Tag Archive for: Murder 101 series

The Case of the Thin-Skinned Writer

/in /by

A friend in the know—a book critic herself—once told me that
Philip Roth, author of GOODBYE, COLUMBUS and PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT, to name two,
never read reviews of any his books. 
This was early on in my career and in a time when I devoured anything
that was written about me or my debut mystery, MURDER 101.  The early reviews were good.  And then, something changed.  A negative one cropped up and then another,
mostly on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. 
(And by negative, I mean less than 5 stars. I was very naïve.)  The good outweighed the bad, but some people
clearly didn’t find me or my book as enchanting as I found myself.
That hurt.
It wasn’t like I went into the book-writing business with
blinders on.  I knew that there would be
some people out there who didn’t like my plot, my characters, my setting…or a
combination of the three…but still, it didn’t prepare me for what it felt like
when I read those reviews and noted, with disappointment, the sometimes
personal tone that the reviewer might take when penning their opinion.  Things like “she thinks she’s funny…but she’s
not” or the person who called me anti-something regarding something that I am
definitely not against.  One person told
me I hate nuns.  (I don’t.  I think nuns are the backbone of Catholic
education and a host of other Catholic social justice projects. Nuns kick ass,
in my opinion.)  There have been other
pointed comments that have made my heart hurt. 
So, I stopped reading reviews unless they were sent to me by my
publisher and vetted by the publicity department. I found that reading anything
that took issue in a personal way or accused me of something that I didn’t
believe to be true was just not good for me.
I don’t expect everyone to universally like—or god forbid,
loathe—a work of fiction, even mine. 
Heck, I have seen a movie recently that everyone loved—it was nominated for Best Picture this year—and I hated. 
People can’t understand how I couldn’t love this movie; I can’t
understand why anyone would like this movie. 
And that’s as far as it goes; I won’t go on any site and detail my
disgust but when it comes up in conversation, as it often does, I do give my
opinion to the wide-eyed disbelief of whomever I am speaking.  However, if this particular director brings
out another film that looks interesting, I may just go see it.  For the time being, however, I will only
think about this movie if someone brings it up. 
But other than, I watched it, hated it, and that’s the end of that. I
won’t pontificate online about why I didn’t like it, or furthermore, why you
shouldn’t like it either. 
I have a new book coming out in December, much different
from any book I’ve ever written, so the anxiety is starting to ratchet up a
bit.  I’m starting to wonder if people
will like the book and what the reviews might be like.  As a result, I decided, as I often do, to ask
my fellow blogstresses—the gang here at Stiletto—to see how they handle reviews,
the bad ones mostly.  With one
overwhelmingly consistent theme—we need wine to read or discuss reviews—there
were some great insights.  I’ll share what
I learned from everyone else below.
Marilyn wisely says that the good reviews outweigh the bad
ones for her.  (I hope to get to that
point some day in the near future and be able to compartmentalize the comments.)
Laura Spinella is just like me when it comes to reviews—and
wine.  She doesn’t like to read the
negative ones and enjoys wine.  (I’m
thrilled to learn that.  Misery loves
company.)
Joelle is happy—as is Maria—to get feedback and even a
1-star review floats her boat because at least that way she knows she’s struck
a nerve with a reader.  To quote her
directly, “the meh reviews really bug me.” Maria says a 1-star review  means that “I’ve gotten under someone’s skin.”  (Braver than I am that red-haired goddess
[Joelle] and recent RITA nominee [Maria].)
Linda decides who’s reviewing and then makes a decision as
to how seriously she’s going to take specific reviews.  She takes the comments seriously of
professional reviewers and strives to make her writing better.  (Good advice.)
The Northern half of Evelyn David wisely points out that
writing mysteries like we do is very personal and therefore, it’s hard not to
take criticism personally. She also notes that “that we’re all still learning, still struggling to find the right word,
the perfect red herring, the clever ending — and of course, characters that
linger in memory long after the book is closed.”  (Perfect way to put it.)
Bethany plans on
not reading reviews, but does anyway. 
She considers the “headspace” of negative reviewers, which again, makes
sense.  Maybe I wasn’t in the proper
headspace to watch the universally loved movie that I didn’t like; anything’s
possible.  But knowing that someone
couldn’t suspend disbelief for whatever reason, or put him or herself in a
character’s shoes due to a past experience, really makes a lot of sense.
(Thanks, Bethany.)
As I always say,
“It is what it is.”  But that doesn’t
mean I will start reading reviews again. 
I’ve discovered that for doing what I do, I’m far too thin-skinned and
much too sensitive to see critiques that don’t offer a constructive way for me
to make my next book better.  I’m even skeptical
about the positive ones.  So, for now, I
write this from my safest position—head in the sand—and hope that someone,
somewhere laughs out loud, or cries a few tears, or even holds their breath as
they read something I’ve written.
Maggie Barbieri

