trailing off. As desirable as he made her feel and as tempted as she was, there remained an underlying fear, an almost irrational insecurity when it came to this very intimate act between a man and a woman.
For Maddy, it went far beyond the “your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit” teachings of the Catholic Church, repeated so often throughout her schooling she could almost hear them in her sleep. She’d long ago accepted the validity of these words; indeed, she took them to heart and wanted nothing more than to give herself to her husband—whoever he might turn out to be—for the very first time on their wedding night. It was simply that, as she grew older, she realized how few people, good people, had practically applied the same beliefs. Even Jake in all of his self-righteousness had admitted to sleeping with his college girlfriend, though he claimed that his ensuing guilt over it had been partially to blame for their break-up.
Beyond all of that, Maddy struggled with some deep-rooted insecurity about not being quite good enough, not having a body acceptable enough (she was after all, very small-breasted as Jake had so cruelly reminded her that evening), and not adequately aware enough of how exactly to please a man.And hadn’t she read stories in the hottest women’s fashion magazines about men leaving their wives over sexual dissatisfaction? Hadn’t she seen the endless articles about how to be better in bed?
She wanted so much to confide in him her conflicted emotions, to explain what was held so very deeply within her being. But as with that night in his waterbed, there was a frustrating disconnection between her innermost thoughts and their eloquent expression. All she could manage was some lame answer about how sex belonged within the confines of a marriage. Undeterred, he just smiled at her as he traced the curve of her face.
“I know, sweetheart and I respect that so much,” he assured her in his deep, sexy voice. “I just wondered that’s all. I know I’d like to know what it’s like be with you. Guess I’ll just have to marry you to find out.”
This entire scene is taken from real life, occurring one evening when "Ken" and I were alone on the couch watching television. And just like Maddy, I couldn't seem to trust him enough to confide all of the complex feelings I was experiencing. Ken's comment regarding marriage is a direct quote from his flesh-and-blood counterpart, and for the purposes of fiction, also a statement in support of traditional values. Yes, Ken is a 25 year-old young man with raging hormones and burning desires; but he's also a serious guy who very much wants to marry and settle down with the right woman. The fact that he's willing to wait for her is a testament to his strong character. (Too bad Ken's real life counterpart took a different course of action, one that changed him -- or at least my memory of him as a genuine, down-to-earth guy unaffected by the superficial aspects of life -- into someone I no longer recognize)
In Chapter 5, readers get a glimpse as to just how deeply Maddy's previous relationship with Jake Winston has wounded her when -- in an intimate moment in Ken's bedroom, she suddenly has a flashback that propels her to react in harsh opposition to the desires of her heart and body. And although she wants to explain fully the genesis of her discomfort, she cannot bring herself to articulate the words:
Maddy covered her face with her hands, more embarrassed by her overreaction than outraged by Ken’s completely understandable attempt, considering they were all alone in his bedroom. She remained quiet while she tried to gather her composure, wanting so much to find the words to comfort him, to clarify for him the root cause of her discomfort. But it was as if the synchronicity between her thoughts and the physical mechanisms necessary to express them had completely failed her. All she could do was sit there in silence.
But when Ken finally pulled her into a hug, she didn’t resist. Instead, she buried her head in his chest and muffled an emotional apology.
“Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart,” he comforted her. “It’s ok. Everything’s ok.” His voice was a barely audible whisper as they held each other in the translucent beam of moonshine streaming from the window above them.
Ironically, although Ken treats Madeline with the utmost respect and dignity, in a very real sense he's the one who takes the punishment for Jake's wrongdoings, simply by being the very next guy to express an interest in her after the breakup. This is also exacerbated by Maddy's inability to communicate effectively, leaving him frustrated and unsure of her true emotions.
In the pivotal Chapter 19, newly engaged Ken shows up unexpectedly at Madeline's door to formally announce his status (a reality she's already aware of intuitively) and to ascertain her feelings about the situation. Perhaps more than any other part of the book, this section is the most dramatic example of the use of italics to denote the dichotomy between what the heart is experiencing and what the head is articulating via the spoken word.
I remember this all too well from real life and can confirm the conversation between Ken and Madeline to be nearly verbatim to the one that transpired between "Ken" and Daria. And like Madeline, part of my motivation for putting on the performance of a lifetime was also a lofty belief in morality, a desire to do the right thing (in my mind) by stepping aside:
“Now how do you feel?” he asked nervously.
How the hell do you think I feel Kenny? You were the one calling and crying on the phone for nearly two years about how much you loved me and missed me; the one who practically begged me to move here in the first place; and the one who kept your live-in girlfriend a secret until there was no turning back! How the hell do you think I feel after uprooting my entire life, hurting my family and having to face the consequences of a misinformed decision alone? How could you deceive me like that? Is this some sort of payback for hurting you?
“Hey, I think it’s great!” she replied brightly. “Congratulations! I’ve been dating a lot myself since I got here. Believe me; I have my own things going on!”
“Well you sure seem as if you’ve changed,” he noted with a twinge of sadness and more than a little confusion. This was not even close to the reaction he was expecting. Maybe Madeline hadn’t loved him after all.
Interesting update: During one of our emotionally charged telephone communications just prior to the release of the book, I told "Ken" that I should have received an Oscar for this performance. There was a moment of stunned silence in which he appeared truly taken aback. Reminiscing on this incident, I am amazed I even had the strength to put on such a compelling show. This was an incredibly painful time for me, one that is thankfully in the past.
