Book culture in L.A. is really Pasadena culture, where the supporters of literary fiction live. So it was no surprise I ended up spending so much time off of the 110 freeway. First, I visited the KPCC studios for an interview with Madeleine Brand. Madeleine is amazing, and she has a gift for getting you to tell the deep truth behind things. I came into the studio with a rehearsed, prepackaged set of answers, which I promptly threw out the window. Madeleine doesn’t ask any of the questions you expect her to, and something about the way she gazes at you makes you want to be totally honest and in the moment. Our half hour together flew by, and I was impressed by her insights into the book. You can listen to the interview here. I personally have not listened to the interview yet, ‘cos I hate the sound of my voice, but I heard it’s intriguing, and does a good job of explaining the novel.

The day after I taped the radio show, I did my reading at Vroman’s–a hallowed institution in L.A. for book lovers. Vroman’s is a place for people who love books, where the booksellers know the writers really well, and where the customers feel like they’re inside a cultural institution, not unlike an art gallery or a cinematheque. Connie Kalter was my excellent host, and I was delighted that she stuck around to listen to the reading. It was the first reading I did where a substantial audience came. Some of them mentioned they’d come after hearing me on the radio that morning, which reminded me of the power of the media. It was, as my readings often are, a lovefest. A lot of my former colleagues and fellow graduate students at USC showed up, and we took this group photo. I was especially happy to reconnect with my old high school friend Juliana Cheng, who I hadn’t seen in almost two decades, and my old pal Josh Welsh, who brought his lovely wife Bonnie and their gorgeous daughter Isla. Josh laughed at all the laugh lines in the section I read–thank goodness for him. Afterwards, my friends and I went across the street for some Mexican food–it was wonderful to get to celebrate the book release with them. My only minus was that I didn’t get to say hello to Jen Ramos, who so kindly invited me to come–the thought of her just absolutely makes me smile.

I happened to be in L.A. when the book came out, so I ended up doing a lot of my promotion while I was there. The day after the reading, I headed over to the offices of the Korea Daily News to chat with Ena Yu, their arts editor. Ena asked a lot of great questions, and we had a lot of fun talking about the book. Ena speaks English, but for some of the interview, we talked in Korean. Ena was also wonderfully patient with me, as I showed up quite late, after getting lost on the way to Wilshire Place (which is not the same as Wilshire Boulevard!) I also did an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times a few days later, and I thought Mary Houlihan asked lots of wonderful questions as well. I happen to like doing interviews, because I love talking about the world of the book–it’s a way of staying in that world a little longer, even though you’re done writing and the book is out.

My other two events were done in connection with Mysterious Galaxy bookstore. Now, in order to give Mysterious Galaxy’s Terry Gilman proper justice, I might have to devote a whole post just for her. But just to summarize: Terry is one of the owners of Mysterious Galaxy, a bookstore in San Diego that is now just branched out into Redondo Beach, in Southern California. Terry’s name and mine are forever bound by a brilliantly written blurb/summary of the book she wrote a few months ago. That blurb has appeared in numerous places, including I believe some newspapers, and on the Indie Next List. So if people look up This Burns, most likely they’ll run into Terry’s description. (In Indiebound, for instance.) Terry has been an early and wonderful supporter of the book, and I’d been dying to meet her. In person, she is completely charming and smart and lovable, and I was thrilled to spend time with her. She and Debra Gendel put together an incredible Ladies’ Lunch at Tiato in Santa Monica. It was a glorious summer day–warm and inviting–and we ate outside, on a patio that felt to me like a beautiful country home. I got to meet one fantastic new friend after another (we had a turn out of about 25 people for the lunch), and they absolutely made my day with their tough questions, their presence, and their hugs. Later that day, Terry hosted me a second time for a reading at the Redondo Beach Library, which was special in that my sisters, my brother-in-law, and my niece were able to come, and I got to share with my family some of the experience of my book tour.

