Carol Cassella | Rich and Famous

A friend at the hospital heard I was a newly published novelist and asked me if I would be calling in too "Rich and Famous" to work soon. After all, I am on a book tour! I have just published a novel!

Published a novel?? Me?? Who would have dreamed it when I was slogging away in our grungy basement, or local coffee shops with the same fantastical self-image as any middle-aged mother who suddenly decides to reinvent themselves? Was this novelist thing any less outrageous than suddenly taking up yodeling or body piercing? I told my her that I would be happy merely to call in “Out of Debt and Keeping my Same Old Friends.”

Unanticipated as it is, it has been a bit miraculous to be on a book tour, finally holding in my own disbelieving hands the weighty, hard back product of a decade’s worth of silent musing. If I may confess it to this anonymous audience, the only event to surpass this so far is the birth of my twins. Even my wedding paled. (Sorry, sweetie!)

In my fleeting fifteen minutes of fame, I can admit that it has been glorious, and the cause of many deep and soulful blushes, but also comfortingly real. I still look in the mirror after a signing and realize I have lipstick smudged on my front tooth, and I still come home to the same piles of dirty dishes and smelly socks, and my children are thoroughly bored with the whole escapade. Surprisingly, that only makes me more certain they love me for my mediocre cooking and lung-collapsing hugs.

So I am happy to wallow in this fifteen minutes of fame, all the while recognizing that--just like Andy Warhol, the originator of that sweeping anointment--I too shall die and a million more will rise up to replace me. They are nipping at the edges of the bookstore shelves right now, ready to bump me from face-out to spine-out. But I even like that somehow. More books to read in my own future! More reason to keep writing!

In the middle of my tour I ran out of copies of Oxygen and wanted to buy some as gifts. I went to my the nearest big box bookstore, grabbed three off a table and plopped them on the counter.

“Do you have a discount card?” the perky young clerk asked. I gave her my number and she stated my name to verify. She asked for my credit card and photo ID, repeating my name each time, clearly drilled by her manager not to let any identity frauds slip through on her watch. She looked at the cover of my novel and I waited, almost shyly, for her to congratulate me on being the author. “Gee,” she said at last. “I’ve seen this book around a lot lately.” I smiled and started to thank her. Then she continued, “Do you know anything about it?”

She handed me my bag and I shook my head. “I just liked the cover.” Next time, though, I just might flip to the author photo on the flap when she asks for my ID. If I’m feeling bold.

Carol Cassella

Jane Porter | A Thing Called Grace

I’m a hard worker, a good mom, a loyal friend, and sometimes a pretty decent writer, but that doesn’t mean everything goes smoothly. In fact, sometimes it means nothing goes smoothly and life becomes what life generally is: one endless roller coaster of highs, low, and loop de loos.

I’ve been most this year on the roller coaster and the past six months have pretty much been loops and swoops and hair curling drops that put your stomach up in your mouth and leaves it there.

Like everyone else, I’ve had sick family members and lost family members and had financial worries and child worries and work worries but what the heck, we can’t cry (too much), we just have to keep going. And that’s what I’ve been doing. Putting one foot in front of the other as I finish one book and begin to hit the road and promote another. My kids hate me being gone. I’m a single mom and the boys’ dad has been in the hospital since April. They don’t want to be left with sitters. I don’t blame them for not wanting to be left with sitters but sometimes we do what we don’t want to have to do.

However, last week, one day into my eight day California book tour I lost my childcare, a girl I’d interviewed in July and started training in August. She was supposed to be my childcare solution, not my childcare nightmare. Unfortunately it didn’t work out that way. And so one day into my book tour—and with nearly 6 weeks of travel ahead of me—I began to pitch hit: calling anyone and everyone to help me get through the California leg of the book tour at least. My former sitters and girl friends responded. Sure, my kids were shuffled and bounced around like numbered balls in Bingo, but they were safe and with someone who cared.

I’m stuck at the airport right now in Dallas unable to get home. I’m hoping to go standby on a flight later today. My kids need to see me. I need to see them. But I’m really, incredibly calm. I’m really, incredibly happy. I feel…lucky.

I feel blessed.

I don’t know why I feel so calm when so many things aren’t lining up straight. But maybe that’s the lesson I’m learning right now. Maybe I’m supposed to learn that life isn’t about control, and making all the little ducks line up in a tidy row, but rather, keeping the little ducks floating and swimming and alive.

Maybe it’s enough that I’m grateful to be who I am, and the mother of my boys, and blessed with such good friends, family, readers and fans. Maybe it’s enough to just paddle, paddle and paddle and enjoy the swim.

So that’s where I am. Sitting at DFW, waiting for a plane to arrive, and understanding grace. I don’t have to do it all. I don’t have to be all that. I just have to live and swim and love the other ducks.

http://www.janeporter.com