God never closes a door

Sorry for the silence around here; it was a weird week and a half. I got sick, again, which makes four illnesses in four months – you’d think I had Munchausen’s, or something, what with all the sick-getting I’ve been doing lately, but I think it’s just the weather, the stress, the running around. The writing. It’s like, why don’t I investigate yet another horribly painful time in my life, and put it out there for everyone to stare at?  No wonder I keep getting sick; I keep exposing my guts.

But I had two really good shows in a row – the gay marriage benefit at Bluestockings was awesome, and I got to meet the guys who wrote the children’s book about the two male penguins at the Central Park Zoo who adopted and hatched an egg together, a book that is now the most banned children’s book in the U.S. – congrats, guys! The Mixer series at Cakeshop was also terrific, with Rob Sheffield reading from his heartbreaking memoir Love is a Mix Tape; I also got a chance to read an advance copy of host Melissa Febos’ upcoming memoir, Whip Smart, which is just dazzling. For my part, I read a longer excerpt from “Terror Sex,” just written that morning, and the audience seemed to appreciate it – they kept laughing, which threw me a little, as I didn’t think the piece was especially funny, but I understand that audiences often show their support by laughing, and I guess, when you think about it, going to break into your ex’s apartment is pretty ridiculous. (As I said in the comments section below, I didn’t actually break into his place; I got off the train at 28th Street and bought a needlepoint instead. Not that “Mark” reads this blog, but if he did, I’d want him to breathe easy.)

And then it was all sickness and unhappiness for a few days; trying to get work done and appointments met, though I was aching and sniveling and miserable. We had some guests over on Saturday, which was an exhausting success; then, Sunday night around 5am, there was a stunning crash, and I was awakened from a not-so-deep sleep to find that one of the windows, improperly closed after the gathering, had been blown open and inward, and had shattered on the floor. Broken glass everywhere, freezing wind and snow blowing into the apartment, cats way more curious than they should have been – you’d think they’d avoid the cold and the danger; I know I would have, had I had a choice. Bill was roused, and we did our best to get rid of the glass without hurting ourselves; I jumped on the phone and started trying to find someone who could help board up or repair the window at 5 in the morning during a blizzard. By 6:30am, a guy came over and took the window and the rest of the broken glass away; by 7:30am, our super was there with some sheetrock to block the hole in the wall while we waited for the replacement window, which was installed at 6pm last night. At times like this, I am very grateful that we live in New York City, where stuff like this is routinely taken care of by experts available around the clock. (Experts who charge hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of dollars.)

And you know, sometimes the metaphors just write themselves: A window blew inwards and smashed. I’d opened a portal to the outside world, and didn’t properly seal it, and it broke inside, leaving a hole and a mess and a blast of frost. The repair guy, a security specialist from Israel, was trying to tell me that it could have been an attempted break-in; that maybe one of our guests had left the window unlatched on purpose so they could come back later and rob us. “You shouldn’t be so, err, open,” he warned me.

And he’s probably right. Not about somebody breaking in – I highly doubt that my Aunt Rita left the window unlatched so she could come back later and steal the Nintendo Wii – but about being so open. I cringe when I read the post below this one; I cringed when I read it aloud, to laughs. But I’m not deleting it. Why bother? It’s true. Whether I write about it or not, it still happened. The feelings are there, whether they’re exposed or not.

It’s the eternal struggle of the memoirist: Why write about yourself, especially when it’s painful? Why not, you know, grow an imagination, make something up, maybe write about somebody else for a change? But once you’ve started writing about yourself, how can you stop? It’s what you do, it’s who you are, it’s how you put bread on the table (or, in my case, soy milk in the fridge).

I’m not answering this question anytime soon. Nor am I going to stop asking it.

But I am appearing live and in person a few times over the next two weeks! So if you want to break in and steal the Wii – well, you can’t, because the windows are all locked now, and will remain so FOREVER so as to avoid a repeat of last night’s mayhem. But these would be optimal Wii-stealing opportunities – or optimal opportunities to come by and say hi:

Sunday, March 8: Girls Write Now day! (Also International Women’s Day, and my friend Stephanie’s birthday.) I’ll be in the audience for another mentor-mentee reading from one of my favorite organizations, Girls Write Now, taking place this Sunday at 4pm at the New School’s Lang Student Center, 55 West 13th St., 2nd floor. 

Friday, March 13: Talkingstick storytelling series at the Rubin Museum, 17th Street and 7th Ave. in Manhattan. Starts at 8:30 in the lobby, and features guests Jen DeMeritt and The Fools.

More soon – or less, if I wise up. But, knowing me, probably more.

Comments

[Ashley]

I loved so much of this post, too much to even try to specify which parts. Just all of it.
I agree, once you start writing about yourself it's hard to stop. I can't seem to, anyway. Now, if I could figure out a way to have it put soymilk in my fridge...er, it would have to be chocolate soy milk (light, of course!).
Thanks for writing about yourself, and do keep it up.
Sorry you're been sick. It truly sucks.

[satia]

I've been sick too. Maybe it isn't Munchhausen's but some sort of weird sympathy things crossing the miles . . . or something like that.

And isn't it funny how kitties that hide at the oddest times will come out when it is the least safe? Honestly. One would think that they would know how to avoid danger when they avoid everything else. Except food. They never ever avoid food. Or catnip.

[LindaS.]

"A window blew inwards and smashed. I’d opened a portal to the outside world, and didn’t properly seal it, and it broke inside, leaving a hole and a mess and a blast of frost."

And then you replace the broken "glass" with stronger and wiser "glass". And the next time the wind blows, you'll be protected and unafraid of the outside.

You're the best, Janice.

[Diana]

Janice, you amaze me. You are so brave, strong, and talented. I think you're right about exposing too much, because if "others" are included in that exposure, they may take offense and create problems. That was certainly a message for you, especially with the window guy reiterating it verbally. You never know how someone else will react to being included in your exposures.

Keep doing what you do and know that now the “window” is newly secured, and you have become more perceptive about sharing.

[nathalie]

If wising up means hearing less of your truth, please never do :)

I think it's pretty damn wise to tell the truth out loud. You writing what you're compelled to write, even in the face of doubt and critics, helps people do the same. You help other people not feel so alone in the world.

And really, who hasn't done things that make us cringe?

[Emily]

I just wanted to say I really enjoy your writing. I read both of your books in a day and a half. I look forward to more!

[Janice]

I could not possibly know a greater group of supportive commenters. Thank you.

[Jenny]

What happened to the post you put up yesterday morning?

[Janice]

I thought better of it. What with the whole "closing my windows" policy, and all. Sorry about that, and sorry posting's been light. I still don't know how to balance talking about myself with...not talking about myself so much. I appreciate your patience as I figure it out.

[chantal]

i loved the book girl bomb, it was so amazing!!!!! and when it was over.... i was sad cus i wanted it to keep going on. and it got really intence too. but thats wat made it soo amazing!!!!!!! i hope your other books are just like it. my mom thought i waas crazy to choose it over twighlight, but i was sure of wat i wanted from the back of the book!!!!! it was amazing and it was the firstbook that never bored me to death!!!!!!!!! i am sure i will read have you found her!!!!!!!!!! it looks sooooo gooood !!!!!

keep writing,

-chantal