Dealing with Conflict

/in /by

I came to the “Girls” party late; I only downloaded Season 1
from iTunes long after the show aired on HBO. 
But I was driven to find out what all the fuss was about and to see if
the show was as good/bad, controversial/provocative, well-written/poorly-written
as opposing viewpoints and reviews seemed to say.  There was a lot on the Internet about the
show and its writer and creator, Lena Dunham, and what the show possibly said
about what it is like to be a twenty-something young woman living in a very
intense city.  (I think that’s one thing
we can all agree on:  living in New York
at any age is a challenge.  The city is
the best in the world, in my opinion, but is loud, expensive, and sometimes
difficult to navigate, both literally and figuratively.)
I watched the first season from start to finish in one
dreary afternoon.  As a television show
with interesting characters and story arc, I found it enjoyable.  As a mother with a young adult daughter, though, I
came away thinking:  I really hope her
twenties aren’t quite this difficult.  I
hope she doesn’t have about eighty percent of these experiences. I hope she
travels a less-conflict-ridden road.  The
show makes me uncomfortable and after sorting through my feelings about various
characters and plot devices, I have come to the conclusion that that’s not a
bad thing.  In fact, it’s good.
Again, my opinion only, but to me, “Girls” is good
television, despite being difficult to watch, despite the situations that the
main characters often find themselves in, despite making me so uncomfortable
that I often have to pause to think about things I have just watched.  The conflicts are disturbing and sustained,
not resolving themselves in one half-hour episode. But watching the episodes as
one long story rather than separate episodes, I got to thinking:  does the show need the extended, brutal
conflicts in order to be entertaining?
And the answer, I decided, was yes.
Conflict is the salt /pepper in the plot recipe. A dash
here, a dash there and you have a compelling story that speaks to readers in a
way that a conflict-less story would not. 
Do I want to cringe while watching a show about young women trying to
figure out how to journey through a decade of life in an exciting city?  I guess I do. 
Even my favorite show of all time—“The Brady Bunch”—created a half-hour
episode about a happy, blended family on what would be considered cringe-worthy
topics of the early ‘70’s:  not making
the cheerleading squad, having a fake boyfriend, having one’s nose broken
before the big show, bombing an audition. Happiness, if we believe our favorite
shows and books, begets boredom while conflict brings the intrigue, the desire
to watch/read more.
I’m in the midst of writing a new book and contrary to what
might seem like common sense, am watching and reading as much as I can.  (I’m on a “Veronica Mars” kick right now and
even contributed to the Kickstarter campaign to make it possible for the movie
to be produced.)  I don’t “lose my
voice,” as some writers claim they do by reading more while writing.  Rather, reading different kinds of books and
watching television shows help me hone the conflict that must exist, temper the
drama that I want to bring to my story. Good writing is good writing, whether
it be on the page or on the screen and always helps me get to where I want my
story—my writing—to be.
I’ve read various stories and reviews of this season of
“Girls” and it sounds like the situations are more disturbing and emotional
than they were in season one.  There’s
OCD and disturbing sexual situations and even a mishap with a Q-Tip.  The writers seemed to have upped the ante,
creating more drama where a lot already existed.  Will I have to suspend disbelief when I watch
this new season?  Most likely. But will I
watch?  Definitely.  And most importantly, will I be
uncomfortable?
That goes without saying.
I know the Northern half of Evelyn David has an opinion
about “Girls”—we’ve talked about it and agree on the depiction of the more
salacious aspects of the show—but anyone else? 
And do you like shows or books that make you uncomfortable, that contain
so much drama that it practically hurts, or would you prefer less conflict,
more harmony?
Maggie Barbieri

What do I do now???

