I have my 5 year old son enrolled in what is called a “Homeschooling Program.” What that means is that I teach him the fundamentals and anything else I want at home and he has the option of attending educational workshops with other children in the program 2-3 times a week. It’s all run by my school district so the whole thing is free. That’s advantage number one. The second advantage for me is that while my son is very advanced in some areas he is also a bit behind in others which makes both skipping him ahead and holding him back a practical impossibility. So this allows me to hand tailor a curriculum that works for his learning needs.
However some families signed up for an entirely different reason, mainly that since it is a homeschooling program it is the only so called public school in which you can fully integrate religious studies into the curriculum. This little detail makes for an interesting mix of students. We have everything from Atheists to Evangelical Christians. We also have a very religious Hindu boy and the son and daughter of our local Rebbe. Rebbes are rabbis except more so. Think long beard, dark clothes and a hat and you pretty much have an accurate visual.
So last week right before Spring Break I took my son to the beginning Spanish workshop. It was his first time attending this particular workshop so I decided to stay and see how it turned out. The teacher wanted the kids to color a worksheet in accordance with the written directions (which were predictably written in Spanish). She held it up high for the whole room to see and then zoomed in on the small Star Of David pendant around my neck before glancing at my son, the Rebbe’s children, and the Hindu boy. A little extra color crept into her cheeks.
“This is the worksheet,” she said quickly. “Now some of you may feel a little put off by it since it’s a picture of an egg and a bunny and...well…we all know bunnies are mammals and they obviously don’t lay eggs.”
She glanced again at the Rebbe’s children and cleared her throat. “This picture is a celebration of spring. Spring is about new life and that’s what an egg represents and the bunny...well bunnies are sometimes born in the spring! So it’s symbolic.”
One of the young children tentatively raised his hand. “It’s an Easter Egg.”
“NO!” She looked at me but I couldn’t meet her eyes---I knew if I did I’d start cracking up. She cleared her throat for the second time and continued. “It’s not an Easter egg. It’s a colorful egg, that’s all. Eggs come in all kinds of colors.”
A second grader shook her head. “I don’t think any of the eggs in nature have flowers printed on the side of them.”
“Probably not, but we don’t know for sure.” The teacher was getting redder by the second. “For instance, nobody knows what color the dinosaur eggs were because dinosaurs have been extinct for millions of years!”
“Nuh-uh,” said the Evangelical boy. “The earth has only been around for like 5000 years.”
“That’s not true!” my son cried and then looked at me for verification.
I smiled and bent over him pretending to kiss his cheek while hissing “Let it drop.”
“But it looks like an Easter egg,” the first child said, now genuinely confused. “There’s a basket in the background and everything.”
"Yeah," said another kid, "and that's not a normal bunny. I mean, he's really, really big. If it's not the Easter Bunny then there's something wrong with him."
“It’s not an Easter egg and it's not the Easter bunny." The teacher's desperation was palpable. “But if you think it looks too much like an Easter egg and you don’t want to color it you can color something else—it’s just going to take me a few minutes to come up with something.”
This appeased everyone and the kids had a great time coloring their perspective worksheets. It’d be easy for me to chastise the teacher for not considering the strong beliefs of the children who made up her class but to be honest I think she just had a “blonde moment.” The worksheets were left over from years past and she thought it would be nice to put them to some use. It didn’t work out exactly the way she planned but it did provide me with some great writing material.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
For The Sake Of The Libraries
When my finances were at their worst I made a decision that my dwindling bank account would not prevent my son from enjoying the activities other children had access to. So I did my research and found out that the Seymour Center offered free admissions to their aquarium and marine sanctuary on the first Tuesdays of every month, that the San Francisco Zoo offered free admission on the first Wednesday and that Happy Hollow Park and Zoo had one dollar admission on the second Tuesday of the month. I happened to work at a job with odd hours so these things were often doable. Throw in a few street fairs and the beach and my son was living the life of luxury. We might have been at risk of losing our home but nothing was going to keep us from petting those pigmy goats.
But by far my son’s favorite outing was the library. Yeah, I know—that’s probably not number one on every two year olds list but my son’s quirky that way. He loves books with a passion and more to the point he loves learning. By three he had become obsessed with trains, dinosaurs, and mythology. By 3 ½ he had discovered Ancient Egypt and Evolution. He wanted to know everything about these subjects but unfortunately I knew almost nothing about these things. Yes, I had read most of the Greek Myths but I would have been hard pressed to name a Greek hero whose name hadn’t been carried on by a Disney movie or a disturbing Freudian complex. But at the library we found all the answers. I found myself reading Egyptian mythology and learning about trains that I had never before cared about. To be honest, I still don’t find trains to be all that fascinating but they definitely have it all over Bob The Builder.
Sometimes we would check out fifteen books at a time. We’d take them with us to Starbucks where we would pour over them while I indulged in the only costly vice I allowed myself (yes, that would be caffeine).
Occasionally I would splurge and buy him a book I knew he wouldn’t lose interest in quickly but there’s no way I could have bought enough books to satisfy his intellectual curiosity. I’m not sure if Oprah could afford to buy him that many books.
That’s why what’s happening in Salinas California is so disturbing to me. On June 17th ALL their libraries are scheduled for closure due to lack of funding. 51% of Salinas’ residents are Latino and 30% of them were actually born in Latin America. The average per capita income is under $14,000 a year. These are not people who can afford to buy their children books and Cosco’s 35% discounts aren’t going to change that. I think about my son and what it would have been like if I had been forced to refuse him the right to read those stories. What if I had been required to confine our reading time to fifteen minute intervals while sitting on the floor in the corner of some bookstore knowing all the while that we would never be able to reach the last chapter? What would I have done if I didn’t have a bedtime story to read him?
