Laurie Sandell

Took a writing risk today

My friend Michelle Fiordaliso, author of Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Ex, called the other day and asked if I wanted to participate in something called “The Cafe Plays.” The premise is this: A group of five writers meet at a coffee shop at 9:00 AM and are given three hours to write a 10-minute play, based on a theme. (Meaning we each write our own play.) You have no idea who your actors are going to be until you arrive that day and grab two head shots from a pile of manila envelopes. You might get two men, a man and a woman, an old woman and a young man, any number of combinations. As soon as you’re finished writing, your play is handed off to your actors, and they spend the day working with a director. That night, the plays are performed in a theater, before a crowd. Don’t ask me why I said “Yes” to this. I’ve never written a play. I hardly know how to use Final Draft (spent last night going through the tutorial.) But I figured it would be a chance to write some dialogue, to push myself creatively and meet men. I keed, I did it all for the art. Of course, I was a nervous wreck going into this: Spent last night lying in bed trying to come up with dramatic situations; couldn’t think of anything from my own life since I used it all in my book; and imagined being booed out of the theater. But when I got there and saw the photos of my actors–a handsome man and a young woman–I found inspiration right away (hint: My muses were Eliot Spitzer and John Edwards.) Performance is tonight!

Bringing blogging back

Apparently, one or two people read this blog, and are annoyed that ever since I became a snowbird and  moved to LA, I’ve stopped updating it. Listen, it’s hard to blog when you’re outside all the time. In New York, when you’re hunched over your computer all day, there’s nothing to do but blog. That said, I have decided to rededicate myself to updating my loyal five’s of readers on this writer’s life. So for starters, look out for the March 29 issue of New York Magazine, on newsstands in New York this coming Monday. I’ve contributed something to that issue and I’m rather proud of it. More on that once it’s out.

In other news, I’ve been back in New York for a week, now, doing nothing but work (Glamour deadlines up the wazoo), and the best thing about it is the realization that I love New York. Every six months or so, I get so fed up with riding the subway and dealing with the muttering unwashed masses and schizophrenic weather I vow I’m going to leave the city forever. Then I move to Portland, OR, or LA, or upstate for a few months, and by the time I return, I am back in the “love” phase of my love-hate relationship with this city. I would liken New York to a bad boyfriend if I it weren’t for that damn Sex and the City, which co-opted every relationship analogy there is. So we’re back “on,” for now. And I don’t want to hear any flack from the girlfriends I’ve complained to, because New York has been very good to me at times.

“So, what’s your next book idea?”

Did you know that you can spend four years doing research for a book, two years writing it, one year drawing it, and mere months after it comes out, people will start asking, “So–what’s your next book idea?” Huh? Next book idea? As if I didn’t mine every single solitary idea I’ve ever had for that book? As if my brain hasn’t accessed every painful, funny memory; processed it, turned it into art, and now you want to know if there’s more? The main problem, of course, is that one doesn’t want to brainstorm a book idea; you want it to arise naturally. I picked up Elizabeth Gilbert’s new book, Committed, the other day, and she addressed this problem right in the intro. Of course, I don’t have quite the same problems that Elizabeth Gilbert has (ie. trying to come up with an encore for a book that sold several million copies). Anyway, I’ve been tossing around lots of ideas: Another graphic novel. Out of the question. Maybe if this one had been a huge bestseller and my publisher had begged me to do another one, I would have considered it. But I told this story in graphic form because I had to; it was the only way I could talk about my father without succumbing to fear. Another memoir, then. No. I put every experience I’ve ever had into that book. And if I didn’t include it in that book, I wrote about it for a magazine. So a novel. Well, yes. I’d love to try my hand at a novel. But I’d need a few years to pull that off. And a psychic I saw on New Year’s told me I was going to write something else first. Anyway, I did come up with a new idea the other day, and I know this is a very cryptic way to end a blog post, but I’m not going to share it here, because it’s nascent and fragile and I’m not ready to put it out into the world. But da-yum, I think I’m excited. It involves a little bit of cartooning and a lot of non-fiction writing. I’ll leave it at that.

Fits and stops and starts

That headline pretty much describes my writing style. I’ll have a few weeks where I can’t write fast enough, am glued to my chair in whatever coffee shop I happen to be working in, and feel breakthroughs happening all over the place. Then I’ll hit a wall and stop completely. It’s not w—-s b—-k, per say (I’m not even going to type that phrase, but I’ll link to it on Wikipedia so you know what I’m talking about), but it is a very annoying style of working that drops me into the camp of “slow” writers. I’d really like to take less than seven years to write my next book, but unless I find a more productive way of working, it’s not going to happen much faster. That said, my book did just come out, so I suppose I’m entitled to a break, but one of the problems with being a writer is that you are never satisfied with having a finished product. It’s always, OK, what am I going to do next? I guess it’s a necessary condition of this painful profession, or we’d never get anything done.

The most hilarious woman I know

photo by Andy Prieboy

Is the writer Merrill Markoe. I met her a few years ago when I edited a piece she wrote for Glamour, and we became friends. Merrill is the author of EIGHT books, including Nose Up, Eyes Down, Walking in Circles Before Lying Down, and It’s My F–ing Birthday. She’s also the co-creator of Late Night with David Letterman and ”Stupid Pet Tricks”; she’s won Emmys; appeared in The Aristocrats; done tons of standup comedy; and you may remember her as “Marcia the Museum Curator” on Friends. She also wrote one of the best (and funniest) essays I’ve read about narcissism. When I used to teach memoir at the Gotham Writer’s Workshop, one of the things I always told my students was, “Get a mentor.” There’s no better way to learn about the craft–and the business–than by tapping into the wisdom of someone whose work you admire. I didn’t set out to be mentored by Merrill, but it’s kind of worked out that way. Now check out her shizz.

It’s Hamptonstime

Don’t let this photo fool you–Amanda and I arrived at her mother’s summer rental home last night and since then, all we’ve been doing is working. I came outside into the backyard to let my dog go to the bathroom and to snap this photo, in all its wistful glory. It is a beautiful place, with a pool, and two living rooms to lounge in, and lovely white painted floors, but Amanda and I are both on deadline with two magazine pieces, two books to write–and one to promote–between us. Right now she’s camped out in the dining room, surrounded by paper and reference books and allergy medication, and I’m in one of the living rooms, finishing up an article. NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING. What could be better than going to the Hamptons for a writing retreat in the middle of the week? Not much, that’s what.

The Daily Grind

photo by Andy Newman

I work in coffee shops. This is one of my favorites, called Smooch. So often do I come here, in fact, that I accidentally ended up in this photo, taken by a New York Times blogger. (That’s me, in the foreground.) I even have a little ragtag community of “co-workers”: My friend Amanda, a food writer named JJ Goode, a memoirist named Abby Sher, and all those people I recognize daily but never talk to. JJ, Amanda and I have a system whereby if one of us is talking too much and the other needs to work, we rap our knuckles on the table, twice. Instant silence. Much better than working in a real office, don’tcha think?