/in /by

I wish I were the kind of writer who approached a new book
methodically with notes, a plot outline, and a list of characters and all of
their quirky traits noted for consistency.

I wish I were the kind of writer who kept copious notes—a la
Sue Grafton who I heard say that she has countless notebooks dedicated to one
Kinsey Milhone mystery alone!—to refer back to during and after a book’s
completion. (This would be a good way to avoid the dreaded “did I already kill
that character” after a book has gone to the printer.)
Sadly, I’m not. 
I’m the kind of writer who hears a snippet of dialogue and
who closes her eyes, going into a trance, hoping she can remember it. 
I’m the kind of writer who writes brilliantly, in her head,
at three in the morning and promises herself that she’ll remember everything
she wrote and put it to paper the next morning. 
(Usually, what I end up with is a question mark at the beginning of the
page and a random word like “orange”…something that is supposed to jog my
faulty memory.  It never does.)
I’m the kind of writer who when she does have a story in her
head, sits down to write it only to find out her characters have a completely
different idea of what’s going to happen and when.
I’m the kind of writer, who, when asked what her profession
is says “freelance college textbook editor” because I forget that when I’m not
editing college textbooks, I’m creating stories.  Lots of stories.  Some that will never see the light of day.
I’m fascinated by what makes writers tick and the processes
they employ to get their stories written. 
I’m also fascinated by people who can accomplish a lot in short periods
of time.  So, today, as I embark on a new
writing journey—the second in my Maeve Conlon ONCE UPON A LIE series—I ask you,
regardless of whether or not you are a writer: 
what do you do before starting a new project and how has this tactic
proved successful for you?
Maggie Barbieri

What Am I Missing?

/in /by

You know when you’ve lived somewhere all of your life and
realize that you haven’t done most of the things tourists do when they come to
your fair city?  Watching the
Thanksgiving Day parade, I realized just that. 
With the most fabulous city in the world—sorry, San Francisco; pardon, Paris—right in my backyard, I
realized with shock that I am a lousy New Yorker.
Or, as many a jaded New Yorker might say, just a normal one.
I had the pleasure of visiting the lovely Laura Bradford
last Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and asked her what her holiday
plans were. 



“We are going to the parade in the morning,” she said, as if
it were the most normal thing in the world.
See, I’m a native New Yorker.  We hate traffic. We loathe crowds.  We avoid both like the proverbial
plague.  We opt, instead, to watch parade
organizers blow up the balloons for the parade rather than stand in a crowd
watching aforementioned balloons drift by. 
We do not go to the parade.  (Or
at least this native doesn’t.)  I looked
at her as if she had just said, “we’re going to search for the Loch Ness
monster and then look at the eclipse without sunglasses.”
Then I realized that going to the parade sounded like a
whole heck of a lot of fun, crowds and traffic be damned.  The Bradford clan had the right idea:  do this quintessential New York thing and
enjoy yourself while doing it!  Now there
was a novel idea, foreign to many New Yorkers.
If it weren’t for my kids’ class trips, I never would have
been to Ellis Island and even though my grandparents didn’t come through its
hallowed (and kind of scary) halls, it was still fascinating to visit. If it
hadn’t been for a friend who worked at Windows of the World, I never would have
been inside the North Tower of the Twin Towers (as we New Yorkers always called
them back in the day).  A work event
brought me to South Street Seaport—in 1989 and never since.  Am I lazy? 
Disinterested?  Hard to know.  But I do think I need to see some of our
city’s amazing sites and participate in some of its special yearly occurrences.  I am making a resolution in 2013 to do just
that.
It got me thinking about the other things that are truly New
York and what make our city special. 
Here’s a list of things that I haven’t done:
1.    
Climbed to the top of the Empire State
Building.  Sure, I’ve passed it a hundred
times or more while walking to another destination but I’ve never been inside
its art deco walls or even climbed to the top. 