I promise that I’m not going to regularly use my blog as my own personal soapbox but I’m going to make an exception this one time. This isn’t a problem that is going to begin and end in Salinas. If these libraries close without the greater population becoming aware of it or rallying against it you better believe more towns will lose their access to books in the near future. On April 2nd the Salinas Libraries are organizing an “Emergency-24-Hour-Read-In.” The goal is to celebrate literacy and grab the attention of the State legislators and others who might be able to keep the libraries open. If you can attend Code Pink (one of the several organizers) has all the information you need to do so. Just click their name and it’s all there. If you can’t attend but are in a position to make a donation then contact Save Salinas’ Libraries.
I wish I could say that I was positive all this was going to be enough however it’s definitely an uphill battle. But in my opinion it’s one worth fighting.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
But by far my son’s favorite outing was the library. Yeah, I know—that’s probably not number one on every two year olds list but my son’s quirky that way. He loves books with a passion and more to the point he loves learning. By three he had become obsessed with trains, dinosaurs, and mythology. By 3 ½ he had discovered Ancient Egypt and Evolution. He wanted to know everything about these subjects but unfortunately I knew almost nothing about these things. Yes, I had read most of the Greek Myths but I would have been hard pressed to name a Greek hero whose name hadn’t been carried on by a Disney movie or a disturbing Freudian complex. But at the library we found all the answers. I found myself reading Egyptian mythology and learning about trains that I had never before cared about. To be honest, I still don’t find trains to be all that fascinating but they definitely have it all over Bob The Builder.
Sometimes we would check out fifteen books at a time. We’d take them with us to Starbucks where we would pour over them while I indulged in the only costly vice I allowed myself (yes, that would be caffeine).
Occasionally I would splurge and buy him a book I knew he wouldn’t lose interest in quickly but there’s no way I could have bought enough books to satisfy his intellectual curiosity. I’m not sure if Oprah could afford to buy him that many books.
That’s why what’s happening in Salinas California is so disturbing to me. On June 17th ALL their libraries are scheduled for closure due to lack of funding. 51% of Salinas’ residents are Latino and 30% of them were actually born in Latin America. The average per capita income is under $14,000 a year. These are not people who can afford to buy their children books and Cosco’s 35% discounts aren’t going to change that. I think about my son and what it would have been like if I had been forced to refuse him the right to read those stories. What if I had been required to confine our reading time to fifteen minute intervals while sitting on the floor in the corner of some bookstore knowing all the while that we would never be able to reach the last chapter? What would I have done if I didn’t have a bedtime story to read him?
I promise that I’m not going to regularly use my blog as my own personal soapbox but I’m going to make an exception this one time. This isn’t a problem that is going to begin and end in Salinas. If these libraries close without the greater population becoming aware of it or rallying against it you better believe more towns will lose their access to books in the near future. On April 2nd the Salinas Libraries are organizing an “Emergency-24-Hour-Read-In.” The goal is to celebrate literacy and grab the attention of the State legislators and others who might be able to keep the libraries open. If you can attend Code Pink (one of the several organizers) has all the information you need to do so. Just click their name and it’s all there. If you can’t attend but are in a position to make a donation then contact Save Salinas’ Libraries.
I wish I could say that I was positive all this was going to be enough however it’s definitely an uphill battle. But in my opinion it’s one worth fighting.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Why Survive When You Can Live?
You know how people say bad things happen in threes? Well I think what they mean to say is that bad things happen in numbers that are divisible by three—like 39 and 60. Between the beginning of 1999 and the end of 2001 I lost four family members (one of whom was my father), filed for divorce, become a single mother, was pushed to the brink of bankruptcy, was the victim of identity theft, almost lost my home (which was built by one of the family members I lost), chauffeured someone very close to me to a psychiatric ward for a prolonged stay and was in a car accident. Believe it or not I’m leaving a lot out. When I had married several years earlier I had nurtured a vision of what I thought my life was going to be like and by the time 2001 came to a close I had come to accept the fact that my ‘vision’ was really an illusion.
So what do you do after the twentieth shoe has dropped? Well apparently you write a murder mystery.
Many people who’ve heard my story have taken the time to praise my strength and give me kudos for having the courage to turn lemons into lemonade. I’ll admit that I’m proud of my accomplishments but I’m not so sure they’re due to strength or courage. Becoming a writer wasn’t some life long dream that I continued to pursue despite all obstacles. Before I started writing Sex, Murder And A Double Latte I had never seriously considered becoming a professional writer—hell, the last fictional piece I'd written was an assignment given to me by my high school freshman English teacher. So I knew the odds of my getting published right out of the gate weren’t good. I could have failed. So what?
Sure, I wanted to succeed. I wanted to hit the New York Times Best Seller's List—I still do. But when it comes to pursuing dreams success and failure are a lot less important than the pursuit itself. Think about it—how many times do we read about someone who achieved some major accomplishment only to turn around and kill himself? I would never be so presumptuous as to speculate on why someone I’ve never met would resort to suicide but I do know that realizing a dream in and of itself is not enough to save a person from depression.
You see, I wrote because I needed a new dream. In many ways my life had become an exercise of survival and it didn’t have to be that way. Right at my fingertips was the opportunity to pursue a goal that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with living. So I dealt with the lawyers and the family crises when I needed to and then after the law offices had closed and my son was safely tucked in bed I would sit down with a notebook and pencil and pursue a dream. It didn’t take strength or courage. It was just me indulging in a luxury.