I ended my days in L.A. by stopping by some bookstores to sign stock. I was delighted to see Skylight carrying it in their New Fiction section (I’m always surprised and thrilled when that happens), and Book Soup displaying it on their tables, right in front of the store. Seeing it at Book Soup was particularly surreal and exciting because I used to live near Book Soup, only a few blocks away, on Laurel Avenue, and Book Soup is a very cool, very rock ‘n roll and movie biz kinda place, right on Sunset Boulevard, and I used to be too intimidated to go in back in the day. I got to say hello to Paige Garver, the manager of the store, with whom I’d had dinner a few months earlier during my pre-pub tour and we chatted a bit about the biz, and books. I also stopped by Diesel, at the Brentwood Country Mart, which was full of customers, and is in a really lively and lovely neighborhood.

All in all, I had a great time in Los Angeles, and can’t wait to go back.

Now, after doing my reading and visiting all those stores to sign stock, I felt like my visit to San Francisco had been a success. I got to catch up with old friends, make some new ones, and celebrate the release of the book with some incredibly kind and supportive booksellers. To cap it all off, as I walked over to my gate at SFO San Francisco International Airport, I stopped by the airport bookstore and was surprised and delighted to see there, displayed on the side of a shelf, my book! That sighting was the perfect way to end a perfect trip.

What made the reading special is that it was the “local, hometown” reading–the one that all your friends come to, and it was an incredible treat to see my friends there. So many of my friends had helped along the way, and it was great that they could see what their support had led up to. I was also very tickled to see some of my former students. In the picture, you see Marquita Jackson, Michele Thompson-Draper, and Pamela Gabb, who’d been in my Intro to Lit class this summer and were just wonderful.

Also, I have to confess, I’m a bit of a ham, and love performing my characters. I also really enjoy talking about the book during the Q & A sessions. Finally, at one point during the signing, Shanta told me that we had run out of books, and I was surprised but delighted to hear that.

Afterwards, some friends and I walked over next door to Andee’s, a Mediterranean restaurant. The picture you’re seeing required multiple efforts–my camera turned out to be a sensitive soul, requiring special handling to activate the flash. But maybe the sepia look adds to its charm?

The day after, I decided to stop by a few bookstores and sign stock. My first goal was to get to Unabridged Bookstore, in Lakeview. Unabridged is great, and world-class in its selection. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) they were sold out of the book, so I didn’t stop by, as I waited for them to get more copies. I went instead to the Borders on Michigan Avenue, which is a very lively (and always packed) bookstore, and it was very sad to hear, a few days later, that they were closing. The staff when I was there was incredibly helpful and kind–going through such lengths to find me a Sharpie!–and I really do hope things work out for them, in spite of the closing.

Afterwards, I went to the Barnes and Noble in Lincoln Park, where I was absolutely tickled to see, in the New Fiction shelves, my friend Eleanor Brown’s book WEIRD SISTERS. I also saw my friend Rebecca Makkai’s THE BORROWER, which was very cool. My own book was there also, right next to Ann Patchett’s new one, STATE OF WONDER, which is, as everyone knows, a fantastic read. I also tried to make it to Anderson’s Bookshop in Naperville, but I ended up missing my train. I definitely want to get there eventually, though, Sharpie in hand.

All in all, my release week in Chicago couldn’t have been better. I met lots of wonderful booksellers, got to celebrate the debut of my book with my friends, and had that experience that’s always incredibly gratifying: seeing the finished book in actual bookstore shelves! There is nothing like it.

Then I realized that “to be” questions should be replaced by “to do” questions, and that who I really am is about what I do–my habits, my actions, my gestures–rather than what I “am.” There is no “am” at the end of the day, only what I’ve done and will do. What I do–how I garner my identity through actions–truly determines my talents and abilities.

