One Million Wild Assumptions

This week, I went off the deep end, and replied to a review of my own book. Am I crazy? Am I allowed? It's the first and only time I've ever replied to a review, and I did so because it was posted on The Millions, a blog I like and read regularly, and the review was mixed-to-positive. Some people backed me up, some people called me weird for admitting I even read my reviews at all. I would invite these dudes to publish a first novel and then get back to me with their tips on not reading any reviews.

Meanwhile, the best and most hilarious comment of them all came last night, but before I could respond this morning, it was deleted from the post (maybe the guy did some research):

MFA's who write first "novels" responding to their work is sad and a sign of the times. I took Cris Mazza at UIC and she used to make us positively review her works on Amazon. So much for criticism. Leigh Stein you should be ashamed of yourself.

This is hilarious for a few reasons.

1. I don't have an MFA.

2. I didn't even graduate high school. I dropped out in 2002.

3. I'm currently a working adult going to school full-time, trying to finish my bachelors degree at Brooklyn College. Today I have to finish reading Knight of the Burning Pestle and write a response paper, and do a report on an online museum for my Jewish Diaspora class.

4. It's called a "novel" because it's "fictional."

Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego

Ever since my friend Catherine told me about running into Mary Gaitskill on the subway, and initiating a gushing/awkward fan conversation with her, I have had book + subway fantasies. Not that anyone would recognize me from my author photo and want to talk to me; I'm not completely insane. But that I would see someone reading my book on the train. (And then would have to resist yelling THAT'S MY BOOK I WROTE THAT BOOK.)

My publicist snapped this shot on the F.

Meanwhile, savvy readers know that they can win a free copy of my book by writing in to my advice column. If you live outside the U.S., this can be an even better deal. That's how my book made it all the way to Grace in Korea:

But unfortunately, I don't think it will be a big hit there.

Grace: have i told you about my perils in trying to explain the plot of your book to my asian peers

 me: hahaha NO

 Grace: i didnt realize it either

  but like

  it's pretty weird if you DONT live with your parents

  in almost every major asian country

  until you get married

  it's just what you do

 even today i was telling my students how "he still lives at home with his parents" is an insult

  and they couldn't believe it

Maybe it will be a hit in Belgium. Here's Annelies, whose English is at least 8,000 times better than my French, surrounded by domestic bliss. Her colleagues are "absolutely curious" about my book, she says. I wonder what the cultural expectation about "moving back home" is there?

 

Jew "ish"

This week, I'm guest blogging for the Jewish Book Council.

So far I've written about my adolescent dream to "Be Anne Frank," and a German Jewish ghost story from the southwest.

Coming soon...a post about my novel as world traveler.

FYI

Esther didn't write a book. I wrote a book.

Thanks.

Resolution

I'm back from my book tour, during which I hit bookstores from coast to coast, and met women like this nice lady, who bought my book for their niece/daughter who lives at home/lives in New York. (Thanks to Sherry Virtz for snapping a few pictures while I read in Chapel Hill.)

Now it's back to the "real world," which is a one-bedroom in Brooklyn, where I co-habitate with a boyfriend and a cat who I'm allergic to. Time to get back on my regular asthma medication schedule!

I made my New Year's resolution "learn to cook," and yesterday was the first opportunity I had to put this into practice. (I even got this for Christmas, so I can cook in style.)

While browning onions for vegetable stock, I splashed hot oil on my face, and later cut my hand on the lid of a can of cannellini beans, but other than that I escaped from the kitchen mostly unharmed. I'm using Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, a huge green hardcover that I am very much in love with because I can hear Mark speaking to me, the cooking moron, in a very gentle voice, telling me it's all going to be okay.

On vegetable soup: "You start with a flavorful base and add the best produce you have on hand: How can you go wrong?"

How can you go wrong indeed? Unless you splash hot oil on your face.

I made Pasta e Fagioli soup (with homemade stock!) and Roasted Quinoa with Potatoes and Cheese.

Boyfriend (surprised voice): This is actually good. How did you know how to make it?
Me: I followed a recipe.
BF: You just read it?
Me: I just followed the steps in order.
BF: Good job.

Thanks, Mark!

Ears and Loathing

I wrote an essay called "Ears and Loathing" for the February issue of Allure, about my ears and what they mean to me (membership in the elf community).

"But you don't have big ears," you might say, if you've never met me, or even if you have.

I think my ears are my most obvious feature, but I would also concede that the flaws we believe in are often the ones that go unnoticed by our peers, who are too worried about their own weird features.

For proof, here's a photo I would have used as an author photo, if I'd written a book called "What Mr. Spock and I Have in Common: True Stories by Leigh Stein":

And here's what it looks like if my hair is down, and my ear just needs some breathing room. My boyfriend has been cropped out of this photo to protect his identity.

Dispatch from the Lilac Capital of the World

 

This is Ellie. I've known her since she was 11. She has starred in every play (three) I've ever written. She says I better use her name in my next book, or else.

Yesterday's event was the toast of the town of Lombard, IL. My friend Mark (who was the only boy I could get to act in all the skits about tenement slums that I wrote in 3rd grade) says my book is the most exciting thing to happen to Lombard since abolitionist Sheldon Peck used his home to help slaves escape via the Underground Railroad.

 

Here's a picture of me being the Little Mermaid, in a seashell chair. I would have stolen it if I thought it would fit in a carry-on.

 Attractive young people, excited about my book.

 Me and my sister Hattie, Lush employee and master portrait photographer.

"Pretend you're all talking to her," Hattie said.