Author Archives: MALA


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A hellish paradise

 books

I’ve had a love affair with books my entire life.

As a girl I dreamt of the enormous library I’d create in my grown-up house, complete with wall-to-wall bookcases, overstuffed leather chairs and window seats.

My home is perfect for me. When I imagine an ideal home, it is my apartment.

When you step into my apartment, the first thing you notice is the books. They’re everywhere… overflowing off book shelves, piled high on the floor, in stacks covering the dining room table, organized in columns rising from the oversized glass coffeetable, laying neatly on the bedside table.

I own hardcover books, and leatherbound books, and paperbacks; non-fiction and fiction written in English and Portuguese and French. And they’re all priceless to me.

And I promise myself I won’t buy more. Not until I finish reading all of them. But I can’t resist. Because a favorite author will release a new novel, or the reference books will be on clearance, or I’ll be in one of four area bookstores where I have a discount card.

I’m like Carrie – but instead of $40,000 worth of shoes, I’m investing $40,000 in BOOKS.

And then I look around and realize I’m toeing a fine line between someone who really really really loves books, and one of those crazies featured on Dateline.

I think it’s time to move into a larger apartment.


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A personal essay

write

Suzanne Chazin taught a seminar about writing personal essays at the Smithsonian Institution. It was early… too early for a weekend… but I just made it on time.

To me, she is like an old friend… an acquaintance you catch up with over coffee every few years. Since our last meeting, her baby daughter grew into a toddler of two, keeping her from publishing fiction until now.

As I stepped through a back door and searched for an empty seat, Chazin started off with the comment…

“It can be dangerous to read too much bad stuff.”

… which immediately brought to mind Lev Grossman’s Codex (to date the only book I put away after finishing a mere 90 pages).

I settled into a seat in the back and looked around the windowless room at the other 150+ people taking notes or leaning forward, waiting anxiously for that secret formula that would turn them into published writers.

Most of the attendees were white, under age 50, and female – almost five women to every man. They wrote on legal pads and spiral notebooks and slim PDA’s, using fountain pens or pencils or hi-tech wireless keyboards. The men mostly sat in the front rows, wearing pastel plaid or bold blue stripes, while the ladies favored shades of pink.

Then there was me, a smudge across all this gentle color, dressed head to toe in black.

The usual suspects were present. The graying woman in front who thought she could sell a 10,000 word essay to a publication for $10,000 (“but they pay $1 per word”); the fluffy blond who insisted on protecting all her work through the copyright office (“I heard this one editor in Boston stole this one idea…”); the college coed majoring in English who asked uberliterate questions and refered back to lingering incongruous symbolism (or was it incongruous lingering symbolism?); the retiree looking for a how-to manual on writing a memoir (“there’s got to be a right way to start”).

In a nutshell, here’s what I took away from the day-long event:

    1. Write.
    2. Write everyday.
    3. Write some more.
    4. An essay is like an onion… it’s a layer… a slice of life… like a short story, but not fiction.
    5. Don’t preach.
    6. Be vulnerable.
    7. If you can write funny, you should immediately move to Hollywood where you can pretty much write your own ticket.
    8. Adverbs and adjectives are not your friends.
    9. When you read published work, you’re reading Draft #17.
    10. The best writer is a rewriter.


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A cab ride

 taxi

A light breeze complimented the warm sunlight. There was not a drop of humidity in the air. I could’ve walked home from the Mall, but felt lazy. I stepped to the curb, raised my arm, and hailed a taxi.

I settled into the leather backseat, placing the bulging Barnes and Noble plastic bag and ever-present oversized black carryall on the floor. As I rummaged around for my wallet, I gave the driver my address and off we went.

NPR wafted from the radio. The interior was frosty, the air-conditioning blowing on high. We drove passed the Washington Monument and I noticed the even green carpet growing where dirt and bulldozers had resided less than two weeks before.

“They finally cleared out the mess,” I said.