To do questions are useful: “Do I revise frequently, and do I make my work better every time?” If yes, then I’m a good writer. “Do I do the necessary research, and does my research enrich the world of my characters?” “Do I submit my work to friends, and find ways to incorporate constructive feedback?” Those are all much better measures of one’s ability, skill, and talent, than “to be” questions.

“To do” questions acknowledge the fluidity of ourselves, and our ability to improve and change through discipline, application, and education. “To do” questions acknowledge the expansion of our brains, the mystifying effect of inspiration, and the magical power of self-efficacy and self-belief.

“To be” questions are elitist, self-defeating, un-self-loving, and ultimately, inaccurate and unhelpful. Inaccurate because so much research shows that nothing about our brains is “fixed”–our intelligence is certainly not fixed, and everyone can “stretch” their abilities. Biology and genetics are the worst possible determinants of success as a writer. The successful writer was not born with some kind of special gift. The successful writer simply has been doing the right things longer than your average writer. (The right things meaning reading a lot, writing a lot, refining one’s craft.)

The work of people like Malcolm Gladwell has been key in doing large-scale debunking of our myths about genius. Rather than genetic advantages, those highly original and successful individuals simply benefited from particular circumstances, i.e. birth order and/or exposure to technology and information. They may also have benefited from having to overcompensate for some kind of real or perceived drawback. One isn’t born a genius–one simply does genius-like habits and customs. I’m reminded of this every day, when I consider how much the quality of my thinking changes depending on what I do that day–for instance, I find that exercising has a tremendous effect on my brain power. And traveling (being in new environments) has a profound effect on my ability to be creative. When I travel, I don’t even need to tell myself to write. Words simply start flowing.

At the end of the day, there is no “I am a good writer” or “I am a bad writer.” There is only “I do the things that make a good writer good,” or “I don’t do the things that make a good writer good.” Nobody’s born “good” or “bad” at writing, and no one’s stuck at the same level of skill. A good writer doesn’t be a good writer–she simply does a good writer–and we all can, too.

But writer-time is different–it’s all sameness, until suddenly you’re published. This phenomenon is also found in nature: in the bamboo, that remains at the same height for a very long time, and then suddenly sprouts many feet. It’s also found in the harvest, when the seeds planted suddenly sprout into fruits and vegetables. The rate of growth is not gradual; it’s sudden, and all at once. That’s writer-time. We sit on our manuscripts for years, waiting, and then suddenly, everything happens all at once: publication, followed by more publication, all of a sudden. It is how it is for everyone–the only difference is how long that “seeding” time takes–in some cases, 10 years.

It’s a mistake to assume that publication and “success” will not come just because all is as still as a quiet river right now. It’s like assuming that the bamboo will not sprout just because it’s been at the same low height for the past few months. It’s like assuming that the harvest will not come, just because the fruits don’t grow at the same rate day by day, but rather, all at once. There’s a time for seeding, and there’s a time for harvesting. Those two–seeding and harvesting–are not intertwined. You can’t seed and harvest at the same time. What we can do is seed, seed, seed–and wait for the inevitable harvest.

The farmer seeds because she knows that the harvest will come. Likewise, the writer writes because she knows that publication will come. The farmer doesn’t say, “Oh boy, I think I’m gonna pull out these plants by the roots because it’s been long enough and no peaches yet.” The farmer just waits patiently, secure in the knowledge that growth is inevitable. Similarly, a parent doesn’t say, “I guess I’m going to give up on my 8-year old son ‘cos he’ll never be more than 4 feet tall.” That boy, of course, will eventually go through his growth spurt and become an adult, gloriously 6 feet tall. The successful writer knows that the child will grow into the man, just as the manuscript will “grow” into the hardcover book.

