Ariel

I used to be a runner. And I used to love it. It worked for me. My body responded well to the routine and consistency and when I think back, I’ve never been healthier than when I was was running thirty-plus miles a week. Life changes of course. Mine certainly did. I got married and had children and my days soon filled with other things: namely a desperate need for sleep.

Eighteen years later I’ve started running again., And while I’ve been pleased to learn that I still love running, it’s discouraging to realize just how out of shape I truly am. I’m slower than I’ve ever been. My aerobic stamina is pathetic. My body is older and stiffer and less inclined to cooperate. I blister easily. But I am running. And this makes me very happy.

But because I live in Tennessee there is another obstacle in my path: hills. Many, many hills, all of them seemingly in my neighborhood. It’s hard enough to run a mile on flat ground without getting red-faced and winded. But it’s even worse when hills are involved. So, a few weeks ago I made a decision: until I build up speed and stamina I am just going to run the downhill parts.

And it’s working! I’ve stopped dreading my runs. My speed is increasing. My time is decreasing. It still isn’t all that pretty, but it is progress. Allowing myself to take the easy route has allowed me to establish this new habit. And I’m healthier as a result. My clothes fit better. My circulation and skin are better. I feel better.

It’s been a revelation to me: I don’t have to make things hard on my myself. I don’t have to run up the hills. They aren’t going anywhere. I have to climb them anyway. But I don’t have to do it in a way that will hurt or exhaust me.

So, today, here’s your homework:

Run the downhill parts.

Pick the low-hanging fruit.

Write the easy chapter.

Make the easy sales call.

Let yourself see a bit of progress.

Of course we can do all the hard things. And we will. But sometimes we need permission to do the easy things first. Save that uphill run for later.

For now, take the win.

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A few things that are helping me form this new habit:

A fun playlist. Mine includes everything from Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger (Yes, I’m serious. Yes, I love Rocky. And yes, it really does help me keep the pace up—you try not running when it’s playing) to Thunderstruck by AC/DC. It also has Pink, Beyonce, Aloe Blac, Ram Jam, Hozier, Taio Cruz, Fort Minor, Macklemore, Fall Out Boy, and Andy Grammer. It’s all over the map but if I’m going to run to it, I want upbeat. I want it to make me happy.

The Map My Run app. It keeps track of time, distance, and calories. I can map specific runs through my neighborhood and share them with my husband so he knows where I am. It tracks my progress weekly and emails me a gentle reminder if I’ve skipped too many days. I like the accountability.

The realization that I write better if I’ve gone for a run that morning. Even on the days when I don’t really have time. Even on the days when I don’t feel like it. I write twice as many words on the days that I run. Every. Single. Time.

The end result? My new novel is getting written in record time.

Note: my dear friend Marybeth Whalen and I both wrote about our near-misses in meeting Pat Conroy recently for She Reads. Make sure you take a moment to read hers as well because it’s very moving. I’ve posted mine below, with a short addition on how his writing has both inspired me and made me want to quit altogether–as the best writing always does.

Some authors are so revered that their names are whispered at literary events like an incantation. Authors who earn an “esque” after their names. Patchett-esque. Conroy-esque. Authors whose style is so unique, so mesmerizing that others emulate them for decades. The Kings and Queens of publishing as it were.

And I will never forget the day I first saw the reigning King and Queen of publishing in the flesh for the first time, or the regret I’ve held since that day. In October of 2014 I was invited to attend the Southern Festival of the Book here in Nashville. My debut novel had been published a few months earlier and it was the last event I was scheduled to attend. If I’m being totally honest, I was exhausted and wilted and tired of talking about myself and my book. So as I sat in the green room, waiting for my panel, I was a little subdued. And then heard THE GASP. When I looked up, Ann Patchett and Pat Conroy stood in the door, and fifty or so authors sat open-mouthed staring at them.

Here’s what you need to understand about me: if I am in awe of you, I will avoid you at all costs. I will not make eye contact or ask for your autograph. My absurd brain believes that the best way to show respect is to be the one person in a room not genuflecting. I will give you one less hand to shake. One less gushing compliment to deflect. I will leave you alone because I assume that you’re tired of the lines. This is unreasonable and I have no idea why I do it but it’s my default setting.

So I sat there, watching fifty authors rise to their feet and form two lines, and I settled deeper into my chair. A very flawed plan considering that within minutes I was the only person sitting. And three feet away, directly to my left, was Pat Conroy. But I dug in, determined.