Deep brown eyes peered at me from the rearview mirror. I pointed to the grounds surrounding the monument, crawling with kids kicking a soccer ball and groups of tourists, and repeated my comment.

“What were they working on?” he asked.

“I think they were building an underground visitors center. Though I don’t see the difference the tunnel will make if someone with a bomb is intent on blowing up the monument.”

The driver nodded.

“There is much construction near the memorials. They waste too much money and the schools have no books for the children,” he said.

It was my turn to nod.

I was in no hurry to rush home. We took the scenic route to my building and continued to exchange thoughts on the G8 conference, pledges of aid to Africa and the state of life in the District. It was one of the most interesting conversations I’ve shared in a while.

Just goes to show… you never know what might happen on your way home.


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Half time

 Lisbon

If I had my way, I’d live 6 months in Lisbon and 6 months in Washington, DC. I would divide my life, my possessions, and carry out my daily routines on two continents.

Someday…..

In high school, I knew this girl who had never traveled further north than Boston or south past Providence, RI. The only state line she crossed was Massachusetts into Rhode Island and she had no desire to go further.

No intention of skiing in Vermont or New Hampshire… no appetite to try BBQ from the south… no thirst to tour the great vineyards of California… no longing to watch the sunset from each of the four corners of the globe.

She loved the town we grew up in and couldn’t imagine finding anything worth trying outside of a 45 minute drive.

And I was appalled… I found it inconceivable that anyone could really be happy within such a confined space… with such a limited experience.

Just LOOK at all that poor girl would be missing!

Today it was announced that Gregory Olsen is going to visit the International Space Station in October. The 60-year-old scientist will be testing crystals, for the infrared cameras he manufacturers in New Jersey, when the next Soyuz Space Shuttle mission is scheduled to bring supplies and a new crew to the orbiting station.

It only cost him $20 million.

Hopefully the price will decrease for outerspace trips over the next few decades and I’ll be able to write about my experience traveling to some orbiting space station in 2035. Until then I can plan my eventual dual residence in DC and Portugal.

And try, very very hard, to control my wanderlust.


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5:00 a.m.

 traffic

I pulled out of my parents’ driveway at 5:00 a.m. after four days of familial bliss. Seven hours later I was in DC.

There’s never enough time. Though one thing I’ve learned this last decade is that quality beats quantity every time.

I used to run around like a mad woman, trying to squeeze in visits to all 8 aunts and uncles, and 13 cousins, and grandparents, and mom, dad, and brothers… not to mention high school friends. I’d meet an aunt for coffee, leave 20 minutes later to have coffee with another aunt, leave 20 minutes later to meet a high school friend for lunch before picking up my grandmother to accompany me on errands. It was insane.

I’d manage to see everyone – just…. but I’d be exhausted and get shit for spending more time with one than another.

I spent two days cuddling with my beautiful niece… treated mom to dinner twice… hung out with one of my cousins for hours and hours… spent a night eating malasadas and flipping through old photo albums with one of my aunts… passed a beautiful day with my dad… went to a birthday lunch for my godmother… and saw my brothers in passing.

And saw fireworks.

But didn’t get to the beach. No time. I’ll fit in some fun in the sun next time.

How did you celebrate Independence Day?


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Mission Accomplished

tempel

The NASA Deep Impact space probe collided with the Tempel 1 comet with the energy equivalent of nearly 5 tons of TNT, hurling a fan-shaped cloud of debris at about 500 mph, or about the speed of a jetliner, scientists said.

The impact caused a bright flash of light, followed by a greater one as a larger-than-expected plume of gas and ice spilled from the comet. The Hubble Space Telescope captured the dramatic images of the impact.

“We’ve touched a comet, and we’ve touched it hard,” said Dr. Peter H. Schultz of Brown University.

Last week scientists guestimated the size of the impact crater would fall anywhere between a house and a stadium. Because of the cosmic dust, it could take another week before researchers can peek into the impact crater and take their first glimpse inside of the comet. Although they can’t measure the crater’s size, scientists think it was probably larger than a house.

So stay tuned.