During the years that we’re unnoticed, unread, unpublished, we’re doing something vital–we’re “seeding.” There is no harvest without seeding, and there is no published book without the seeding of the manuscript. Success does not come little by little, a tiny bit each month. It remains virtually absent, until suddenly it shows up at your door–a grown man, or a huge tree. It’s on its own time, its own schedule. It’s on bamboo time rather than clock time. The impatient writer in all of us may ask, “Why don’t I have an agent yet? Why am I not selling my book?” But that’d be like the farmer asking, “Where are my peaches? Where are my peaches?” We would look at such a farmer and think that he’s mad. Of course the peaches will come–as soon as it’s time for the harvest.

That feeling, however, is completely irrational. You cannot compare the typed sentences in your computer to the imagined book in your head. Your work hasn’t been edited, type-set, or bound in covers yet. It hasn’t, in fact, even been completely finished yet. There is no way it can live up to your expectations.

But it’s not because it’s not good; it’s because it lacks the apparatuses of what we think of as a book. If you compare your first draft to a finished book (one that’s been bound, edited, and reviewed) of course your work will seem weaker by comparison. Writers often doubt themselves and the true value of their work because they compare the nascent manuscript not with other nascent manuscripts, but with finished books–finished books that have the “aura” that a book gets after it has been edited, marketed, and talked about in the press.

Every writer at one point dislikes her WIP, and for a simple reason: she’s spent a tremendous amount of time and energy into it, but the manuscript still hasn’t given her anything back. It just sits there. In order to make sense of that reaction, we decide there must be something wrong with it: it’s weak, or it’s bad. But the reason we question its value isn’t out of some rational, genuine awareness of the manuscript’s merits, but rather out of frustration that the manuscript hasn’t returned to us the work we put into it.

This phenomenon happens in life all the time: for instance, a lot of postpartum depression is caused by the disconnect between the mother’s “literal” labor and the baby’s inability to give the mother so much as a smile or a “thank you.” With buyer’s remorse, you spend a tremendous amount of money and time buying a house, and the day you move in, you realize you haven’t gotten anything from the house yet. No memories, no shelter, no nothing. You’re out 10 or 20 or 50 grand, and you haven’t really gotten anything in return.

Same thing with a manuscript. In that in-between, purgatorial period between finishing and selling the book, the manuscript just sits there. You’ve spent months, or even years working on it, sacrificing for it, and meanwhile, the manuscript gives you nothing (for the moment). In an attempt to understand this confusing scenario, the brain starts to play tricks with you. The book hasn’t lived up to the version in your head (the one that’s beautifully displayed on the tables in the entrance to the bookstore), and so you decide there must be something wrong with it.

It is impossible to gauge the true value of your manuscript, because of the “added bonus” that the process of editing, marketing, and displaying your book provide. (This is partly what makes publishing such an inexact art.) Your WIP may seem weak to you, but imagine it with a jacket cover image, a blurb from a famous novelist, an ISBN on the back, and a hardcover spine. It is comparing apples and oranges, and why WIPs–printed out, without the fancy stuff–always seem worse by comparison.

Today is the day my book finally comes out. (Though there have been sightings in bookstores already and Amazon started shipping it a few days ago.) I woke today to a text from a friend saying, “Happy birthday to your book!” and that is kind of how it feels like. A cosmic release of energy. A letting go into the world of something that was only yours before.

And all morning I have really been thinking of all the people who have supported and helped me through the process:

–My writer friends, who read my early drafts and gave me so much helpful, constructive criticism. I learned so much about the characters from them, and that knowledge kept me going through all the revisions;

–My agent Lisa Grubka, who has unending energy, enthusiasm, and great ideas. Before and during the submission process, she truly always knew what was best for the manuscript; even now, long after the sale, she is still an absolute key part of the process and a wonderful advocate;

–My team at Simon & Schuster, especially of course, my editor Kerri Kolen, who is Incredible, I tell ya, Incredible with a Capital “I.” She is a force to be reckoned from, and she works mighty magic with my book. I’m also lucky I have on my side the brilliant Tracey Guest and the great Amanda Ferber;

–The folks at Simon & Schuster, who read the manuscript and started the buzz going. I don’t know them, and haven’t met them, but they sure do know me and my book!