As a species we’re genetically designed to want to do more than survive. If that wasn’t the case there would be no art, no music, no civilization at all.
Sometimes pure survival is the only option available to us. Ask the people who live in Sudan or a soldier in a POW camp. Those people would literally give their right arm for the opportunity to pursue a dream. I had that opportunity—it was given to me in the form of a blank piece of paper. With every page I wrote I was filled with a new sense of hope—a new ‘what if.’
If I hadn’t landed a book contract I would have gone into a depression, I’m only human. But I don’t want to just survive—I want to live and so eventually I would have found yet another new dream to pursue and I would have been filled with a new hope and it is that pursuit that makes me whole.
If you’re reading this the chances are you’re not living on the streets of Sudan so if all you’re doing is surviving ask yourself why.
I urge you---pick up a pen, a paintbrush, a textbook, whatever and start living.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte--May 2005
So what do you do after the twentieth shoe has dropped? Well apparently you write a murder mystery.
Many people who’ve heard my story have taken the time to praise my strength and give me kudos for having the courage to turn lemons into lemonade. I’ll admit that I’m proud of my accomplishments but I’m not so sure they’re due to strength or courage. Becoming a writer wasn’t some life long dream that I continued to pursue despite all obstacles. Before I started writing Sex, Murder And A Double Latte I had never seriously considered becoming a professional writer—hell, the last fictional piece I'd written was an assignment given to me by my high school freshman English teacher. So I knew the odds of my getting published right out of the gate weren’t good. I could have failed. So what?
Sure, I wanted to succeed. I wanted to hit the New York Times Best Seller's List—I still do. But when it comes to pursuing dreams success and failure are a lot less important than the pursuit itself. Think about it—how many times do we read about someone who achieved some major accomplishment only to turn around and kill himself? I would never be so presumptuous as to speculate on why someone I’ve never met would resort to suicide but I do know that realizing a dream in and of itself is not enough to save a person from depression.
You see, I wrote because I needed a new dream. In many ways my life had become an exercise of survival and it didn’t have to be that way. Right at my fingertips was the opportunity to pursue a goal that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with living. So I dealt with the lawyers and the family crises when I needed to and then after the law offices had closed and my son was safely tucked in bed I would sit down with a notebook and pencil and pursue a dream. It didn’t take strength or courage. It was just me indulging in a luxury.
As a species we’re genetically designed to want to do more than survive. If that wasn’t the case there would be no art, no music, no civilization at all.
Sometimes pure survival is the only option available to us. Ask the people who live in Sudan or a soldier in a POW camp. Those people would literally give their right arm for the opportunity to pursue a dream. I had that opportunity—it was given to me in the form of a blank piece of paper. With every page I wrote I was filled with a new sense of hope—a new ‘what if.’
If I hadn’t landed a book contract I would have gone into a depression, I’m only human. But I don’t want to just survive—I want to live and so eventually I would have found yet another new dream to pursue and I would have been filled with a new hope and it is that pursuit that makes me whole.
If you’re reading this the chances are you’re not living on the streets of Sudan so if all you’re doing is surviving ask yourself why.
I urge you---pick up a pen, a paintbrush, a textbook, whatever and start living.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte--May 2005
Friday, March 18, 2005
Lets Hear It For Italy!
I just received some more good news---Sex, Murder and a Double Latte will be published in Italy!!
For those of you who have been following my blog you know that I traveled around Europe with a girlfriend when I was 18. The first Italian city we visited was Florence. Florence is spectacularly beautiful and it has such an incredible energy. Of course the churches are beautiful as is the architecture in general but for some reason when I think of Florence the picture that pops into my mind first is that of a young man on a moped yelling obscenities at some guy standing on the sidewalk. Of course I didn’t understand a word of what was being said but I imagined he was righteously angry due to some cruel betrayal of his friendship. On the other hand he could have been a paranoid schizophrenic who had mistaken a stranger for an alien invader. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t matter what he was saying it still sounded great. Italian is such a beautiful and passionate language. In America when I see a man in the midst of a full blown temper tantrum I am in no way attracted to him but this guy with the black curly hair and rolling rs---well lets just say I wouldn’t have objected to sharing my gelato with him.
The last city I visited in Italy was Venice. There’s no way anyone can go to Venice and not come to understand that it is indeed the most romantic city on the face of the planet. All those movies you see of the gondolas floating gracefully along a canal where one would think streets should be—-believe it or not those are pretty accurate representations of what it’s like. We were there during the late fall which was perfect because there were a limited number of tourists and I was able to stroll through the streets and quietly absorb the city’s charm and intrinsic mysticism.
In between Florence and Venice we stayed in Rome. Rome is amazing. There’s just no other way to put it. Right there in the middle of a completely modern city is the Coliseum. Cars and mopeds rush past it emphasizing the contradiction. One night you can go to a modern jazz club and sip some trendy cocktail and then in the morning after a fairly short bus ride you can be transported back in time as you wander through the Christian catacombs.