2.    
Been to Coney Island.  And I’m from Brooklyn originally!  Of course, Coney Island may need a few months
to get itself back up and running after Hurricane Sandy but a visit to the
Boardwalk and the famed aquarium are definitely in the cards for the new year.
3.    
Taken the Staten Island Ferry.  From what I gather, there is no better view
of Manhattan island than from the bow of the Staten Island Ferry.  And it’s cheap!  Like a dollar or some ridiculous sum.  Why haven’t I been on the ferry?  Why haven’t I taken the kids?
4.    
Visited the Intrepid.  I’ve driven down the West Side Highway a
thousand times and every time, I think, “We should really go to the Intrepid.”
But we never have?  Why?  Nobody knows.
5.    
Walk along the Highline.  In my defense, this is a fairly new
attraction but at least 90% of my friends—and their kids—have been to the
Highline.  Not us!  Why? 
Again, we are not sure.  Heck,
it’s tough to get out of the attic (where I write); it’s even tougher to draft
reluctant family members from the couch. 
But we will walk the Highline in 2013. 
Mark my words.
So, Stiletto friends, what fantastic sites or events in your
neck of the woods have you missed?  Why?
(Oh, and by the way, EXTRA CREDIT, the seventh installment in the Alison Bergeron/Murder 101 series, publishes next Tuesday, December 4th.  Something tells me there will be a contest shortly…check back for details!)
Maggie Barbieri

Social Media and the Art of the Reasoned Debate

/in /by

Is it my imagination or does everyone seem to be at cross
purposes these days, lambasting one another for their tightly held ideals,
political views, and opinions?  Has
social media made it appropriate—if not convenient—to start political debates
that go nowhere fast?
Count me out.
Put simply:  I read
Facebook for the updates on what everyone had for dinner, cute kitten pictures,
funny memes, and George Takei’s thoughts on life.  If you’re going to spew about this candidate
or another—or God forbid, any of their spouses—please keep the vitriol to
yourself, because I am just not interested. 
Consider yourself not “unfriended but “hidden.”
I know for a fact that a few of my fellow Stiletto wearers
feel the same way based on what they have posted on their own pages.  And one, in particular, agrees with me on
this point:  you’re not going to change
anyone’s mind, so just leave it alone.
I read a fascinating interview in O Magazine last night that
really drove this point home for me. 
Donna Brazile, a woman who has worked on dozens of Democratic political
campaigns and who helmed Al Gore’s presidential campaign, and Mary Matalin,
spouse of Clinton friend James Carville but a staunch conservative, are best
friends.  Crazy, right?  Well, turns out that they do discuss politics
and other charged topics but they both know that their hearts are in the right
place and that their opinions stem from individual lives lived with sincerity.  They discuss topics but never try to change
each other’s minds and if they are to be believed—and I have no reason not to
believe them given the frankness of their answers—they do not go for each
other’s jugular if they disagree.  They
have dinner together, they travel together, they drink together, they even
dance together, yet fall on completely opposite sides of every imaginable
political issue.
Mature, right?
The one thing that struck me about the interview
was that the women still had high standards when it came to good taste and
manners.  They felt that discussing politics
without bringing respect and politeness to the conversation was the height of
rudeness, something their mothers would not condone.  Stirring the pot at a cocktail party, in
their opinions (and mine), was just in bad taste.  Finding a proper forum—and having a
discussion with the proper decorum—was what made a good debate.  Yelling, talking over someone, or spouting
negativity in the name of supporting one’s ideals…not so much.  And this applied equally to face-to-face
discussions and those that take place virtually.
I am a fan of social media. 
It makes life for someone like me—an extrovert who works alone and at home—more
enjoyable.  I love seeing what everyone
has to say about what they’ve got going on in their lives.  What I don’t love is talk of politics of any
ilk, particularly when it is filled with half-truths, disparaging comments and
an assumption that if you’re on the other side of the debate, well, you must be
just plain dumb.  (And this applies to
both left-leaners and right-leaners.)  We
all bring our own life experience to bear on our beliefs and that doesn’t make
them right or wrong—just ours.
So, if I haven’t commented on Facebook your definition of
socialism or redistribution, or given my opinion on how 5 trillion dollars can
be cut from the federal budget, or discussed how I feel about birth control and
who should pay for it, it just means that I’m staring at a cute photo of a
kitten tucked into the warm cocoon that its mother has made for it.  Or that you’ve been “hidden.” Don’t worry:  once the election is over, we’ll all be friends again and you can unhide me, too.
Maggie Barbieri

