Monthly Archives: August 2023

Getting Lost

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I loved my recent trip to Japan, despite how many times I got lost.

The worst instance was when my husband and I were dragging heavy suitcases searching for our AirBnb. In the heat (95 feels like 106) we walked in circles for an hour, trying to follow directions that said: get out of the subway station (which exit?), walk under an underpass (there were at least three), turn left at the brown building (which one–nearly all the buildings were brown), then walk “a little while” and turn right at the big tree (of course, more than one tree). To the host’s credit, there were thumbnail photos of each step, but the views looked like everywhere else in the neighborhood.

Why didn’t I try Google Maps? I did, but the app didn’t recognize the transliterated address. It was only after we stopped a kind woman walking on the street that she was able to paste the Japanese address into her phone and locate the place instantly–right around the corner from where we were and only four minutes from the subway station. Apparently Google maps in Japan often doesn’t recognize transliterated addresses. And even when it does, the streets you’re supposed to turn on are written in Japanese characters, with vague instructions like “head Northeast.” If I were a Millennial, I might be better at holding the phone up and following the blue dot, as the younger members on our trip seemed to do effortlessly, but for every time I was able to navigate to a subway, restaurant, or sight-seeing venue, there were three more times I found myself suddenly going in the wrong direction (not to mention all the times I did, eventually, make it successfully to a targeted restaurant, only to find it closed when I got there).

But travel can be like that. As can writing. While it may not seem so at the time–especially in the heat with suitcases–there can be joy in the quest if you can recognize and accept that you may not get to your destination as easily as you might wish to.

All my novels have taken years to write because I kept veering off course. Even though I kept a consistent schedule, I didn’t know what wasn’t working until I’d spent several drafts on the wrong path–which was ultimately a lot more of a time sink than the day we took the bullet train in the wrong direction. It was only after I gave a few characters personality transplants, switched the points of view and totally revamped plot points several times that I felt confident that I was finally following the blue dot of the true story. Or was I? Even now, the back of my mind churns as the Google Maps arrow wobbles: What if I changed all the first person points of view to third person? Would that be stronger and more consistent? Do I have the energy and interest right now to take the plunge? 

Some books on novel-writing advise people to spend time plotting out the story’s trajectory and developing the characters through extensive bios before writing a word. If you can do that, more power to you. I know I need to feel the thrust of the book by immersing myself in a situation before doing that kind of development work, so I usually wait until I have a draft or two done before tackling any of that. And I also know that even if I did try to plan everything in advance, I’d still find myself veering off my set map. This is a good thing. As Robert Frost said, No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.

It’s a lesson I wish I’d taken to heart at the time, taking cues from my husband, who oohed and aahed as he snapped photos of temples and pagodas that suddenly appeared among all the brown buildings, instead of fuming in frustration at that elusive blue dot.

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The Making of a Book Cover

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There’s an old adage… you can’t judge a book by its cover, meaning (according to the Brittanica Dictionary) “that you shouldn’t judge someone or something based only on what you see on the outside or only on what you perceive without knowing the full situation.” It’s a good reminder to try not to make snap judgments about people and situations.

However, when it comes to actual reading materials, I think many of us fall into the trap of judging books by their covers.

Let’s face it: So many books, so little time. If I’m in a bookstore with the goal of choosing just one book (even if I might want to buy 20) the cover–as well as the title–WILL play a huge role in my decision, especially if the author is unknown to me, or the book hasn’t been specifically recommended. And I don’t even consider myself a visual person, so I think this may be even more true for others.

That’s why the cover of a book is so important.

My first two books were published by major houses, which meant I had very little say over their covers–or titles, both of which were changed from my originals. I could suggest tweaks but I had no say over the whole concept. I was lucky to love the cover for my first book, Escaping Into the Night, but I never liked the cover for my second book, Playing Dad’s Song. It wasn’t much consolation that the book with the cover I liked did way better than the book with the cover I didn’t like.  I couldn’t help but wonder and wish that a stronger cover would have made a difference with this book’s  performance in the market.

My third book, Wolf in the Suitcase, was a poetry chapbook published by a small press, and I had a lot of say in the cover design. I chose a painting by my late father-in-law, Michihiro Yoshida, in part to honor him post-mortem. Since poetry is tough to sell to people who don’t know you, I didn’t really think too much about market impacts, though I hoped the bright and engaging colors would evoke interest.