For those who haven't read my analysis of Erin, in that post I allude to Chapter 19 as a foreshadowing of her self-centered shallowness and materialism, and the eventual demise of their marriage as a direct result. Fictional Ken gives it his best shot, but in the end realizes the futility of remaining with a woman whose intellect and emotions run about as deep as a puddle in the South Florida sun -- another example of where fiction differs from fact.
Coming Soon: More on Madeline, Philly sports teams and Ken.
In previous posts, I've described Water Signs as a literal, metaphorical and spiritual journey for its two main characters, Madeline Rose and Kenneth Lockheart. And since I alluded to Madeline's weight issues in my last post, I figured they merited a larger discussion in my next update.
When Chapter One opens, readers get an inkling of Madeline's motivations, fears and insecurities via her conversation with her good friend Carmen (based on a real-life friend), as the girls cruise down the Atlantic City Expressway bound for Ocean City, New Jersey. She's just been through a traumatic break-up with her first boyfriend, who's been harshly critical and judgmental due to his own personal issues (a topic I discussed -- along with the theme of forgiveness -- in the post, Maddy's Men). The dialogue centers around Maddy's lingering hang-ups about her appearance, which Carmen quickly attempts to dispel.
From the outset, I strove to highlight the preponderance of loving, supportive and protective people in Maddy's life, from family members to female friends -- while drawing a sharp contrast between her and the other characters -- beginning with Carmen in Chapter One:
“I know,” Carmen agreed. “But believe me; I miss my retail days in New York. Macy’s was tough, mostly due to a Type-A personality boss, but I met a lot of cool people. Counseling clients at New You Nutrition and Weight Loss isn’t exactly a dream job.”
“Isn’t it satisfying to help someone get into shape?” Madeline pursued.
“Only the people who are really serious about it,” Carmen replied. “But most clients just make up excuses and waste their money so they can claim to be doing something about their figure. And the company doesn’t mind because they’re raking in the dough. Not that the program isn’t good, it is. But not even the best weight loss plan on earth will work for someone who isn’t committed to it.”
“You should tell them you owe your skinny frame to New You, and not an inherited fast metabolism!” Madeline suggested, laughingly.
“Yeah, maybe I should!” Carmen agreed. “You look good, Maddy, by the way. I can tell you’ve lost some weight.”
“Yes, I’m trying!” Madeline patted her tummy. “All the walking and swimming I’ve been doing is paying off. And I’m being really careful about everything I put in my mouth. Just a few more pounds and I’ll be all set.”
“Now, don’t go off the deep end,” Carmen warned, suddenly becoming serious. “You are such a pretty girl and you look great. So just remember that, ok? You are beautiful the way you are right now.” Knowing her good friend was still reeling from a painful break-up a few months ago, Carmen wanted this to be a fun weekend for all of them.
“Jake’s an ass!” Carmen shot back, her fiery Latin temper flaring. “Who the hell was he to criticize you? It’s obvious you weren’t dating him for his good looks. He should have been grateful to have a cute girl like you on his arm, instead of acting like a complete jerk and dumping you over the phone. At least be a man and face things head on. What a wuss!”
Partly due to her seemingly unconquerable belief in her own inferiority where men are concerned, Maddy initially reacts harshly to Carmen's announcement of their impending dates later that evening -- although there's another glaring fact that adds insult to injury. This is also an instance where I employed a bit of foreshadowing just prior to the introduction of Ken:
“Well, while we’re on the subject, I have to confess something.”
Uh-oh. Knowing Carmen, it wasn’t good news.
“What?” Madeline asked defensively, bracing herself for the answer.
“Mary Ellen is trying to get these guys to bring a friend along for you—”
“Aw, Carmen!” she protested.
“Look, I don’t even know if the guy will make it, but you have to start somewhere. These men are successful in business and they’re really cute. We’ll all just go out and have some fun. It’ll be great, you’ll see!”
“Do you even know anything about them?”
“Well, I know they have some kind of import/export business in Atlantic City. And I think they’re from Iran or someplace in the Middle East.”
Fabulous.
Maddy’s type was definitely the masculine, clean-cut all-American guy either in uniform, or out of the pages of Football Digest or GQ; while she had an appreciation for other cultures, she had no desire to date someone from another country—European, Middle Eastern or otherwise. As was her usual reaction to distressing news, she sat in silence.
A little while later, I took a few paragraphs to describe the girls' contrasting appearances, as well as the dichotomy between Madeline's self-image and reality, in addition to another bit of foreshadowing:
The girls headed upstairs to get ready. It was already after 6 p.m. and they were planning to go out to eat before heading to the Key Largo dance club just over the causeway in Somers Point. At the Point Diner a little while later, Madeline watched in awe as Carmen devoured a burger and fries, while she carefully stuck to grilled chicken and salad. In spite of her slim figure, Carmen often ate starchy, fattening foods, none of which ever affected her thin frame. It was a luxury Maddy had never enjoyed.
But she looked adorable in a cute white summer outfit consisting of a long, sequined white top over tight leggings, cinched at the waist. She’d pulled her flowing auburn hair back into a loose ponytail, held with a rhinestone clip, and her favorite comfy silver pumps, in anticipation of dancing the night away. Carmen looked stunning in a black linen dress and high-heeled sandals, her dark hair falling straight just below her shoulders. Little did Maddy know at the time, but she would find herself sitting in the very same booth a few hours later, under very different circumstances.