A Traveling Jones…

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I’m heading out on Sunday morning to Chicago, a city I love yet haven’t visited in the last fifteen years, my traveling time cut way back
when I left my in-house job as an editor at a textbook publisher.  Back in the day, my schedule took me away
from home for a total of two-and-a-half to three months a year, visiting
campuses, talking to professors, and trying to find some new authors to sign to
our list.  I didn’t enjoy traveling then
because I had a small child and was away what seemed like all the time.  Now, though, after fifteen years of working
in my attic, I look forward to a little time away.
This next trip, I’m lucky enough to be traveling with my
good friend, Mary Ann, who is an intrepid international traveler and who has
arranged every last detail of the trip, right down to the brunch reservation we
have the minute we arrive in the Windy City. 
I like taking the guess work out of where I’ll be eating eggs benedict
on Sunday morning.
While in the Chicago area, I’ll be speaking at the Oak Lawn
library (Monday night at 7:00) to a group of people—size to be determined—about
my series, writing, and anything else that pops into my head.  One thing that I’ve taken to doing lately
during speaking engagements, however, is responding directly to frequently
asked questions so that those questions are answered before we get to the
Q&A portion of the evening.  I think
I’ve hit them all, but what I’d love to hear from all of you out there in the
Stiletto-wearing world is any question you’d like to ask an author that you
haven’t heard asked before.  The person
who asks the most pertinent question that gets added to my speech will win one
copy of the Advanced Reader’s Copy of EXTRA CREDIT, the latest Alison Bergeron
title to be published in December of this year.
So, get cracking. 
What do inquiring minds want to know from those of us who toil in solitude,
creating imaginary worlds?
Maggie Barbieri

The END

/in /by

I have a joke with a few of the writers here on Stiletto
that when I’m just about to get to the end of a manuscript but have run out of
ideas, my inclination—one that I have never acted on, by the way—is to write
“and then they all died.”  Because let’s
face it, by the time you’ve written eighty thousand words or so, you are bone
tired.  Tired of your keyboard, tired of
your characters, tired of finding new ways to say “murdered.” (I personally
like “bought it.”)  Eventually, knowing
that that is not an acceptable way to end a story, you walk away from your
computer and figure out how to tie up the loose ends by not killing all of your
major characters, and by extension, your writing career.
I happened upon this topic because I just read a recently
published book that skyrocketed to the top of the bestseller list, loving every
single page, every single word until I got to the last chapter.  Then, the book completely fell apart for me,
no resolution to the main conflict that existed for the better part of four
hundred words.  Several friends and even
my mother read this book and I anxiously awaited their comments when they
finished.  They were all the same:
Loved the book.  Hated
the ending.
Now don’t get me wrong: 
I don’t necessarily like everything tied up in a very neat bow, every
single loose end resolved in such a way that there is nary a question or
concern upon my finishing of a book. 
However, I do expect some justice for the aggrieved, some sort of comeuppance
for the perpetrator, so to be left hanging leaves me feeling…well, for lack of
a better word…aggrieved.  Obviously,
though, in the case of the aforementioned bestseller, the author didn’t feel
the same way, nor did their editor, I can only assume.  They both thought that the non-resolution
brought forth by the main characters was suitable, maybe more like life itself?
I’m not sure.  But it did leave a bad
taste in my mouth, but not completely diminishing the joy that I felt while
reading the book.
The ending of this book didn’t approach my favorite “and
then they all died” ending but more like “and they lived…maybe not
happily…maybe not forever…but at least for a little while.”  It was interesting to me that my visceral
response was shared by everyone I knew who read the book as well as a bunch of
really ticked off online reviewers whose consternation practically jumped off
the screen.
How do you feel when you finish a book and are dissatisfied with
the ending?  Does it affect future
purchases of the same author’s books? Would it drive you to post a vitriolic
rant on Amazon?  Would it depend on just
how unsatisfying the ending was?
Maggie Barbieri

