Guts, refined. (Lucy Pilgrim is ready to meet you.)

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“You’ve got guts, babe,” my dad told me once, and I recall that moment often at times like these.

I am thrilled to announce the availability of the hardcover print 1st edition of Lucy, go see.  You can order it through Chez Soi Press at www.chezsoipress.org. Click on Order Lucy, go see. on the primary menu bar. You can also peek inside the book on that page. There is a choice between national and international delivery, and the prices are listed with all handling and shipping expenses and taxes included. (You will need a PayPal account for purchase, and that is very easy and free to set up at http://www.paypal.com .)

For the time being, the novel will only be distributed through the press and those independent bookstores who would like to carry it. Printing and shipping will take up to 2 weeks, once ordered. In 2-3 months, I will post news about the paperback, the audio book and e-book. I will also post about upcoming readings in independent bookstores. Please tell your favorite independent bookstores about the novel, if you like it. You can also request that they order it for you, through the press. Long live independent bookstores!! Also, please recommend it to your local library if you like it.

The prima materia of the story is of the most intimate nature. I both hope that the novel leaves readers speechless, and that it inspires thoughtful, careful conversation.

It has been an amazing journey of writing and refining.  I wrote some of it in Olivet, France, and most of it in Sitges, Catalonia, Spain. I edited it in many places: Spain, Canada, England, California, Vermont, Wisconsin, Iowa, Florida, Illinois. In some ways, it has taken me 40 years to get it out, and in others, 25, and in others, 18. There are so many fabulous stories involved in the making of this one.

Below are some of the places I wrote and most of the photos (you can click on any one to see it bigger) of me are by my son, who often watched me and once said to his grandfather, “My mom is always writing or reading, always with books and papers” and my dad told him, “That is a nice way for a boy to see his mom”:

At the beginning, I often wrote while my son napped. When he woke, we played music and danced; we used chopsticks as drumsticks and pretended the daybed in the sunny den was a set of drums. This past November, the night before Thanksgiving, he and I were walking in Iowa City, down the hill behind the Dey House, and across the bridge that is a favorite of mine. “I love this bridge,” he said, and then, “Mom, what is the theme song of your novel?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. But one reviewer told me she liked the soundtrack of it.”

“There’s a soundtrack?”

“Kind of, I mention music that Lucy listens to throughout it. I guess if I had to choose one of the songs it would be from The Four Non-Blondes, ‘What’s Going On?'”

My son looked for it on his phone, “are you sure it’s not called ‘What’s Up?’, to which I nodded, and then with the small speaker attached to his belt, he played it, and we danced together there on the bridge under the stars and over the Iowa River, in celebration.

 

 

 

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