Astute readers will understand that, given Madeline's overly critical and distorted self-image, the fact that Ken is first attracted to her stunning Latin girlfriend -- going so far as to purchase a long-stemmed rose and present it to her on the dance floor -- sets the foundation for the conflict to ensue in the budding, unexpected relationship that develops between her and the handsome former US Navy sailor.
Lost in the music, Madeline never saw it coming, but suddenly she looked up to see a hand holding a long-stemmed rose in front of Carmen; a little red devil was attached to it. Then Maddy caught a glimpse of the rose’s buyer and her heart skipped a beat—too bad he was interested in her friend. It seemed so unfair since Carmen already had a date for the evening, unbeknownst to this handsome stranger. But despite her disappointment, Madeline laughed right along as Carmen accepted the gesture and began to dance with her new suitor.
And of course, it's only when Carmen's date for the evening finally arrives at the club that Maddy even gets the opportunity to hang out with Ken in the first place -- when something inside compels her to extend the invitation, much to her own astonishment:
“Maddy,” Carmen asked again, “What are you going to do?”
Feeling strangely emboldened, Madeline announced, “I’m not going with all of you. I’m staying here and hanging out with Ken!” Then turning to him, she asked softly, “Is that ok with you?”
“Yes, that’s fine with me,” he agreed, giving her a high-five. Maybe the night’s not lost after all, he surmised. She’s seems truly adorable. It won’t hurt to spend a few hours getting to know her.
“Ok, but you better be nice to her,” Carmen warned Ken as she stepped into the back seat of her entourage’s Lincoln Continental.
In spite of her insecurities, Maddy demonstrates even more confident self-assertion when her newly designated date for the evening can't stop haranguing her over what he considers to be Carmen's dishonorable actions:
“You know I have to say I really don’t understand your friend. Why would she lead me on like that when she knew she had a date? And did you see those guys? I mean, I spent four years of my life defending this country from people like that and she and her anorexic friend run off with them?”
“Hey Ken, calm down! I agree with you about Iran, but that doesn’t mean those guys are like their crazy government. And you have to know Carmen; she’s just a free spirit. No one tells her what to do. I’m just glad they didn’t bring a friend for me, ‘cause long hair and grunge is definitely unappealing.”
“Well she still shouldn’t have accepted my rose,” he stated emphatically.
Maddy had enough. Cute as he was, she had no desire to talk about Carmen all night; watching Nick-At-Nite at home was sounding better and better. Overcoming her usual hesitance around guys, she spoke up. “Look, Ken, you’re here with me now. Either we’re gonna dance and have a good time, or I’m outta here! What’s it gonna be?”
Pleasantly surprised by her feistiness, he took her by the hand and exclaimed, “Well, let’s dance!”
By the way, this entire chapter is pretty faithful to real life, down to the little red devil attached to the rose; Maddy's amazement at Ken's foresight in bringing along a clean shirt to change into; Ken's initial anger about Carmen leaving the scene with another guy; and his marveling at Maddy's "tiny" hands. Even the conversation in bold above is absolutely true, and like Maddy, I surprised myself with my own comfort level around this guy; I seemed to have no qualms at all about telling him in no uncertain terms exactly how I felt. Unfortunately, that didn't last long as the relationship progressed, as I will detail in another post.
Once Ken and Maddy break the ice with a dance, the rest of the evening unfolds effortlessly. Their light-hearted conversation reveals many similarities, including their shared birthday (which, as I've noted before is an example of creative license; the real guy and me are both Pisces, but our birthdays are about two weeks apart), Catholic upbringing and status as "the baby" in their respective families. However, Maddy's insecurities flare up again upon learning more about this intriguing new suitor, unbeknownst to him:
Under the cover of magnificent moonlight enhanced by the muted sounds of music emanating from inside the club, Ken and Maddy chatted for hours. He shared funny and sad stories of his time in the military as she eagerly listened, fascinated by his life experience. At 25, she’d never even left her hometown, let alone traveled the world. Except for a Caribbean cruise with a few college girlfriends after graduation and some assorted family trips to places like Disneyworld and Chicago, she’d lived a pretty uneventful life. Heck, Maddy had even commuted to a university minutes from her house because she hadn’t felt quite ready to leave the nest. At the same age, Ken had enlisted to serve in foreign lands.
She also noticed something admirable and attractive in him—an inner spark, a desire to make something of himself. He was determined to rise above his roots in a sleepy Shore town and accomplish much greater things than his older brothers, all of whom seemed content to work in a local pizza shop.
From the get-go, Ken exposes himself as an entirely different kind of man from Jake, which ironically heightens Madeline's insecurity. After two years of constant berating about her weight, her choice of dress and even her bust size, it's a shock to the system (albeit a pleasant one) to be with a man who's constantly complimenting her. Although he's quite sincere, she cannot seem to reconcile his glowing impression of her with the unattractive one residing deep within her own psyche.
And her inability to clearly articulate her feelings -- coupled with Ken's deeply held thoughts of inferiority in the face of Madeline's highly accomplished family -- will help to destroy their relationship the first time around.
Some exciting happenings are in the works for both Water Signs and my new media career, thanks to the support of some incredible people. One happens to be my big brother Mark, who mentioned my book to a prominent a.m. talk show host last week during a call-in. While I am not going to disclose the name of the particular host, if he likes my novel, it could be a huge break for me. Mark noted he was very open and enthusiastic about possibly helping a little-known author hit the big time. I mailed off a copy yesterday, and will certainly follow-up on any results!