I also visited the Vatican. I probably shouldn’t post this in a blog but I’m going to anyway. I’m Jewish so I’m not really up on what constitutes a mortal sin but I’m thinking that while at the Vatican I might have inadvertently committed a big one. My friend and some guy we had picked up on Eurail went to the top of the Vatican to admire the view along side several tourists, priests and nuns. It was cold so I stuck my hand in my coat pocket. Hiding there was some kind of bug. I don’t know if it stung me or bit me but whatever it did it hurt—a lot. Within an hour my hand had swollen to about twice its normal size. But that probably doesn’t excuse what I did. I took Jesus’ name in vain. And I might have sort of thrown the F word in between Jesus and Christ. And I was kind of loud about it. I immediately realized my faux pas (as did everyone within 20 feet) and I tried to correct the situation by loudly apologizing. I then immediately undermined that apology by saying that my hand hurt like hell. I then cursed myself for using the word hell—I probably would have continued to dig a whole for myself if my friends hadn’t quickly escorted me out of there.
So I’m going to try this again. I am truly sorry—I would never be intentionally disrespectful of anyone else’s religion. If you think I should suffer in Hell for my sin then rest assured that I’ve already done that—of course I didn’t call it Hell while I was there, I called it marriage.
Now that I’ve cleared my conscience I want to thank the Italians for welcoming Sophie Katz into your country. It’s nice to know that my characters will be able to speak your language even if I can’t.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
For those of you who have been following my blog you know that I traveled around Europe with a girlfriend when I was 18. The first Italian city we visited was Florence. Florence is spectacularly beautiful and it has such an incredible energy. Of course the churches are beautiful as is the architecture in general but for some reason when I think of Florence the picture that pops into my mind first is that of a young man on a moped yelling obscenities at some guy standing on the sidewalk. Of course I didn’t understand a word of what was being said but I imagined he was righteously angry due to some cruel betrayal of his friendship. On the other hand he could have been a paranoid schizophrenic who had mistaken a stranger for an alien invader. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t matter what he was saying it still sounded great. Italian is such a beautiful and passionate language. In America when I see a man in the midst of a full blown temper tantrum I am in no way attracted to him but this guy with the black curly hair and rolling rs---well lets just say I wouldn’t have objected to sharing my gelato with him.
The last city I visited in Italy was Venice. There’s no way anyone can go to Venice and not come to understand that it is indeed the most romantic city on the face of the planet. All those movies you see of the gondolas floating gracefully along a canal where one would think streets should be—-believe it or not those are pretty accurate representations of what it’s like. We were there during the late fall which was perfect because there were a limited number of tourists and I was able to stroll through the streets and quietly absorb the city’s charm and intrinsic mysticism.
In between Florence and Venice we stayed in Rome. Rome is amazing. There’s just no other way to put it. Right there in the middle of a completely modern city is the Coliseum. Cars and mopeds rush past it emphasizing the contradiction. One night you can go to a modern jazz club and sip some trendy cocktail and then in the morning after a fairly short bus ride you can be transported back in time as you wander through the Christian catacombs.
I also visited the Vatican. I probably shouldn’t post this in a blog but I’m going to anyway. I’m Jewish so I’m not really up on what constitutes a mortal sin but I’m thinking that while at the Vatican I might have inadvertently committed a big one. My friend and some guy we had picked up on Eurail went to the top of the Vatican to admire the view along side several tourists, priests and nuns. It was cold so I stuck my hand in my coat pocket. Hiding there was some kind of bug. I don’t know if it stung me or bit me but whatever it did it hurt—a lot. Within an hour my hand had swollen to about twice its normal size. But that probably doesn’t excuse what I did. I took Jesus’ name in vain. And I might have sort of thrown the F word in between Jesus and Christ. And I was kind of loud about it. I immediately realized my faux pas (as did everyone within 20 feet) and I tried to correct the situation by loudly apologizing. I then immediately undermined that apology by saying that my hand hurt like hell. I then cursed myself for using the word hell—I probably would have continued to dig a whole for myself if my friends hadn’t quickly escorted me out of there.
So I’m going to try this again. I am truly sorry—I would never be intentionally disrespectful of anyone else’s religion. If you think I should suffer in Hell for my sin then rest assured that I’ve already done that—of course I didn’t call it Hell while I was there, I called it marriage.
Now that I’ve cleared my conscience I want to thank the Italians for welcoming Sophie Katz into your country. It’s nice to know that my characters will be able to speak your language even if I can’t.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
Monday, March 14, 2005
Free Market Politics
Before I became a writer I worked in sales and marketing. It’s what I studied in college as well. So I’m familiar with the techniques companies use to lure consumers away from their competitors. Example:
“Has SBC long-distance been hurting your checking account? You poor wittle thing you! Come on over and let MCI kiss it and make it better.”
Sometimes it’s a little more subtle:
“You’re a busy guy so of course it makes sense that you make most of your purchases with your Mastercard. Someone as important as you can’t be bothered with writing a check! But wouldn’t it be nice to have a Visa card that could help you earn airline miles? With us you can buy things you can’t afford and still travel to Hawaii! Isn’t that what happiness is all about?”
It’s basic psychology. If you want to convince someone of something you should start by flattering them. You let them know that you respect and care for them. Then you tell them what you want them to do and assure them that you’re only looking out for their best interests.
That’s why you’ll never see a Pepsi commercial featuring some hottie in blue jeans saying “Hey, Pepsi is the best drink on the planet and if you’ve been drinking Coke all this time you’re obvious a friggin’ idiot who barely deserves to live!”
That would be what the experts call a “bad marketing strategy.” It’s also bad psychology. So why is it that so many political activists continually use this exact strategy?
Theoretically political activists are people who want to change the world. There’s a couple of ways you can do that. You can try organizing a guerilla army to overthrow the existing government or you can try to convince people in a nonviolent manner to come around to your way of thinking. I think it’s safe to say that at least seventy percent of political activists prefer the latter approach.
