I am home. out there in the world for a year now.

Thank you, readers! Today marks a year since the publication of I am home. A special anniversary because it was also timed to be released on the birthday of Mom’s first child, my eldest brother. His name was Tommy, and I only knew him through photos and stories, and the plant that graces the background of the cover of I am home. That plant was a gift to my mother at his birth and has been in our family for 72 years now. I have written about that, –it’s a touching story, and the plant, the Dieffenbachia, is thriving in Spain with me. Since we reunited, 7 new offshoots have grown from the base. My mother had 7 children. The plant, the book, and I have done some remarkable traveling, all the way walking each other home.

The second video below (after the cremation fire) is of a beach that is dear and also home to me, Playa San Sebastián in Sitges, where I landed after leaving Los Angeles last spring, and where I stayed a while before I moved into the city, into Barcelona. I used that video to announce the release of the book.

To have finished writing I am home. in the USA and then to carry advanced copies of it with me here to Catalonia, and once here to make the final minute and detailed touches on the cover (a friend witnessed this with her eyes wide) and it seemed each time I opened the book at a random spot, I found something I wanted to change and, well, that all was sweet, symbolic, and serendipitous as so much of life if is, maybe all of it–anyway, if you read the book, you will understand what I mean.

The first slideshow and video are of a thrilling, sometimes tedious (because of the amount of burning hours necessary in a small fire pit), always artistic, funny, enlightening, illuminating, and in the end very smoky burning of all the drafts, the prima materia, of this second book (with wine and a good friend nearby) in the garden of my California home of four years, in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, two nights before I left. I love fire and all the fascinating beauty it creates as you will see. We devised all kinds of methods to make the burning interesting, fun, and efficient. Also, and I digress, I loved that I lived on Fargo Street in LA. Far, go. I did. Anyway, I have no idea how many pages were there, thousands for sure, umpteen drafts, some on loose leaf paper, some spiral bound, some bound as books–all distillation until I reached the point of nuff’s nuff, which was at the end of 2022, a month or so after I decided to return to Spain. I promised myself I would finish it before I left, in a way, leave it behind. Release it and leave the country kind of thing. The book contains the decision to leave Spain, a return to my hometown in Iowa sparked by my mother and son, exploratory travels, eventual moves to Chicago, my college alma mater, and Los Angeles. A decade of life and all my stories and thoughts and feelings about it all that seemed important at the time and poof, up in flames. The essence remains. Hallelujah.

432,000 and some hundred words, that I know, reduced to 56, 000, or something like that. I used to know those numbers by heart. It’s a good sign the count is hard to recall right now.

It is a non-fiction book (isn’t it funny that they describe a genre by what it is not?), and because it is a hybrid of story, poetry, and essay and because the Marianne on those pages is different than the Marianne who is writing these words now and looking up at that plant occasionally, and because it is far from a traditional memoir timeline, I have hesitated to call it a memoir even though I could. (What is in our mind but memory and imagination?) It skips–sometimes darts, occasionally farts, perhaps–around in time, always with a connecting home thread, stitching a tapestry of love lines far and wide, somewhat like the trails little clams leave in the sand of shallow Frentress Lake waters as they move toward the depths. Most pages in the book are chapters distilled into one 6 x 9 inch frame, with the intention of offering a moving and evocative word painting amid a lot of open space.

It was recently described as a book that explores where “home” really is.

The last slideshow is compiled of images readers have sent from around the world. I think I have more but I am tired now and must post this soon or will get carried away and need another fire before too long. Someday I would also like to compile images of all the places around the world where I wrote this book.

I love hearing from you, readers! Thank you. I wrote the first draft for me and all the rest with you on my mind, asking myself how much I could give you while asking the least amount of your precious time. It makes the experience complete when I hear from you. It also nourishes and expands the soul of the book, adding yours to it with each experience of it, and any thought, any spoken or written word about it. (send an email welcomewonder@mariannemaili.com, and please talk about it, tell others). Thank you, thank you, thank you. May I am home. travel far and wide and reach deep and lift high. May it make you laugh and cry and feel happy to be you and to be alive.