And this brings me to my current short-story collection,  Immigrants, coming soon! When the publisher, Creators Press, first asked me for my ideas, I sent a couple of photos I’d taken on my trip to the U.S./Mexico border, but they thought these images were too blatant, especially since most of the stories weren’t about the border. After their team generated a list of different ideas, we followed up on two possibilities: a person at a crossroads, and a half-hidden face. When the designer worked up both images, it was clear to me that the face was the winner.

Still, there were several more iterations. The first face looked too white, the second too young and romantic. In a subsequent draft, the tear in the curtain looked too ill-defined, so the designer came up with the idea of adding barbed wire. This certainly raised the clarity and emotional temperature; however, I was worried about the implied violence in the image, since the emphasis of the book is more about human connections than about politics. So I asked the designer for one draft with the barbed wire and one without, and then asked around 15 people–writers, artists, and activists–to comment on which one they liked better.

While the majority of those I asked seemed to think the barbed wire image was more powerful, those who didn’t like it, felt strongly (as I did) that the implied violence was a turn-off. But one of the people I asked, got her artistic juices flowing. After printing and cutting up different pieces of the image, she came up with a hybrid of the two that had pleats and just a hint of barbed wire, which the designer took as a model for the final draft. While I was a bit worried about being so picky and taking so long, I was happy that the designer (instead of thinking I was a pain in the butt) thanked me and said, “I feel like this has been a very rewarding process so far, and I’m really excited about the final product we can achieve!”

 

So, there we have it. Who knows what impact the cover will have on the book’s success, but I hope that if Immigrants is judged by its cover, it will be judged favorably.

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Hiroshima Commemoration: August 6, 2023

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Thousands of people filled Peace Memorial Park on August 6. It felt, in some ways, like many of the large demonstrations I’ve attended over the years, with people displaying colorful posters and handing out flyers. A small group of girl scouts looked quite serious as they handed out programs, but also proud that they were doing such an important job. And the security people who searched bags in the extremely orderly array of lines were efficient and respectful as they handed people shrink-wrapped cooling towels, which seem to be a staple in the “wicked hot” Japanese summer–consistent temperatures in the 90s that feel even hotter due to the high humidity.

 

 

 

 

My husband and I got there too late to get seats under the tent, but with our NYC superpowers of threading our way through crowds, we found a small shaded spot on the ground at the tent’s periphery where we could hear well and see the speakers on the Jumbotron if we stood up. The ceremony was short, centering on the ringing of a bell at exactly 8:15 AM, followed by a moment of silence. Then, a whoosh of doves made spectacular shadows against the white tent canopy before they soared off, staying in our view-scape for barely a moment.

And yet, a moment was all it took for the bomb to drop and change everything.

The day before, we had gone to the city gardens and seen a large ginkgo, one of only three trees that survived the bombing. We also went to the Peace Museum and barely made it through picture after picture of burnt bodies, story after story of people wracked with despair as they stumbled through rubbled streets, trying to find their loved ones. This was made even worse by the short political exhibit that followed, which emphasized how the U.S. felt it was “worth it” to drop this new weapon on already nearly defeated Japan if it would keep the Soviet Union from entering the war and sharing the spoils.

How could anyone do this? The question, like a heavy bell clapper, pounded against my head. And especially, after learning about the unspeakable devastation and suffering in Hiroshima, how could they drop another bomb three days later in Nagasaki?

And what is it in humans that give us the capacity to torture and kill others when ordered, from instances of all-out-war, to the countless genocides of one group against another, to the shocking Milgram experiments?

But on the flip-side of such evil, one story that emerged was a story of goodness and hope. In 1945, medical people came from all over, risking their own health to help the victims. In each continuing generation since then, the city has continued to take it upon itself to educate people about the bombing, not in order to sink into the horror, but to come through it to a better place. As the mayor declared at this year’s ceremony, (referring to the city’s recent hosting of G-7 leaders this past spring) “Enduring past grief, overcoming hatred, we yearn for genuine world peace with all humanity living in harmony and prosperity. I believe our spirit is now engaged in their hearts.”

Later that night we went to see the lanterns in the river: hundreds upon hundreds of lights along the blank, each light symbolizing a dead body that was found in the river after the bomb exploded. While the mood was mixed, the thousands on the river’s banks were more hopeful than sunk. And, I too, was struck more by the beauty of the image than by its symbolism, a sentiment echoed by the two children who read a poem in the morning ceremony that gives hope for the future. I’m grateful for these children and their authentic, hopeful words. Here’s a piece of the poem:

Today Hiroshima is a city full of greenery and smiling faces.
Thank you for surviving
It’s because you survived that we were given our lives.

And there is something that we can do for others, too.
Thinking about how others feel before saying how we feel.
Finding the good in our friends.
Doing what we can to make others smile.

 

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