Another dear friend, Roxanna, a prominent local businesswoman and all-around awesome lady, pitched Water Signs to a friends of hers who own a publishing company. Again, I will remain mum until there's something to tell, but no matter what happens, I was thrilled to pass along a copy of my first book to this well-known company.
And yet another Facebook-turned-real-life friend emailed today with an offer of marketing assistance that I could not refuse. She's a sharp, wonderful person whose expertise is definitely needed!
Finally, to my loyal friend Don, whose brotherly friendship is a tremendous gift, thank you again for interviewing me yesterday! You can check out the profile piece here.
The events of just the past few weeks have reinforced the importance of remaining persistent and keeping the faith with a positive attitude and outlook. As Calvin Coolidge noted, "Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence."
Several months ago, prompted by some things I'd read on the internet and social media sites, I posted an article entitled Is Professionalism Passe in Cyberspace? While it was inspired by many different people (most of whom I don't know), a few of the twitterers and bloggers are indeed characters from real life -- whom I'd immortalized in my book.
I don't know when it became acceptable to reduce every little family dispute or personal problem into a 140-character status, or deliberately misspell (as opposed to abbreviate) words, but it seems that even the most professional and successful among us lose all sight of propriety when communicating in cyberspace. As I wrote:
...The topic is something that has been bothering me for quite some time, after having viewed some pretty idiotic twitter updates and blog posts from allegedly professional, busy and successful members of the business community. It doesn’t seem to matter how educated, knowledgeable or hard-working some people are; in their minds technology, unlike real life, simply does not demand a certain set of standards.
For example, why is it that we’d never purposely spell a word incorrectly in a business correspondence, personal letter or even an email, yet some of us think it’s cute (or worse, cool, as if middle-aged men should still be concerned with such things) to do so in a 140-word character status? I am not quibbling with the necessary use of abbreviations when limited to such a low word-count — I am talking about deliberately misspelling common words.
I get that for many, typing up a cutesy status update just for fun helps to blow off steam and adds a little levity to life -- something we all desperately need in the age of Obama. And as I mentioned in the post, perhaps the English Major in me is being a bit too judgmental of those who are simply using social media as a way to connect with friends and family. Still, reading posts like "Getting ready to strangle mom-in-law" is a little off-putting.
Yes, I understand it probably wasn't meant literally and that mother-in-law was most likely spared an untimely death; however, is it really a wise idea to broadcast your in-law issues into cyberspace, a forum where nothing ever really goes away? And if your wife has already demonstrated she has no qualms about logging into your personal account on a social media site and pretending to be you, chances are she's also checking out your twitter updates. Unless she either shares the same opinion of her mother, and/or has no problem with her husband disrespecting one of her parents, this seems like a great way to initiate an argument.
But we're also talking about a woman who brushes off the plight of the unemployed in a terrible economy:
And in an especially egregious status update given the state of the economy, a small business owner with pressing deadlines laments about being summoned for jury duty when so many others are unemployed, implying that those “lucky” souls should be the ones inconvenienced by civic responsibility, not important people like her. Pardon me, but if you’re a busy entrepreneur during a difficult recession in which nearly 10% of Americans are out of work, I’d say a little gratitude — not to mention tact — is in order. Yes, jury duty can be a detriment to the bottom line, but creating a status update bemoaning a minor obstacle and simultaneously taking a potshot at others in retaliation is just plain rude and insensitive.
And after what I'd learned from my photographer friend's friend, I wouldn't be surprised if the mother-in-law status update was perfectly acceptable to her.
Growing up, my mom (like so many others) often told me to choose my friends wisely because we are judged by the company we keep; moreover, she did her best to carefully steer me away from any kids she thought might be a bad influence, since it's so easy to succumb to peer pressure when you're young and impressionable. However, this logic still applies in adulthood.
For example, I finally had to break away from a friend whose constant negativity and habitual doom-and-gloom attitude eventually became too much to bear. I gave it nine very long years until the sheer fatigue and depressing aftereffects of being in her company made it impossible to continue the friendship. I wish her well, yet at the same time, have zero desire to rekindle the relationship.
Is it possible this standard applies to marriages, too? Can one spouse's personality rub off on the other's until that person no longer seems recognizable?
Because the guy who wrote about strangling his mother-in-law -- among other inane things -- is not the one I recall; he's certainly not the one I modeled a character after. And he's definitely not the one I shared some honest, emotional phone conversations with just prior to releasing my book. But he's for sure the Ken I choose to remember.
In attempting to evoke a palpable experience of the culture and atmosphere of the Philly, Southeastern Pennsylvania, and South Jersey areas, I purposely peppered Part One of Water Signs with references to popular brands enjoyed by residents of the Delaware Valley. Complemented by the addition of ethnic favorites like Italian wedding cookies, provolone cheese and tomato pie, this was highly effective in drawing readers into Ken and Maddy's world.
In Chapter 9, Maddy tends to a recuperating Ken, who has injured his leg in a work accident (something that did happen in real life, although many of the events of this chapter have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes). It's here where I first introduce readers to some Philly-area favorites:
“Thank you, sweetheart!”
Ken had awakened to find Madeline busily setting up a tray table with a turkey and cheese hoagie from Wawa, a pickle and a bag of Herr’s potato chips. He looked adorably groggy as he rubbed his eyes and sat up on the couch.