Available wherever books are sold. Ask your favorite indie bookstore to get it for you!

Some words on I am home. from Utah.

I shot this photo in February 2023, while visiting Bryce Canyon with a friend. It was a trip I wanted to make before leaving the country. And it was amazing and fun to do it in such great company. Maybe my third or fourth time in Utah, a state I came to love on my travels. During this trip, I was carrying the first advanced copy of I am home. with me, to show my friend. It was a celebratory trip. On my other travels through the state, the manuscript was resting while I explored on my own, and often those trips were celebrations of another draft finished. So, when I woke up on Thursday and read the following message from Utah, my heart filled with gratitude for connecting to a reader amid images of all the beauty of that state.

 Dear Marianne, You inspire me to be more aware and appreciate each little moment as I navigate through this next 50 + yr old woman-chapter of my life. A recent shift & desire to broaden my perspective has also increased my awareness to the impact of each & every small act. Have you been told that you have a crazy cool peaceful optimism about you?  In your book I am home. … it blows my mind how little you’ve written perhaps on any given page, yet there is so much in it!! Your vocabulary, writing and savvy are thrilling to me. The memories you’ve shared spark deep emotion. I love that you’re helping me be cognizant of the amazing life I have and the wonderful wild world we live in. Thank you so very much!!

Ask your favorite Indie Bookstore or click below and in celebration of Independent Bookstore Day shipping is free all weekend.

And I was marveled by a poet from Trinidad and Tobago in Iowa. Read her books, too, asap.

This post is long overdue. I’ve had these books on my shelf in Barcelona for months, after a friend of mine from Virginia who lives here now brought them to me after hearing Lauren speak and read from them in Richmond last spring. Lauren is thriving in Virginia now. Way back when I moved back to Iowa, in the fall of 2012, to teach at a university there, Lauren was there, and she opened her wonderful home and rented a nest-like room to me while I settled myself and then my family in Dubuque. That’s another story. The story here, now, is her moving, inspiring, informative, urgent, and comforting poetry. I read both of these books in the Spanish sunshine perched above the city, occasionally looking up to the hills, resisting getting up to take care of necessities then hurrying back. Most of the pages are dog-eared because I love them. Countless times I was stopped in my tracks, uttering some version of wow, and often with tears welling in my eyes. Read her and live and learn.

Free shipping all weekend at Indie Bound, link here:

Another Direct Connection to Iowa on Independent Bookstore Day! Great new reading

Because it is Independent Bookstore Day and because I have been talking about Iowa stories, go to your favorite bookstore and ask for Laura Farmer‘s new book. Her moving stories are set in Iowa and peopled with big-hearted Iowa folks. I was honored to be asked to write a blurb for this wonderful collection of stories, published just 10 days ago by Bridge Eight Press. To make the blurb-reading easier, here you have it: Laura Farmer’s artful tales are about paying attention, perhaps the noblest act of love and the surest way home…There’s an instancing about her writing. A beat like a heart’s throughout. An honesty and energy that rocks us. An inspiring aloneness amid a gathering of pleasure and pure connection. Her characters are all finding their way. Beauty accompanies them.

Strolling through Barcelona on my way to Iowa.