So it seems odd that instead of wooing those they need to convert they tell them to go screw themselves.
I think the reasoning behind this is that many people who are fanatical about politics aren’t really interested in changing anybody’s mind about anything. They want to preach to the choir. And why not? Preaching to the choir is fun! You surround yourself with a bunch of like minded people who happily tell you that anyone and everyone who supports A, B and/or C is a moron and then you get to pat each other on the back for knowing that D, E and F is really where it’s at. And since you and your friends know this you are righteous and superior and will be able to successfully avoid the eternal flames of hell.
Of course if you wanted to change someone’s mind about an issue you might have to do something very frightening---in marketing it’s called identifying the features, advantages and benefits of the competition’s products. Corporations know that there’s a reason consumers sometimes buy the products of their competitors. It’s not because these consumers are stupid it’s because the competitor has something legitimate to offer. Something valuable. You may have a better product but if you think you’re the only one selling something worthwhile you’d be best off sticking with the choir.
If you truly want to win people over to your way of thinking you’re going to have to start by being nice to them. That’s just life in a free market.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte--May 2005
“Has SBC long-distance been hurting your checking account? You poor wittle thing you! Come on over and let MCI kiss it and make it better.”
Sometimes it’s a little more subtle:
“You’re a busy guy so of course it makes sense that you make most of your purchases with your Mastercard. Someone as important as you can’t be bothered with writing a check! But wouldn’t it be nice to have a Visa card that could help you earn airline miles? With us you can buy things you can’t afford and still travel to Hawaii! Isn’t that what happiness is all about?”
It’s basic psychology. If you want to convince someone of something you should start by flattering them. You let them know that you respect and care for them. Then you tell them what you want them to do and assure them that you’re only looking out for their best interests.
That’s why you’ll never see a Pepsi commercial featuring some hottie in blue jeans saying “Hey, Pepsi is the best drink on the planet and if you’ve been drinking Coke all this time you’re obvious a friggin’ idiot who barely deserves to live!”
That would be what the experts call a “bad marketing strategy.” It’s also bad psychology. So why is it that so many political activists continually use this exact strategy?
Theoretically political activists are people who want to change the world. There’s a couple of ways you can do that. You can try organizing a guerilla army to overthrow the existing government or you can try to convince people in a nonviolent manner to come around to your way of thinking. I think it’s safe to say that at least seventy percent of political activists prefer the latter approach.
So it seems odd that instead of wooing those they need to convert they tell them to go screw themselves.
I think the reasoning behind this is that many people who are fanatical about politics aren’t really interested in changing anybody’s mind about anything. They want to preach to the choir. And why not? Preaching to the choir is fun! You surround yourself with a bunch of like minded people who happily tell you that anyone and everyone who supports A, B and/or C is a moron and then you get to pat each other on the back for knowing that D, E and F is really where it’s at. And since you and your friends know this you are righteous and superior and will be able to successfully avoid the eternal flames of hell.
Of course if you wanted to change someone’s mind about an issue you might have to do something very frightening---in marketing it’s called identifying the features, advantages and benefits of the competition’s products. Corporations know that there’s a reason consumers sometimes buy the products of their competitors. It’s not because these consumers are stupid it’s because the competitor has something legitimate to offer. Something valuable. You may have a better product but if you think you’re the only one selling something worthwhile you’d be best off sticking with the choir.
If you truly want to win people over to your way of thinking you’re going to have to start by being nice to them. That’s just life in a free market.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte--May 2005
Friday, March 11, 2005
Raising A Lovable Deviant
The other day my mother taught my 5 year old how to play the well known card game War. For those of you unfamiliar with War, it’s a game of chance. The players both get a stack of card and they simultaneously lay they them out one by one. Whoever has the high card wins. Eventually my mother got up to put dinner in the oven and do a few other things. When she came back she started playing with him again…and losing. Okay, she managed to pull out a few high cards but for the most part she was dropping twos and fours or as my son has come to call them, “junk cards.” When she commented about her change in luck he started giggling uncontrollably. Yes, my son had gone through his grandmother’s cards and traded her high ones for his low ones. He did leave her with a few high cards so she wouldn't catch on too fast.
She explained to him that cheating was never funny or acceptable and I of course reinforced that message. But in the back of my mind was a little voice screaming “Vegas baby!”
Now before you all go calling CPS let me just say that I will never ask my son to rig a poker game for me. But I can’t help but be a little impressed by the sophisticated thinking he applied to his deviance.
It’s expected that we be proud of our children when they bring home a high mark or make an effort to share their toys but sometimes our kids will break a rule so skillfully that we can’t help but think “Damn! That was smooth!”
Of course we shouldn’t say the words out loud. We want them to learn good moral values but I think that it would be a mistake to totally overlook the creativity applied to whatever stunt they pulled. After all, creativity is a good thing. We just want them to learn to use their mental powers for good, not evil.
A friend and fellow author Alina Adams once pointed out that Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes was a very misunderstood kid. Clearly all his antics pointed to his immense creativity and superior intellectual abilities. And you know what? She’s right. Calvin was brilliant and if the world was a fair place his parents would have stopped rolling their eyes and started pushing to get him in a gifted education program.
So stop feeling guilty about the nagging sense of pride you experience when your kid pulls one over on his teacher. With the help of a good upbringing he’s more likely to grow up to be a…oh, let’s say…murder mystery novelist than a con-artist. And if, God forbid, he does embrace a life of crime at least he won’t be a stupid criminal—nobody wants to raise one of those.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
She explained to him that cheating was never funny or acceptable and I of course reinforced that message. But in the back of my mind was a little voice screaming “Vegas baby!”