“Damn!” He laughed. “How long have I been out? And what smells so good?”
Placing the tray in front of him, Maddy smiled. “Hmm, well I’d say at least an hour and a half, to answer your first question. As for the second, I am attempting to make my Mom’s mussels marinara sauce for you. There’s plenty, so you can have some tonight for dinner and freeze the rest. I’m also leaving you chicken cutlets and a pan of eggplant parm. Wouldn’t want you to starve or anything, just ‘cause you have a bad leg.” Her tone was playful as she unscrewed the lid to a cold bottle of Turkey Hill iced tea.
If there's one thing I really wish we had in South Florida, it is Wawa convenience stores. A cut above similar retail chains like 7-11, Wawa offers fresh homemade soups, salads and sandwiches, as well as various pots of steaming hot flavored and regular coffees, soft pretzels, Tastykakes and other on-the-run refreshment. Oh and yes, in Philly we call them hoagies, not subs.
Lancaster-based Turkey Hill products are also sorely missed. Whenever I go north for a visit, my parents' refrigerator is always stocked with fresh-brewed Turkey Hill iced tea and lemonade, and the freezer with their fabulous ice-cream featuring team flavors for the Philadelphia Eagles and Phillies. As for Herr's potato chips, they've been on the Philly scene for as long as I can remember, just like soft pretzels and another area favorite, water ice (known to the rest of the county as Italian ices), as mentioned in the beginning of Chapter 7:
"Here you go sweetheart,” Ken said with a smile, handing Maddy a small cup of one of her favorite treats—lemon water ice.
“Ooh, it’s even got little pieces of lemon in it, awesome!” she enthused, taking a spoonful into her mouth. They were sitting on a green-painted wooden bench, facing the ocean.
“You know, I really could have splurged on a large, Madeline Rose,” he remarked, giving her a playful nudge. Then, just as she was about to speak, added, “Oh, I know, I know. We have to watch our calories!” He was teasing of course, but Maddy took slight offense.
“Hey, just ‘cause you don’t understand what it was like to be the ‘chubby girl’ in school, don’t make fun of me! I wish I didn’t have to be so careful, but I was never one of those naturally thin girls like Carmen who can eat whatever she wants and not even have to exercise. It’s just the way it is.”
As she spoke, her eyes followed the graceful trail of a seagull as it rode the evening air currents. Ken lodged his plastic spoon back into his slushy cherry flavored concoction, and then turned her shoulders so she was looking squarely at him.
That scene is reminiscent of countless hours spent sitting on a bench on the boardwalk -- either alone or in the company of family and friends -- enjoying a cold water ice while gazing at the ocean. I can picture the seagulls, the waves and the colorful umbrellas dotting the sand even as I type this. It was so easy to place Ken and Maddy into various situations like this, regardless of whether or not the real Ken and I had actually done the same thing back in the day.
In a future post, I will delve into a character study of Madeline, complete with all of her insecurities including excessive worry about her weight, as evidenced in the dialogue above. I'll also take a look at some of the real places that provide the settings for much of the interaction between the characters such as Frisanco's Restaurant (now out of business), Taj Mahal Casino, The Ship Inn,Acapulco Grill (which no longer exists), Arturo's Restaurant and The Boca Resort and Club.
We'll also explore the use of popular music to help keep readers abreast of the current year throughout a long, 16-year journey; the development of technology to denote the progression of time; and more comparisons between fact and fiction.
In Water Signs as in life, regional foods were an integral enhancement to every celebration and sporting event. My mom was the party planner extraordinaire, the hostess with the mostess -- the family organizer and Philly sports fanatic who would create well-thought-out or impromptu gatherings centering around every milestone. Whether it was a First Holy Communion, the Flyers in the Stanley Cup playoffs, the Phillies in the World Series or the Eagles confronting an NFC Division rival, Mom made sure there was plenty of great food to complement the occasion.
Good thing too, because as anyone who's been a lifelong Philly sports fan can attest, more often than not, the food is the only thing left to celebrate after the clock runs out. A certain January in 1981 comes to mind when -- off of the high of beating the Dallas Cowboys in the NFC Championship Game (an event I was lucky enough to attend in person with brother Paul and sister Carolyn...brrr!), the Eagles completely collapsed under pressure, losing to the Oakland Raiders in Super Bowl XV, 27-10. The 1981 NFC Championship that preceded the Super Bowl letdown is recounted in vivid detail by Maddy during a scene in which she and Ken have dinner with her mother and Aunt Maria in Ocean City, New Jersey.
In Chapter 6, Ken and Maddy share a picnic on the beach featuring Italian wedding cookies, provolone cheese fromSouth Philly and tomato pie -- all of which are popular delicacies in the Southeastern PA/Philly/South Jersey area. Every Christmas, my mom used to drive down to the 9th Street Market in South Philly specifically to buy provolone, along with other things not typically done as well in the suburbs. Sometimes this entailed standing in line for hours, but in the end, it was so worth it when said provolone was accompanied by roasted peppers and fresh Italian bread (yum!) as a prelude to a fabulous meal. Now, that's what I call Italian soul food!