When I started my meander on this special day, I was unaware that Iowa would appear near the end of it. Roses on a balcony moved me first. As I mentioned before, Sant Jordi is a romantic Catalan holiday that celebrates love and Catalan literature. It is a combination of remembrances from different periods of history–for one part, it commemorates Sant Jordi slaying a dragon and offering his beloved a symbolic red rose from the bleeding belly of the beast, and for the other part, it celebrates a 19th century Renaissance of Catalan identity and culture. It’s marvelous to live in a city where people gift each other books every year on a day associated with romance and culture (almost two million books are expected to be sold), selecting them and also rose arrangements from vendors while strolling through the city’s wonder-filled streets, blocked for pedestrian traffic only. The symbolism of the day started, for me, in a private school up on the hill where I was being interviewed for a position to teach about books, writing, reading and speaking. I was then invited to see a special poetic performance and was witness to that wonder along with the prize-awarding to students in Sant Jordi writing competitions. I walked down the hill under ever-changing April skies, the scent of orange blossom filling the air, then made myself some lunch at home, with the plan to wander through the streets after. A friend from a village nearby called to say she was coming to town to see it all, too, and we met in the center of the city and had coffee at the café in the Hotel Pulitzer. While there I received a message offering me the teaching position. When my friend and I separated I headed for Paseo de Gracia because I wanted to see the Casa Battló decked out in roses for the day. Everywhere I looked there were smiling people, books, and roses. A helicopter whirred overhead and I imagined the view and wanted to be up there, too. As I was wondering if Laia Fabregas would be at the ONA bookstore (one of more than three-hundred bookstores in Barcelona) stall, I looked and there she was, signing books. So I stopped to buy her new award-winning book, El silenci dels astronauts, confident I would be able to understand the Catalan and when I did not, I would increase my vocabulary. Reading stories in other languages is an especially sweet way to learn them. I carried on strolling gently up the hill of Barcelona’s most luxurious boulevard, lined with modernist architectural masterpieces, cafés, restaurants, and high-end shops, marveling again and again at the quantity of readers and the grace of a culture that celebrates reading. I stopped to admire the Casa Battló with thousands of others. Then kept heading toward another favorite place, the magnificent Casa Fuster, and its Café Vienés, pausing along the way to look at books and roses. There was a Book of Mormon, in English, propped up outside in the window of the café. I called a sister in Iowa to mention this oddity and there was no answer. Then, I was drawn to the book stand of Males Herbes, a publisher who has published some of my favorite US and French authors in translation. I noted all the striking green covers of the books, some of Kurt Vonnegut’s among them, and commented on that to a friendly woman standing behind them. Then I saw one with the title AIOUA–I mouthed the vowels in Catalan–it sounds like IOWA. I stared at it for a while then turned it over and saw that it is about a woman who travels to and throughout Iowa in search of peace. I read the author’s name. Is Roser here now? I asked. That’s me, the woman I had already spoken to said in Spanish. I’m from Iowa, I answered in Spanish. Her eyebrows rapidly scaled her forehead as she said, Are you serious? She told me about driving around the state, her desire to return, and before long we were talking about the International Writing Program in Iowa City and other beloved places. Roser pointed to the photo of Strawberry Point on the cover, something I had overlooked when I fixated on the vowels, and I mentioned my parents talked to me about going there, and one of my brothers liked it. I kept to myself that these three people were now dead and I grieved them deeply. We spoke of getting together for drinks and a meal soon and as she signed my copy, she said we have to take a picture, and she kept marveling that on Sant Jordi in Barcelona, promoting her book AIOUA, she had met a real live Iowan who chose to live in Barcelona. I think we are less rare than people imagine yet it is true that I am the only Iowan I know here. I have made some marvelous Iowa-Barcelona connections in my life, other great stories to tell, and this was wonderful to add to the list. I can stop here, this is a perfect ending, I said after she wished me a wonderful rest of the festival of Sant Jordi. And then I wandered more, uplifted and connected. The Barcelona Film Festival was also happening so I saw a wonderful comedy. All afternoon I had been craving one of the many pastries I had seen, and after the movie noticed there was one golden yellow rose left at a nearby bakery. As I waited to be served, I saw a new friend passing by with a smile on her face and went out to call to her, Paz! I sang out (Paz translates as Peace. She is from Barcelona and lived in the US for about as long as I lived in Spain). She was too far down Calle Asturias, so I went back inside and called her. I’m on my way to meet my kids at the English bookshop then go somewhere to eat, she said. I felt a pang of envy. While feasting, a featured photo came up on my phone–there was my son, dressed as Sant Jordi for a school play on this day in 2006. My sister called from Iowa as I was walking home and I told her all about the perfect day. I just want to go home and go to bed now, I said. I imagine, she said. Just to make sure it stays perfect, right?