Now before you all go calling CPS let me just say that I will never ask my son to rig a poker game for me. But I can’t help but be a little impressed by the sophisticated thinking he applied to his deviance.
It’s expected that we be proud of our children when they bring home a high mark or make an effort to share their toys but sometimes our kids will break a rule so skillfully that we can’t help but think “Damn! That was smooth!”
Of course we shouldn’t say the words out loud. We want them to learn good moral values but I think that it would be a mistake to totally overlook the creativity applied to whatever stunt they pulled. After all, creativity is a good thing. We just want them to learn to use their mental powers for good, not evil.
A friend and fellow author Alina Adams once pointed out that Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes was a very misunderstood kid. Clearly all his antics pointed to his immense creativity and superior intellectual abilities. And you know what? She’s right. Calvin was brilliant and if the world was a fair place his parents would have stopped rolling their eyes and started pushing to get him in a gifted education program.
So stop feeling guilty about the nagging sense of pride you experience when your kid pulls one over on his teacher. With the help of a good upbringing he’s more likely to grow up to be a…oh, let’s say…murder mystery novelist than a con-artist. And if, God forbid, he does embrace a life of crime at least he won’t be a stupid criminal—nobody wants to raise one of those.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Chick Lit: The Lighter Side Of Feminism
So far things are looking good for Sex, Murder And A Double Latte. Orders from bookstores are strong and a few different publications have decided to review it. The only stumbling block my publicist has come across is that some critics steadfastly refuse to review chick-lit. Murder mysteries are fine but if the novel is sandwiched between a pink cover or weighted down with a sassy title they’ll pass, thank you very much.
I’m assuming the main concern is that chick-lit is escapist literature. For the most part that’s true. So are almost all murder mysteries. For that matter Steven King writes escapist literature (granted the place you escape to is kind of hellish and terrifying but I don’t think anyone reads him with hopes of getting new insights into life and the world we live in).
But many critics feel that Chick Lit takes the escapism factor a step too far. They point out that most Chick Lit books are about a woman who is unsatisfied with her job, worried about her weight and freaked out about not finding a man to share her life with. While I can honestly say that Sex, Murder And A Double Latte doesn’t deal with any of these issues I will admit that more often than not these are the main plot points of Chick Lit novels. But what I don’t understand is why these concerns are considered trivial. Do these reviewers understand that this is the stuff that has spawned the Prozac revolution?
How many times have we watched friends throw themselves into abusive relationships because they’re afraid of being alone? How many millions are tempted to hit the bottle every time they step on a scale? How many gals fall into a low-lying depression because their boss bares a disturbing resemblance to Mussolini?
Typically a Chick Lit protagonist is one of these "neurotic" women who frets this kind of stuff. We are treated to her self-deprecating humor, we feel for her when she makes all the wrong choices based on her misguided priorities, and we see her slowly gain a better understanding of herself. By the end of the novel the protagonist is stronger, more independent, and she has learned to respect herself as a person; and while she may (or may not) have found a man to love she doesn’t need that relationship in order to be okay.
Before Bridget Jones these books were so few and far between that most women would have been hard pressed to even name one, let alone a publishing house that specialized in them. When they were written they were usually marketed as serious literature. The tone of these books was often much more serious and thus less appealing to the majority of women who could have most benefited from reading them. Now single thirty-somethings are less likely to compare themselves to social pariah’s and more likely to compare themselves to one of the women on Sex, And The City.
Call me crazy, but in my mind that’s not so trivial.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
I’m assuming the main concern is that chick-lit is escapist literature. For the most part that’s true. So are almost all murder mysteries. For that matter Steven King writes escapist literature (granted the place you escape to is kind of hellish and terrifying but I don’t think anyone reads him with hopes of getting new insights into life and the world we live in).
But many critics feel that Chick Lit takes the escapism factor a step too far. They point out that most Chick Lit books are about a woman who is unsatisfied with her job, worried about her weight and freaked out about not finding a man to share her life with. While I can honestly say that Sex, Murder And A Double Latte doesn’t deal with any of these issues I will admit that more often than not these are the main plot points of Chick Lit novels. But what I don’t understand is why these concerns are considered trivial. Do these reviewers understand that this is the stuff that has spawned the Prozac revolution?
How many times have we watched friends throw themselves into abusive relationships because they’re afraid of being alone? How many millions are tempted to hit the bottle every time they step on a scale? How many gals fall into a low-lying depression because their boss bares a disturbing resemblance to Mussolini?
Typically a Chick Lit protagonist is one of these "neurotic" women who frets this kind of stuff. We are treated to her self-deprecating humor, we feel for her when she makes all the wrong choices based on her misguided priorities, and we see her slowly gain a better understanding of herself. By the end of the novel the protagonist is stronger, more independent, and she has learned to respect herself as a person; and while she may (or may not) have found a man to love she doesn’t need that relationship in order to be okay.
Before Bridget Jones these books were so few and far between that most women would have been hard pressed to even name one, let alone a publishing house that specialized in them. When they were written they were usually marketed as serious literature. The tone of these books was often much more serious and thus less appealing to the majority of women who could have most benefited from reading them. Now single thirty-somethings are less likely to compare themselves to social pariah’s and more likely to compare themselves to one of the women on Sex, And The City.
Call me crazy, but in my mind that’s not so trivial.
Kyra Davis
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
Monday, March 07, 2005
Hooray For Holland!
