There Are Rules
Last November I was driving through Alabama with my friend
. We did two events together to cap off our individual book tours and as we were headed home, we fell into deep conversation about pizza. As you do.It’s a very personal thing, pizza. Toppings. Crust. Region (New York! Chicago!). People have come to blows over whether or not pineapple is an appropriate addition. As for Marybeth, she has a specific routine. She always orders a side of extra sauce to dip her pizza in.
Genius, really.
And when I told her so, she shrugged and replied, “There are rules.”
We spent the rest of the drive home discussing the arbitrary rules that govern our lives. And I was thinking about one of mine last week as I began re-reading a novel in anticipation of its upcoming sequel. It’s been a minute since I last visited that world and I wanted to relearn the characters and the story before I dive back in.
I have a very weird rule about re-reading fiction: I have to do so in a different format that I read it the first time. In this case I’d first read the book in print, so I downloaded the e-book. But the same applies if I read it in audio first, the next round needs to be print. This allows me to return to a story but have an entirely different experience.
Non-fiction is different, however. I only read that on audio—and only during exercise, preferably while on a long walk around my neighborhood.
Other weird quirks that I have:
The only Woody Allen movie that I am allowed to watch is Midnight In Paris because I watched (and loved) it long before I ever heard any of the disturbing things he’s been accused of.
Unlike Marybeth, I don’t order my pizza with a side of sauce. I—and yes, this is weird—eat it with Lay’s wavy potato chips and French onion dip.
I never read historical fiction while I’m writing it. I pick up mystery or thriller or fantasy instead. Historical is saved for when I’ve finished the first draft of whatever book I’m currently working on.
If I luck into a great parking spot, I immediately declare that “I must be livin’ right.” My mother-in-law used to do this, and it always made me laugh. It’s silly, I know, but it feels like one small way to keep her memory alive.
No doubt there is more, but those are the things that come to mind right now—likely because I’ll be seeing Marybeth tomorrow. And yes, there will be pizza. With extra sauce.
There are rules.
What are yours?
P.S. If you have not read @Marybeth Whalen’s new novel—Every Moment Since—do yourself a favor and grab a copy. It’s her best work yet, and the book she was born to write.
A small Southern town. An ordinary Saturday night. A little boy disappears without a trace.
Everyone in Wynotte, North Carolina, knows the name Davy Malcor. Knows the video clip of him juggling four balls, "All at the very same time!" Knows the Marty McFly jacket his mother made for his birthday that he wore proudly, and often. But no one knows what happened to him the night he went missing more than twenty years ago.
When the jacket is unexpectedly uncovered, the cold case reopens, and Davy's family is thrust into yet another media storm. But at the heart of the story are four people forever changed by one single night: Thaddeus Malcor, Davy's older brother, created the life of his dreams by writing a bestselling memoir about his family's experience and is enjoying success and notoriety as a result, even if the memoir doesn't quite reveal the whole story. Tabitha Malcor, his mother, is divorced and living alone, advocating for victims' rights and faithfully cataloging her regrets each week, never including her biggest regret of all. Anissa Weaver was just a kid herself when Davy went missing, and her connection to him is one she cannot reveal as she serves as the Malcor family's Public Information Officer. And, long suspected in Davy's disappearance, Gordon Swift has kept his head down and scraped together a decent life. But the new attention to the case makes it impossible to hide from the public, and the past.
With hauntingly vivid prose, Marybeth Mayhew Whalen peels back the curtain on the inner turmoil of those who were left behind in the small Southern community as they pick up the pieces that remain and press forward into the light to find hope and healing. A perfect book club read that includes discussion questions.
I was at a Neopolitan pizza place when I saw a girl do the most genius thing. She ate the pizza and left the crust. Judgy me thought, girl, don’t be low carb - this blistered fire-oven crust is heaven! But then I saw her grab the olive oil and balsamic vinegar and make a little puddle of both on the side of her plate. She sprinkled it with fresh grated Parmesan and a few red pepper flakes. Then she dipped the crust in this vinaigrette of sorts. Mind blown. I will never again not eat my crust this way!