The simple truth is that I froze. And it was awkward. And embarrassing. And obvious. I find myself in green rooms like that on occasion and at the time I thought I’d have another chance. I would rally and do better next time. But you know how this story ends and that second chance never came. If I could have done it all over again I would have gotten to my feet and shaken his hand. I would have told him what an honor it was to meet him. How staggered I am by his talent. I would have allowed myself to be in awe. He would have forgotten me instantly but I would have treasured the memory.

A memory that I never made because I’m an idiot.

Shake your hero’s hand. Give that gushing compliment. Send the email. Write the letter. Tell them that story in the signing line about how their novel changed your life or made you want to be a writer or helped you forgive your dad. They’ll understand. They do this because they know words are powerful and they want to hear that they have touched your life. Don’t be like me. Be a fan girl.

So when I woke on March 4th and learned of Pat Conroy’s passing I was devastated. But I instantly knew how to make amends. I decided to read through his entire body of work this year as penance for my stupidity. I already owned THE PRINCE OF TIDES but I bought each of his other books on my book tour this spring and I am currently  immersing myself in Pat Conroy’s south. I’ve lived here for much of the last twenty years but I can honestly say I’ve never really understood it until now.

Thank you for that, Mr. Conroy. It has been an unexpected gift. And I’m sorry that I don’t have the sense God gave a rock. I hope we get the chance to laugh about that one day on the other side of eternity.

When Random House told me they’d hired award-winning narrator John Lee to read FLIGHT OF DREAMS for audio I was thrilled. And of course I immediately went online and listened to samples from his numerous audiobooks. Mostly I was thankful he had the time to do mine. His voice is spectacular and he’s a genius with accents so it’s no surprise that he knocked it out of the park. Happy author all the way around. I could listen to him say “The American” all day long.

And then on Tuesday my editor sent me the link to this YouTube video of John Lee discussing FLIGHT OF DREAMS. I can’t explain why this meant so much to me but it did. My level of elation is silly and unreasonable but I don’t really care. It was hugely encouraging to me that he actually liked the book.

So there you have it. I am ridiculous. But John Lee is pretty darn amazing.

Today is the publication day for my  new novel, FLIGHT OF DREAMS, and my friends at Doubleday Books have partnered with Gaelan Ennis from Gone the Whiskey, to recreate the Maybach 12, a famous cocktail served aboard the Hindenburg. Even though the original recipe was lost in the disaster, Gaelan was able to put his creative spin on the drink so we can once again enjoy this piece of history.

Tonight I hope to toast this new book with my husband and I hope you’ll join me. Right now I’m thinking about those who died on the Hindenburg and I’m hoping that we come to know their names and their stories a little better because of this book. The original dedication for the novel reads, “To those who love. To those who lose. And to those who stand in the flames so others can pass safely through.” I changed it in the end to honor specific people who mean the world to me (my husband, a friend, and my grandmother) but that first dedication seems very apt today. This novel would not exist without the men and women on board that last ill-fated flight. And I hope I’ve honored their memory well.

Th Maybach 12, as written about in FLIGHT OF DREAMS:

Leonhard leaves her then and goes in search of the bar on B-deck and its famous cocktail, the recipe for which is known only to the bar steward, a secret that is guarded more closely than the Hindenburg itself…Leonhard joins them at the window carrying three frosted glasses containing ice chips and a murky citrine liquid. The look he gives Gertrud is a mixture of astonishment and respect. He hands one of the glasses to the colonel. “You will join us for dinner? Unless my wife has revealed too much of her impetuous nature?”

Gertrud takes a tiny sip of the Maybach 12 and can almost feel her hair blow back. The drink is everything, all at once, and she has an immediate appreciation for its reputation. She can taste the Kirsch and the Benedictine in equal parts, along with a good dry gin, and something else she can’t identify. “He means I’m an acquired taste.”

“On the contrary, Liebchen,” Leonhard says. “It didn’t take me long at all. One kiss, if I recall correctly.”

And the recipe courtesy of mixologist Gaelan Ennis (who I hope to meet one day):

THE MAYBACH 12

3 drops Saline Solution*

1tsp Dolin Blanc Vermouth

3/4oz Maybach Batch**

3/4oz Edelster Aventinus

1 1/2oz Bol’s Genever

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In a mixing glass, stir cocktail over cracked ice until it has reached the desired temperature and dilution. In a chilled AP Coupe, express the oils from one lemon twist, then discard the lemon twist. Strain cocktail into glass. Garnish with a Brandied Cherry dropped into the center of the glass. Serve.

*The saline solution mix that I use is 1tbsp of salt, diluted into 4oz of water.

** The Maybach batch is a 1-2-3 mixture of Simple Syrup, Luxardo Maraschino, and Kirschwasser. Meaning, while you would batch 1oz Simple, 2oz Luxardo, 3oz Kirschwasser, you would only be using 3/4oz of that total mix.