Last September, I was invited to speak at the Hawthorne Writers Group by my good friend, Don Smith. After some collaboration about the event, we decided it would be fun to include a few of the foods mentioned in Water Signs as refreshments. At the time, I was visiting my parents in Newtown Square, PA so baking the Italian wedding cookies was an easy proposition. However, I felt it would be best to actually purchase tomato pie somewhere in and around Hawthorne (which is located just 22 miles from Manhattan in North Jersey), rather than schlep it in the car for the 2 1/2 hour ride. It never occurred to me that this delicious variation of pizza had not yet been discovered in Central and/or Northern New Jersey.
But when I went online to find some bakeries and pizza places in the Hawthorne area and began to make calls, you might have thought I was inquiring about some obscure, exotic foodstuff known only to a select group of elite chefs. Most of my conversations went something like this:
"Hello, do you have tomato pie?"
"Uh, what? Tomato pie? Never heard of it. What's that?"
"Well, it's kind of like pizza, except it has a special kind of dough with tomato sauce and grated cheese sprinkled on top."
"Uh, no we don't have that, but we do have the best New Yawk style pizza around!"
"No, I am looking for tomato pie, not New York style pizza."
"Sorry lady, can't help you!"
In the end, I ordered two tomato pies from Genuardi's Supermarket, which I managed to keep fresh and uneaten during the trek north. And both the wedding cookies and the tomato pies were a big hit with the crowd -- almost as big a hit as Wilbert Montgomery's touchdown run against the Dallas Cowboys in the 1981 NFC Championship Game. :)
I thought it would be fun to take a break from some of the heavier themes and plot points to focus in on another aspect of Water Signs -- the various foods specifically mentioned, especially in Part One, to help evoke the culture and atmosphere of the Philly/suburban Philly/South Jersey area.
As part of bringing regional culture and tradition to both a new and familiar audience, much of the activity in Water Signs revolves around popular foods and delicacies. Maddy and Ken’s beach picnic, for example, features provolone cheese from South Philly, homemade Italian wedding cookies and “tomato pie” (a special pizza-like creation first introduced to the area by a South Philly bakery in the 1900s).
This beach picnic takes place in Chapter 6 in Ventnor, New Jersey where Ken, having determined previously Madeline's weakness for the popular regional treat, presents her with a homemade tray of Italian wedding cookies, prepared by his roommate from South Philly (who, by the way is a fictional creation):
“Hey,” he warned seriously, “No starvation tactics tonight. You and I are both going to enjoy this good food—no apologies. Oh, and you have to have some wedding cookies. Kathy made those especially for you.”
“She did? How’d she know they’re my favorite?”
“Cause I told her,” he shrugged. “After that, I asked for her advice about how to go about winning the heart of the most beautiful Italian girl I’ve ever met—a girl I almost blew it with that night at Key Largo when I was incredibly stupid and bought a rose for her friend instead of her.” Maddy laughed at the memory.
“And she suggested wedding cookies?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. She gazed at him with her mesmerizing brown eyes, and he felt as if he would shatter into a million pieces.
“She said it was a good place to start, considering they were on your Top-10 list,” he smiled. “And she makes the best, believe me.”
“Hmmm, well I think my Aunt Maria might take issue with that,” Maddy stated. “Still, those do look pretty good,” she admitted, eying the full plate of the familiar twisted knots covered with white icing and multi-colored sprinkles.
Although in real life it was my Great Aunt Emma who was most famous for her baking and cooking, since Aunt Maria plays such a prominent role in this part of the story, I attributed this quality to her (and yes, she was a great cook, too).
The next morning, as they sit around the breakfast table, Maddy, Aunt Maria and Mom enjoy the homemade cookies with their coffee -- another element of real life brought into the story. In my family, Italian wedding cookies typically showed up during special occasions like graduations and bridal showers, and on holidays like Christmas. And while they are delicious any time of the day, I remember enjoying them most in the morning, with a hot cup of happiness (as my friend Ava calls it).
Funny, we never actually referred to them as wedding cookies growing up; in fact, I used to call them "coffee dunkers" or when I was very young, "the cookies with the sprinkles on them". I don't think I discovered the proper name "wedding cookie" until many years later.
Finally, although I describe them in the book as "twisted knots" (normally how they are fashioned), I prefer to just roll mine into round balls, not being known for my endless reservoirs of patience when it comes to baking. Come to think of it, Aunt Em used to make hers that way, too. Unlike her, I prefer to use either lemon extract or vanilla extract as opposed to anise -- a flavor I don't much like.
But whatever you name them, however you shape them and whatever extract you choose to add to the mix, call them delicious! Enjoy. :)
RECIPE FOR ITALIAN WEDDING COOKIES
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup white sugar
3 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla OR lemon extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease cookie sheets.
In large bowl, cream together butter & sugar until smooth. Mix in the egg & vanilla. Combine the flour & baking powder; stir into the creamed mixture until blended. Divide dough into walnut-sized portions. Roll each piece into a ball and place inches apart on prepared cookie sheets. Bake for 8-10 minutes in the preheated oven, until firm & golden at the edges.
Icing: Mix together confectioners sugar with half & half in a bowl, making sure the mixture isn't too thin. After the cookies cool, drizzle icing on top and sprinkle with jimmies (that's what we called them in Philly...lol!).
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day." -- 2 Corinthians 4:16
I'd posted a cryptic Twitter update the other day alluding to the fact that I'd received confirmation on the accuracy of my intuition, pertaining to a character in my book. I'd recently written that Erin was mostly a product of my imagination, an embodiment of the theme of the culture of self-absorption, with her obsession with all things material and superficial. Turns out, as I've discovered from a reliable source, I was right on target in my portrayal of her without even realizing it. Of course, the whole LinkedIn incident should have provided a very big clue as to this person's true nature, along with the revealing status updates that inspired a professionalism post.