–My friends on the blogosphere, who accompanied me in the year and a half journey toward publication; too many to mention, but folks like dkm, Anne Allen, Meghan Ward, Elizabeth Varadan, Judy Croome, Diane Wolfe, Aubrie Flutist, Natalie Murphy, Vicki Rocho, Rachna Chhabria, Holly Ruggiero, Karen Lange, Sarah Skilton (who just sold a book–hooray!), Milo James Fowler, Robert Guthrie, A.L. Sonnichsen (who just celebrated 12 years of marriage–congratulations!), Yvonne Osborne, Theresa Milstein, Medeia Sharif (whose book BEST. RAMADAN. EVER came out last week), Tess, Tricia O’Brien, Hannah Kincade, Sierra Godfrey, Lynn Colt, Pk Rhezo, Aubrey Flutist, Piedmont Writer, Julie Dao, Faith Hough, Amanda Sablan, Yat-Yee, Victoria Dixon, Solvang Sherrie, Dezmond Hollywood Spy, Stina Lindenblatt, Quinn Seeing Dreaming Writing, Molly WriterMamaDreamer Hall, Court Ellyn, Lynn Connecting Stories, Justine Dell, Lola Sharp, Kelly Polark, Jennifer Hiller, and Jonathan Arntson. I’m sure I’m forgetting someone. I really do love you guys, and I really appreciated the smart, kind, supportive comments I would get from you. You gave me advice, you helped me pick my author photo, you held my hand through it all. Thank you!

–The booksellers who have been championing the book. You have been amazing to me and the book and I thank you. Your enthusiasm and support has meant the world to me. And I can’t wait to meet more booksellers as I make my way through the country signing stock and doing readings. I love getting reviews of the book, but the ones from the booksellers are especially wonderful. Thank you!

–The book bloggers who have been writing about the book, especially A Casual Reader. Thank you for championing the book!

–My cadre of Chicago Indian women best friends–Reena, Rita, Harpreet, and Anjali! You have been as excited about the book as I have, and have been the recipient of countless sharing of news. Thank you for being happy for me, always.

–My L.A. friends–Neel, Maitraya, Jeehanger (all also, incidentally, Indian–I just noticed that), and all of whom must come to my reading next week or else.

–My friends who helped me get flyers out to the distant land of the burbs–Eric, Christina

–My friend who literally handsells my book to everyone she knows–Jeanne

–My colleagues at work who agreed to get the word out, especially Sheila, Arlene, Karen, Madhurima, and again Jeanne

–My family, of course

For all of you who lent a helping hand or even just offered a word or two of support: I know it’s cheesy to say this, but I really, honestly, completely feel like ALL of US have a book out today. When my book become an Amazon Best Book of the Month, one of my friends called me, delighted, and said, “I’m so happy! I feel like it happened to me, like it’s my accomplishment!” And I thought, that’s because it is! When you support someone else, a piece of their achievement becomes yours, doesn’t it? This is a great day, and thanks to everyone who helped me on the way!!!! (I’m not done asking you for help, by the way, I *will* need advice on my next author pic.)

You can add great, witty dialogue. Later. You can add great descriptions of the locations. Later. You can add beautiful, lyrical style. Later. I realized this in the process of writing my novel, THIS BURNS MY HEART. The very first draft I wrote and the last draft I turned in to my editor were substantially different. With each set of revisions, I added something new: more historical details, more fleshed out secondary characters, more precise and poetic images, better pacing.

That is the privilege we have as writers, which actors and other artists don’t have: we can change our work in progress over and over and over again, until it is great. This means we’re not limited to a single day’s inspiration, but rather inspiration from years and years. This means we’re not limited to a single day’s brain power, but our brain power from years and years. We can multiply our talent, skill, and intelligence by a thousand, just by virtue of going back to it over and over again. We can also benefit from the brainpower of our friends, by getting feedback from the best minds around us.