I’m not sure how many of you read the comments posted to my blog (for that matter I’m not sure how many of you read my blog) but I urge you to check out the comment on the Bouncing Baby Book entry. The poster is an editor at Harlequin Holland and it looks like Sex, Murder And A Double Latte will be picked up for the Netherlands!
I can not tell you how much this thrills me. The very idea that a book I wrote could entertain people on an entirely different continent and will be translated into a language that I don’t even speak is absolutely too exciting for words.
Plus I like Holland. Right after my eighteenth birthday a friend of mine who was on a vaulting team (that would be gymnastics on horseback) invited me to accompany her team to Holland where they would compete. Afterwards we would backpack around Europe. Well what self-respecting teenager would say no to an opportunity like that? So off to the Netherlands we went. We initially stayed with a family who lived in a small country town. It was there that I was introduced to salty licorice and the wonders of Nutella.
I remember being amazed by how even the landscape was. You could look in all directions without seeing so much as a bump, let alone a hill. This was particularly odd for me since I had been living in San Francisco, a city whose hills are the bane of many a stick-shift-drivers existence.
But what really touched me were the people. The family we stayed with, the people we met in restaurants and bars—they were all so incredibly kind and hospitable (kamikaze bicyclists aside). It didn’t matter if we were in a small town or a large city, the generous spirit of the citizens of that country was always palpable. Of course there’s probably a fair number of mean Dutch people out there. I have vague memories of some obnoxious men in the pubs but I was so excited about being legally able to enter a bar at 18 that I didn’t let any of them faze me---I was too busy being cool.
There turned out to be a lot more to Amsterdam then the hash brownies and red-light-district-prostitutes you always hear about. It’s an architecturally stunning, sophisticated, multicultural city and in many ways it reminded me of San Francisco.
My friend and I ended up spending months in Europe and we traveled to eight different countries all together. Paris was beautiful, Barcelona was a blast, Prague was magical, but nowhere did I feel more comfortable then I did in the cities within Holland’s borders.
So here’s to Holland. I hope you enjoy Sophie Katz and her friends. I know you’ll make them feel at home.
--Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte
I can not tell you how much this thrills me. The very idea that a book I wrote could entertain people on an entirely different continent and will be translated into a language that I don’t even speak is absolutely too exciting for words.
Plus I like Holland. Right after my eighteenth birthday a friend of mine who was on a vaulting team (that would be gymnastics on horseback) invited me to accompany her team to Holland where they would compete. Afterwards we would backpack around Europe. Well what self-respecting teenager would say no to an opportunity like that? So off to the Netherlands we went. We initially stayed with a family who lived in a small country town. It was there that I was introduced to salty licorice and the wonders of Nutella.
I remember being amazed by how even the landscape was. You could look in all directions without seeing so much as a bump, let alone a hill. This was particularly odd for me since I had been living in San Francisco, a city whose hills are the bane of many a stick-shift-drivers existence.
But what really touched me were the people. The family we stayed with, the people we met in restaurants and bars—they were all so incredibly kind and hospitable (kamikaze bicyclists aside). It didn’t matter if we were in a small town or a large city, the generous spirit of the citizens of that country was always palpable. Of course there’s probably a fair number of mean Dutch people out there. I have vague memories of some obnoxious men in the pubs but I was so excited about being legally able to enter a bar at 18 that I didn’t let any of them faze me---I was too busy being cool.
There turned out to be a lot more to Amsterdam then the hash brownies and red-light-district-prostitutes you always hear about. It’s an architecturally stunning, sophisticated, multicultural city and in many ways it reminded me of San Francisco.
My friend and I ended up spending months in Europe and we traveled to eight different countries all together. Paris was beautiful, Barcelona was a blast, Prague was magical, but nowhere did I feel more comfortable then I did in the cities within Holland’s borders.
So here’s to Holland. I hope you enjoy Sophie Katz and her friends. I know you’ll make them feel at home.
--Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte
Friday, March 04, 2005
My Quirky Son
I woke up yesterday morning (that would be three a.m. yesterday morning) with a horrible case of the stomach flu. By the time my 5 year old son woke up it was all I could do to climb out of bed dump some cereal in the bowl for him and then return to the comfort of my mattress.
My son decided that I deserved a little TLC and made it his business to ‘tuck me in.’ Every night when I put him to bed I give him his favorite stuffed animal and read him a story. So my child went to his closet, dug out a stuffed animal from my childhood that I had passed down to him and gave it to me to cuddle with. Then, sensing that ‘Good Night Dinosaur’ wasn’t appropriate, he pulled out an issue of National Geographic and attempted to read me that. He struggled with the words and then finally gave up and started describing the pictures to me.
The funny thing is that this was a child who was almost diagnosed with Asperger’s less than a year ago. For those of you that don’t know, Asperger’s is a high functioning type of autism and a very trendy diagnosis these days. One of the defining characteristics is that those who have it lack empathy.
We live in a time in which the tendency is to diagnose anyone who is a little different. Like me, my son is a bit quirky—but when I was a kid it was just called being…well quirky. No one tried to pin a disorder or a disease on me.
The concern was that my son seemed to be fixated on subjects like evolution and Ancient Egypt. I have a feeling that if he had been fixated on Barney no one would have had a problem. It’s true that he’s had some challenges in school—it’s the main reason that I’m homeschooling. The problem is that his interests are often a little different than the other kids, he has a hard time sitting still and he is extremely sensitive and prone to emotional outbursts.