You Can’t Have It Both Ways

/in /by

I tripped over the skateboard in the front hallway and
cursed under my breath thinking about what I would say to child #2 when I
finally saw him.  “Get that damned
skateboard out of the hallway!” was my first choice, something that would be followed
by a litany of other crimes against humanity he had perpetrated with his
strewn-about cleats, sneakers, and pieces of sports equipment.
Then, I stopped myself.
Yes, I’m the same woman who has been bemoaning the fact that
child #1 leaves for college in less than two weeks, and about how fast it all
went.  The same woman who laments that
she wishes she could stop time and get her babies back.  I stopped, put the skateboard back where it
was, and took a deep breath.  In a couple
of years, unless Jim and/or I take up skateboarding, there will be no more
skateboards in the front hall, no Converse All-Stars to trip over, no crumbs
strewn across the countertop in the kitchen after someone makes a sandwich or a
snack.
You can’t have it both ways.
You can’t complain about the trappings of childhood while
feeling bereft about how fleeting it is. 
When I think about it that way, the minor annoyances that living with
children bring—no one walking the dog, stuff everywhere, dirt underfoot—now seem
as trivial as they should be all the time. While they are growing up and
getting older—as they should be—they are still residents here and with that
comes a lot of stuff, some of seemingly annoying, but for now, I’ll take it.
A lot of my Stiletto brethren have gone through the process
of letting go, so my question today is: 
how do you make it easier to get through the happiest times in your
child’s life while dealing with your own sadness? In other words, how do you
not ruin everything with your own selfish musings on how quickly childhood
goes?
Maggie Barbieri

Presidential Campaign Fatigue

/in /by

We are roughly 100 days out from Election Day, a day that
can’t come soon enough, in my opinion. 
Already, I have Presidential Campaign Fatigue—PCF in medical
parlance—which means that I break into a cold sweat when I see a black and
white photo of candidate X—be it the incumbent or his opponent—superimposed
over a red background with a sonorous voice telling us how the candidate once
approved the mass slaughter of a litter of kittens, all the while forcing us to
buy health insurance, making billions of dollars, or cutting jobs at a rate
consistent with the mating habits of common garden rodents. 
Every day, we are hounded by reports of “gaffes” by one or
the other Presidential candidates, anything that ranges from misidentifying the
state bird of North Dakota to telling it like it is—as it was reported in the
host country’s own tabs—when it comes to security at the Olympic Village.  The gaffes may be of a political nature but I
do know that most are inconsequential to the state of the Union.  The wives of the candidates are no exception;
one gets slammed for wearing a gorgeous—albeit expensive—jacket on an overseas
jaunt while the other makes the mistake of saying “you people” when referring
to, well, you people.  (Personally, I think “you people” is a legitimate catchall but that may because I spend 50 hours alone every week in an attic.)  It makes me wonder
why anyone in their right mind would want to run for office, never mind allow
their spouse to do so.
Are the days of true civility gone?  According to a recent poll, 95% of Americans
want civility in politics and 87% believe we can actually achieve that
goal!  Another 85% of Americans would
love—LOVE!—it if their leaders could form friendships across the aisle.  Seriously, how are we supposed to get along
in a global economy and world if we can’t even stomach the guy sitting across
from us, the guy we need to reach consensus with in order to legislate
effectively?  In doing research for this
post, I now know that there are entire sites devoted to civility in politics
but I guess the people who really need to look at these sites—our politicians—aren’t
reading them or heeding their measured words.
I wonder, though, if the mud slinging became a thing of the
past, would the idea of an informed decision take root?  In other words, if we really knew what
candidates stood for, without all of the noise and incivility, would we be able
to make a decision that reflected what we actually knew and cared about in
terms of each candidate?  Because right
now, here’s what I have been told about both candidates and their wives:
1.    
One is a socialist who wants to steal from the
rich and give to the poor.
2.    
The other stole billions of dollars while
working as a businessman and doesn’t think that rich people should pay taxes at
all. Oh, and he strapped his Irish setter to the top of his car and drove to
Canada.
3.    
If you don’t have anyone to blame in an argument,
you can go with either George W. Bush or Bill Clinton. 
4.    
One’s wife is a wealthy woman who likes to ride
horses and is against all working moms.
5.    
The other’s wife shops at Banana Republic
sometimes but most of the time spends American’s hard-earned dollars on
clothes.
I guess you could say that there is a scintilla of truth in
every statement listed above but do any of them really tell the entire story of
the person, their beliefs, their habits, or their ability to govern? 
I read a lot.  I watch
a lot of television.  And then I read
some more.  I happen to be working on a
book right now that deals with the American political landscape which is
fascinating because its “just the facts, ma’am” approach reminds me that the
bedrock of our political system is solid and based on sound principles of
philosophy specifically generated during the Age of Enlightenment.  Based on what we hear and see these days,
you’d think that the guy who wrote FIGHT CLUB had drafted the campaign
strategies of both candidates.
So I guess my question is this:  how do you tune out the “noise” of the
campaign and make an informed decision come voting time?  Or is your mind already made up?