Sadly it appears that spouses, just like friends, do indeed have the power to change previously upstanding, deep-thinking people for the worse, which seems to be the case here. Either that, or for some strange reason, she wants her husband to come across online as an infantile, immature version of his former self -- the guy I once knew who inspired a larger-than-life character in both Water Signs and my forthcoming sequel. Let me just say, I am thrilled that the novel came into existence prior to my knowledge of these realities, because Ken has definitely come into his own as a fictional creation -- one that extends far beyond his initial, real-life foundation.
I don't know if the guy I remember from the past and spoke with over the phone as recently as two years ago even existed in the first place, but I choose to believe in his sincerity. Coming from his background, his honorable ambition and drive to succeed -- originally fueled by an admirable work ethic and desire to blaze a new and different trail from the one put forth by his father -- makes it very easy to understand how he'd fall prey so easily to an attractive woman with an agenda. I've seen this scenario play itself out over and over again, especially in South Florida -- particularly in Boca Raton -- where too many people get caught up exclusively in the material trappings of life.
And when either the guy or girl in the scenario isn't strong enough to listen to his/her inner guidance when it's flashing warning signals about an impending marital union, either that person will eventually succumb to the other person's negative influence until they become unrecognizable, choose to remain in the marriage even if miserable or as character Ken does in Water Signs, know when to leave after making every effort to salvage the union.
In Chapter 24 -- a recreation of actual life -- Maddy receives another surprise visit from Ken on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, a few days after dreaming vividly that he'd broken off his engagement to Erin:
By the time early afternoon rolled around, she’d finished her chores and had changed into her bathing suit and cover-up. She was busily placing a towel, a magazine and a few bottles of water into her canvas tote bag when a knock at the door took her by surprise. Her heart lurched when she opened it to find Kenny standing before her, smiling in his typical fashion, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt. It bothered her that in spite of all the pain he’d inflicted, her body still tingled at the mere sight of him. Suddenly, she remembered the dream she’d recently had about him breaking off his engagement.
“Ken! I must say, this is an unexpected surprise!” She endeavored to remain cordial and calm, while keeping her hopes in check.
“Hey, how are you doing, Maddy? Can I come in?”
“Uh, I guess there’s no harm in that,” she replied lightly, offering him a seat and a cold bottle of water.Was it her imagination or did he possess the unmistakable aura of a defeated man?
There was no sparkle, no luster in his aquamarine eyes, which appeared to be lost in thought as he stared off into the distance. And as he held the bottle of Zephyrhills in his hands, he leaned forward on the couch as if grappling with an unspoken, internal conflict.
“Is everything ok?” she inquired, settling in at a safe distance beside him. “You seem a bit preoccupied.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just that—well I guess I’ve turned into my father after all,” he sighed. Madeline wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement, though it hardly coalesced with the profile of a happily engaged man eager to exchange vows with his beloved. What exactly was he trying to convey?
“Oh,” she responded softly, recalling the difficulties he and his dad had endured in the course of their relationship. Though they’d seemed to patch things up that New Year’s Day at her house in Pennsylvania, Maddy had no idea where things stood with them at this point.
“Well is that such a bad thing?” she asked.
Kenny turned to face her, staring deeply into her amber eyes, nearly causing her to tumble to the floor.
“I hope the excitement comes back after Erin and I are married,” he confessed.
Why was he telling her this? Was he just trying to spare her feelings by pretending not to be enthralled by the idea of marrying another woman? Or was he attempting to get her to open up about her feelings for him—feelings she still harbored in the infinite depths of her heart and soul, no matter how hard she fought to expel them?
“Kenny, I don’t know what to say,” she finally blurted out.
“Madeline, do you ever miss our conversations, you know, the way we used to talk? God, you were so easy to talk to!” He ran a hand through his blond hair as he spoke.
“Well, I will admit Kenny that no man before or after you has ever treated me the way you did. No one has come close to that level of affection, respect and kindness.” Her tone was wistful as her thoughts turned to Jake, Jim, Gary and now, Mark.
“It was all you, Maddy,” he insisted. “It was all because you were such a joy to be around. You always listened without judgment; I could talk to you for hours about anything!”
This scene ends with a hug and a few tears, though Madeline -- just like me in real life -- cannot bring herself to admit her true feelings. She's too consumed with an ardent belief in right and wrong, considering an engaged commitment on just as equal a footing as a marital one; in her mind, Ken needs to be strong enough to walk away, even if by doing so there's no guarantee that she, Madeline, will be waiting in the wings.
Her new friends from the dance studio however, beg to differ:
“If you want my opinion, the guy stopped by to see you to try to figure out if getting married is the right thing to do,” Scott offered plainly as he dried himself off on a chaise lounge. Ken had just left after spending nearly four hours poolside with Maddy and her friends from Fred Astaire.
“Or maybe he just wanted one last fling before he ties the knot!” Lloyd teased, playfully punching her in the shoulder. He was blissfully unaware of the ludicrousness of his statement, considering Ken and Madeline’s passionate, but chaste history. However, Maddy wasn’t about to ‘fess up to keeping her virginity intact to this new group of friends, nice as they were. Something gave her the distinct impression such news would raise a few eyebrows as well as concerns for her mental health.