To give you a sense of who he is let me relay a conversation we had a few days ago. For some reason we were talking about prejudice and why some adults are mean to others. I told him that adult bullying is basically the same as kid bullying. In both cases it usually starts when a person is afraid of something (usually something they don’t understand) and in order to feel protected and stronger they become a bully.
My son peered at me through his wire-rimmed glasses and said, “But that doesn’t work. That just makes the fear spread. Fear’s like a cold---you can catch it.”
My son is definitely quirky and I love him for it..
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
My son decided that I deserved a little TLC and made it his business to ‘tuck me in.’ Every night when I put him to bed I give him his favorite stuffed animal and read him a story. So my child went to his closet, dug out a stuffed animal from my childhood that I had passed down to him and gave it to me to cuddle with. Then, sensing that ‘Good Night Dinosaur’ wasn’t appropriate, he pulled out an issue of National Geographic and attempted to read me that. He struggled with the words and then finally gave up and started describing the pictures to me.
The funny thing is that this was a child who was almost diagnosed with Asperger’s less than a year ago. For those of you that don’t know, Asperger’s is a high functioning type of autism and a very trendy diagnosis these days. One of the defining characteristics is that those who have it lack empathy.
We live in a time in which the tendency is to diagnose anyone who is a little different. Like me, my son is a bit quirky—but when I was a kid it was just called being…well quirky. No one tried to pin a disorder or a disease on me.
The concern was that my son seemed to be fixated on subjects like evolution and Ancient Egypt. I have a feeling that if he had been fixated on Barney no one would have had a problem. It’s true that he’s had some challenges in school—it’s the main reason that I’m homeschooling. The problem is that his interests are often a little different than the other kids, he has a hard time sitting still and he is extremely sensitive and prone to emotional outbursts.
To give you a sense of who he is let me relay a conversation we had a few days ago. For some reason we were talking about prejudice and why some adults are mean to others. I told him that adult bullying is basically the same as kid bullying. In both cases it usually starts when a person is afraid of something (usually something they don’t understand) and in order to feel protected and stronger they become a bully.
My son peered at me through his wire-rimmed glasses and said, “But that doesn’t work. That just makes the fear spread. Fear’s like a cold---you can catch it.”
My son is definitely quirky and I love him for it..
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte---May 2005
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Expecting A Bouncing Baby Book
Getting a book contract is kind of like getting pregnant. No, you don’t have to sleep with anyone in order to get published. But like creating a child, the process of creating a book should be fun and leave you with a sense of satisfaction.
However the analogy really takes off once you get that call informing you that a bid has been made. It is the novelist’s version of a blue plus sign. You’ve been hoping that this day would come—praying even, and now it’s official. You’re thrilled, ecstatic, your dreams are coming true!
And then the morning sickness sets in---otherwise known as revisions. Some people have a worse time than others (my editor informed me that mine was a light edit. But this is my first child…er…book, so I have no basis for comparison).
Then the edits are done and you reach your second trimester. As any expectant parent can tell you, the second trimester rocks. Everything’s been accepted. There may be some line edits and the like that need to be tended to but nothing major or too daunting. Your cover’s done and it’s ‘showing’ on Amazon. Life is great.
But the third trimester is just around the corner.
That’s right—your due date is fast approaching and all of a sudden it hits you. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing. You don’t know what to expect and you’re not sure what exactly it is your supposed to do in order to ensure that your book starts off life on the right foot. Will your baby be popular, loved even? Or will it be mocked or worse yet--ignored.
The weight of the whole thing is almost unbearable. You just want the damn thing to be out. But then again you know that once it is out a whole new odyssey will begin. Since the experience is different for everyone talking to those who have ‘been-there-done-that’ doesn’t help all that much. Everyone has different and usually conflicting advice. And then there are the questions about the father aka publisher. Will they be supportive? Indifferent?
It’s crazy, it’s overwhelming, it’s nerve wracking and it’s incredibly wonderful. After all, this is a planned pregnancy and personally I can’t wait to share my child with the world.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte--May 2005
However the analogy really takes off once you get that call informing you that a bid has been made. It is the novelist’s version of a blue plus sign. You’ve been hoping that this day would come—praying even, and now it’s official. You’re thrilled, ecstatic, your dreams are coming true!
And then the morning sickness sets in---otherwise known as revisions. Some people have a worse time than others (my editor informed me that mine was a light edit. But this is my first child…er…book, so I have no basis for comparison).
Then the edits are done and you reach your second trimester. As any expectant parent can tell you, the second trimester rocks. Everything’s been accepted. There may be some line edits and the like that need to be tended to but nothing major or too daunting. Your cover’s done and it’s ‘showing’ on Amazon. Life is great.
But the third trimester is just around the corner.
That’s right—your due date is fast approaching and all of a sudden it hits you. You have no idea what the hell you’re doing. You don’t know what to expect and you’re not sure what exactly it is your supposed to do in order to ensure that your book starts off life on the right foot. Will your baby be popular, loved even? Or will it be mocked or worse yet--ignored.
The weight of the whole thing is almost unbearable. You just want the damn thing to be out. But then again you know that once it is out a whole new odyssey will begin. Since the experience is different for everyone talking to those who have ‘been-there-done-that’ doesn’t help all that much. Everyone has different and usually conflicting advice. And then there are the questions about the father aka publisher. Will they be supportive? Indifferent?
It’s crazy, it’s overwhelming, it’s nerve wracking and it’s incredibly wonderful. After all, this is a planned pregnancy and personally I can’t wait to share my child with the world.
Kyra
www.kyradavis.com
Sex, Murder And A Double Latte--May 2005
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