I am home. with a book club in Rhinelander.

We had our book group the other night and it went so well, one of the better discussions we’ve had in a long time. I was really interested to see if  there would be a big difference in how other people dealt with the style of the writing and how it sort of jumped back and forth. I know sometimes that gets to me but not always. I remember reading Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Stout and it drove me crazy. But as I reread your book, I realized it didn’t bother me in the least. In fact I enjoyed it that way! Most rather liked the way that you knew each page would have its own story even if you weren’t exactly sure of the timeline. They felt what I think you were feeling and struggling with. And the way you handled the characters–specifically no names–they thought was an interesting detail. One person in our group, a retired pediatrician turned independent bookstore owner who has pursued some writing classes and general knowledge of what goes into writing a book, said she was glad to read it, that it was something quite different from some of the books we’ve read, and very much a pleasure to read. Funny how people in your book had been in the house we held our meeting in. I sort of felt like they were all sitting in listening. For me it doesn’t get any better than that!

Note the Charcuterie utensils by the food, I used the ones I make. (see more of her beautiful glass art here.)

There is so much about this book club gathering and the photos and the letter that makes me feel grateful and happy, and moves me–like the way I feel right there with them when I see my handwriting saying I am home. at the table next to the playing cards on the glass–and that brings memories of love and laughter floating from the other room of the cottage while my parents and friends played Euchre on summer nights. The mention of Elizabeth Strout reminds me of taking my mother to a reading in Iowa City and sitting in the front row and introducing her to my mom, and how E.S.’s hand went to her heart as she said, you brought your mom. And how Mom whispered to me, she’s just like one of us.

I am home. celebrating Sant Jordi and books and roses.

Sant Jordi, or Saint George, is one of Barcelona’s patron saints and he is celebrated on April 23rd each year. The streets of the city fill with stalls celebrating authors, and selling books and roses. It is a romantic and cultural festivity on what is now also World Book Day. To demonstrate their love, people gift each other books and roses.

I am looking forward to this hour on this coming Saturday at noon to join in the celebration. If you know folks in the Garraf district of Barcelona who are interested in writing as a spiritual path and the search for home, and who like to read in English, would you please tell them about this gathering on Saturday in this special place which is an oasis?

It means a lot to me to talk about writing as a spiritual path in the place where my path took me for a decade while I lived in Sitges in–what seems like eons ago sometimes–the late 90s and early 21st century. I received a lot of nourishment and inspiration here.

What is the book about in 63 words?

I am home. is about freedom and what it means to be a free spirit in this increasingly systemized world. It travels non-linearly through time and place with a 49 year-old long-married woman, mother, daughter, writer, teacher, model/actress, and doctoral student who is in for surprises when she returns to her Iowa hometown after spending the adult half of her life abroad.

True story.

I am home. for Christmas, on Main Street, at River Lights in Dubuque.

Stop in at River Lights and do all your Christmas shopping this year. This is one of my favorite bookstores in the world. It’s about more than books, just like books are. Find great gift ideas in every corner of the store and enjoy the warm and welcome atmosphere. I am thrilled that I am home. is on the shelves in this place where I feel very much at home. The setting for I am home., this non-fiction tale, is Dubuque, Key West, and many other places in Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin, and across the United States of America. You can also travel to Iceland, France, and Spain within. It’s a story that shows it is possible to go home again, and to leave home again, and to carry it with you always, and have a great time doing it despite all the challenges. You will laugh and you will cry. And maybe even think about things in a different way. It is a gift of light and love, this book, and thus fits with the season.

After you leave the bookstore with all your Christmas shopping in the bag, stop and enjoy other great places nearby like L. May Eatery, Salsa’s Mexican Restaurant , and Jitterz, where I wrote a lot, and had great conversations. I miss all that. I’ll be back.