“Nah Lloyd, Kenny’s not like that; he’s a very honorable guy and he knows I have high standards. I don’t go after other women’s boyfriends, fiancées or husbands—it’s just not my style. Besides, if he does break his engagement, I want it to be entirely his decision with no influence from me. If he’s having second thoughts about marrying Erin, he shouldn’t go through with it period, regardless of how I feel or what I do.”
“Yeah, you have a point,” Rebecca concurred. “But I gotta say, Maddy, he gave you the perfect opening to tell him how you really feel. I don’t know—if it was me and I still loved the guy, I’d tell him.”
“Rebecca, I can’t hurt a woman I’ve never even met—a woman who’s done nothing to me just because Kenny and I couldn’t get our timing straight! It wouldn’t be right; I wouldn’t want someone hurting me like that! And even if I did admit my real feelings, there’s no guarantee he’d end things with her anyway. I got the very strong impression that he’s resigned himself to his decision, even if it’s wrong. I don’t think he could live with the guilt of hurting her and her family by backing out now.”
“Well maybe you have a point,” Rebecca conceded. “Still, I’m amazed by you, Maddy. Do you know how many women would move in for the kill in this situation? Hell, I’ve had girlfriends who had no qualms about stealing my boyfriends right out from under my nose!”
“It was strange though, when he called her on his cell from my apartment,” Maddy admitted. He didn’t tell her where he was, for obvious reasons. But it was more than that—it was almost as if he felt stifled by the whole conversation, like she has him on a short leash or something. Anyway, he’s not the upbeat, gregarious, fun-loving guy I remember. And for someone about to get married, he’s sure not excited about it.”
“All I can say is for the guy to spend an entire Saturday afternoon on a Holiday weekend with an old girlfriend, and not his fiancée, something is terribly wrong,” Lloyd commented.
And while I listened to everyone's input, I still couldn't justify hurting a woman I didn't know, simply because "Ken" and I kept messing things up between us, a thought process Madeline articulates in the above paragraph, much to the consternation of the entire group. I will also admit that I wasn't thinking clearly at the time, so enveloped was I in the heartbreak of the whole situation. Maybe there was a little bit of pride at work, too, in the sense of You hurt me? Well,I'll show you I don't need you. You made your choice, now live with it, kind of way.
And it now appears that he's not only living with his choice, he's allowed it transform him from a once thoughtful, mature and deep-thinking individual who was actually concerned with important things far beyond the scope of just his own little world, into a vain, shallow, infantile man who can't stop bragging about his new status in life -- from where he gets his hair cut to his family's latest 5-star vacation.
But in choosing a different ending for Water Signs to keep my main characters around for a compelling sequel, Ken takes an entirely different approach in Chapter 28:
Unfortunately, their live-in arrangement soon revealed significant differences—impediments that Ken hoped would either dissolve entirely, or at least mitigate once they were united in the bonds of marriage. In hindsight of course, he’d realized the folly of his thinking. That while he truly did love Erin, it had been utterly foolish to believe they could actually go the distance with her relentless insecurities, self-centeredness and proclivity towards distrust inflicting slow, steady and ultimately—unfixable, damage to their union.
Every female, whether Ken’s boss, co-worker or fellow college student, provoked Erin’s pervasive jealousy. On more than one occasion he recalled knock-down, drag-out arguments with her over innocuous incidents, from a study session in broad daylight over coffee at Starbucks, to mandatory after-hours socializing with the sales and operations teams at a company-sponsored event.
And a few paragraphs later:
Strange also that this particular year had brought her so much clarity; he’d just signed his divorce papers the previous fall. Did Maddy somehow know that? If she had been aware of his marital status, she offered no indication in her correspondence. His last recent search of public records had revealed no information whatsoever, which was understandable, given that his attorney had advised him it could take up to a year for such records to be updated on Internet databases. With no mutual friends or acquaintances to spread the word, Maddy was most likely in the dark. And that made her gesture even more impressive.
Ken rolled over onto his side, kicking the cotton sheets down to the end of the bed. Ever since having children, he no longer enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in the raw, and had taken to wearing boxer shorts. Tonight, he’d just happened to have chosen a green pair featuring the Philadelphia Eagles logo, though it had been ages since he’d actually slept in them. Somehow it only seemed appropriate. Funny, Erin despised football, one of the many activities Ken and Maddy had delighted in together.
It was also thrilling that she regarded him as a catalyst for positive change in her life, despite all of the heartbreak he’d caused her. And the thought that he’d somehow inspired her was the icing on the cake. All this time he feared she might actually feel nothing but contempt for him, though he completely understood her rationale for keeping her distance. He supposed it was selfish of him to want to keep her as a friend while he gave his love and devotion to another woman, but he’d truly missed her presence in his life.
In the book of course, this leads to a reunion which eventually leads to a marriage proposal and wedding a full 16 years after their initial meeting at the Somers Point Dance Club (which by the way, was a real place called "Key West", though I changed it to "Key Largo" in the novel).
While it is sad to witness through cyberspace such a profound change for the worse in the man I remember, I am thankful for the unexpected rush of memories that led me to create a character who is much beloved by my readers. And unlike his real-life counterpart, Ken will continue to evolve as a man, father, husband, Christian and American, never allowing the material aspects of life -- wonderful as they may be -- to become his "god" or to alter who he is at the very core of his being.
Looking forward to finishing Sea To Shining Sea very soon!