Maggie Barbieri

What I Learned at Orientation

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What I Learned at Orientation
I just spent a
few days at child #1’s college orientation, desperately trying to fit in with
the cool kids (the other parents) so that I wouldn’t have to eat alone in the
dining hall.  But this whole post begs a
question:  for those of you who went away
to college, did you have an orientation? 
Was it three days in July or two hours before class started in late
August?  Did your parents attend?  Did they even want to?
I joke with my daughter that yes, my parents did drive me to
Orientation and upon our arrival on campus, slowed the car down just enough so
that I could grab my belongings out of the trunk—encased in black plastic
garbage bags—and head into the dorm to figure out where my room was, who my
roommate was and if this was even the right school.  Yes, they waved lovingly as they drove off in
search of the local steak house where they would have the last meal they would
ever eat in a restaurant, at least until they got the four of us through
college.
Orientation today is different, part summer camp, part boot
camp.  I think it’s great for kids who
have chosen a college based only on one formal tour and perhaps a drive through
at a different time; there really is no way to get a feel for what it will be
like to go to college and live away from home unless you do an intense dry run
in which you stay in the dorms and are thrown together with a diverse group of
people who you may never have met in your regular life but with whom you will
now be living and learning, and hopefully playing a little bit.  (But just a little bit.  College does not come cheap these days.)  Husband and I chose not to stay in the dorms
as some other parents did, as we are close enough—and far enough away—to have
commuted back and forth to Orientation. 
Did we learn anything we didn’t already know?  Maybe not. 
But we made some good friends in the other parents, one of whom I will
be having dinner with in a few weeks, and we had a chance to be voyeurs and see
our kids in their new environment with their new classmates and friends.
Although it is presumably for the students, there is a
strong parent component running through the program and while husband and I
chose not to participate in a lot of it (parent lip-synching anyone? Can you
think of a quicker way for your child to die an immediate social death?) we did
stay for the important stuff, like residence life and the financial talk.  We only caught glimpses of child #1 as she
processed from one activity to the other and in those few moments, we
ascertained that she had 1) made friends and 2) seemed to be enjoying
herself.  As far as I was concerned,
Orientation was a success.
When I posted about this on Facebook, I got a variety of
responses ranging from “My parents wouldn’t leave my dorm room for hours on
move-in day!” to “Your parents dropped you off? 
Mine sent me on the bus” which is a testament to the diversity in styles
that existed in the old days when I and my friends went to school.  These days, it would seem, parents want to be
involved from morning until night if some of the talks we heard were any
indication.  Many of them centered around
tips for dealing with separation—not child from parents but parent from child!
Times have certainly changed; rather than parents longing for the day when they
will be empty nesters—and we still have five years to achieve that goal—they now
long for the time when their kids were still small and living at home.  I don’t know; I guess I fall somewhere in
between.  I remember college being as one
of the most rewarding and enriching times of my life; every wonderful thing
that has happened to me can be traced back to my time there.  It was a time when the world really opened up
to me and I started to figure out my place in it.  I hope the same is true for my confident,
smart, and successful daughter, who clearly doesn’t have as far to go as I did
at her age but will more than likely do great things.
And that’s something I already knew before I went to
Orientation.
Maggie Barbieri