Judging the quality of a first draft (especially an ongoing first draft) is absolutely foolish and a waste of time. It is like a choreographer looking at his dance on the first hour of rehearsal–before the dancers know all the moves–and deciding that his work is bad. Just the fact that the chapter exists should be a cause for celebration. Each 10,000 word mark should be considered a victory. Finishing the novel means you got through the hardest part!

That’s why I think of a first draft as merely a skeleton–a blueprint to be improved upon. There’s no reason to worry about making it good. A first draft doesn’t need to be good. It just has to BE.

Doesn’t it sound wonderful? As if inspiration is a condiment that you can spread over your food once you get it out of the oven. A sprinkle of salt over a bland dish, the rain of pepper on a lonely fish.

My friend is right. I’ve done this about a million times. Gone back to a scene and tweaked the dialogue. Changed the descriptions and made the story come alive. Hacked it and completely rewrote it, after I’d made all the necessary discoveries in the first version. And, this is the best thing: The saying works a bit like a placebo. Once you know that you can add inspiration later, you feel free to invent and move freely on the page, coming up with all kinds of goodies. Once you give yourself permission to just write, you do end up coming up with extraordinary stuff.

So this is the best advice I have for getting over perfectionism: When you’re writing your first draft (or just writing, period), tell yourself, “I’ll make this good LATER. Not now. Later.” There’s always a second, third, and fourth and so on draft. There may not be a real, sure fire way to get over perfectionism, but one way to do so is to TRICK it, and POSTPONE it.

Reading the article, I was reminded of a writing composition class I taught back in the day, a class that happened to be composed almost entirely of Asian American, Middle Eastern, black and Latino/a students. This was in Los Angeles, at a very ethnically diverse college, and the students had self-selected by choosing a sociology course about racial conflict. I remember two students particularly well, both Asian. One happened to be in a rock band and wrote endless drafts of his essays; I’ll call him “Defoe” since his own name took after a famous British writer. He spent almost thirty hours working on a single essay, and his work was spotless. The other, who I didn’t know much about, did the bare minimum and was often disruptive in class. I’ll call him “Ted,” after the time-honored Asian habit of parents naming their children after American nicknames.

Defoe was, obviously, my favorite student–I swooned over his papers and took credit for his brilliance, as young teachers often do. He had talent, but above all, he wanted to please his teacher. Ted, on the other hand, did not appear to care. Once, he was so disruptive, I had to do a little trick you learn in teacher-school on how to handle difficult students: I walked over from my desk, bridged the physical distance between us, and stood literally right in front of his desk. Usually, when I do this (and by usually I mean the one time I’d done it before, having decided after this never to repeat this cheap trick), the student quiets down and we move on. But with Ted, something unexpected happened: Ted, a big, burly kid who reminded me of the bully in The Simpsons, looked panicked and agitated when I stood in front of him. He literally looked like he might break into tears. Oh my gosh, I realized, he cares about my approval, just like the others. He just has a different way of getting my attention. 

Later, during a writing tutorial at a coffee house, I discovered that Ted in person was quite different from the inattentive, disruptive student that he was in class. In fact, he was funny, kind, and even sweet. Above all, he was young–he was very much an 18-year old. I found him immensely likeable. But he wasn’t getting an A in my class; he didn’t have the patience for the kind of continuous, sustained life of reading required to be a strong writer. Ted was the kind of Asian American kid who seems invisible in discussions of Asian overachievement, where the focus is on the Defoes of this world. What if Ted wasn’t going to be a doctor, or an engineer, or a CEO? I understood why he was so terrified when I stood in front of him in class. He probably thought I’d seen through him–you’re not a real Asian, you’re a regular person. What could be a bigger burden, at that age, than not living up to the Asian myth of being really good at school? What does that do to the Teds of this world? What happens to the Asian underachievers when all the test-taking ends? This obsession with achievement is not emotionally healthy, to say the least.