Though I’m working on my dissertation for most of this weekend, I took a little time out to dream about my ancestral homeland thanks to Ben Tish’s gorgeous cookbook, Sicilia: A Love letter to the Food of Sicily. More than just recipes, Ben gives us a glimpse into the rich arid land, history, and the bustling society that is so prevalent on this island (and the many islands dotted along its coast). I particularly love his vivid descriptions of the food markets, each with its own unique spin on street food. I can’t wait to see and experience them myself.
Sicily’s history is dotted with many influences from many places and peoples. It’s not a melting pot, but rather an amalgam, a collage, with all the parts clearly visible and working together to create something none of them could do alone. Sicily isn’t one culture but many. Its food is its historical archive.
Arab and North African influences are some of the strongest we can find in Sicily’s cuisine, including both its ingredients and preparation. The Moors and the Islamic culture they brought are closely tied to Spain. However, they are just as prevalent, perhaps even more so, in Sicily. Pistachios and honey, oranges and lemons, saffron and pomegranates, sorbet and granite, couscous and sardines, almonds and pine nuts, raisins and fennel. If you love anything deep fried (and who doesn’t?), thank the Arabs who ruled Sicily in the 9th and 10th centuries for infusing that cooking preparation into Sicily and then on into the rest of Europe.
This island’s sprawling variety, so much packed into such a small amount of real estate, reminds me a lot of my home in New York. Here, Sicilian culture, along with hundreds of other cultures, can be seen and experienced all the time everywhere. Maybe my bloodline to Sicily is why I feel at home everywhere and with everyone–because my ancestors were diverse, people who came from all over to this plot of land that connects east and west, north and south, and celebrates its many influences.
6 years ago I was in Dublin, Ireland doing research for my second novel, Emerson Page and Where the Light Leads, that came out this week. There are a few key settings in the book in Dublin – the Brazen Head (Ireland’s oldest pub dating founded in 1198), Trinity Library (both the Long Room and the stunning Book of Kells), Temple Bar (a cobblestone street in Dublin filled with interesting characters), and St. Stephen’s Green (a park filled with nature and art where I spent a lot of time people watching and writing). Beyond Dublin, Newgrange, the Dark Hedges, and Giant’s Causeway also inspired scenes in the book that let me showcase the retellings of some of my favorite Celtics myths, legends, and folklore.
By a wonderful stroke of synchronicity, I was also in Dublin during the 2018 International Literature Festival Dublin. Neil Gaiman, one of my favorite authors who’s influenced my writing more than anyone, was the headliner. I grabbed a ticket. He talked about how Ireland inspired his comic, Sandman, and how he reimagined his favorite stories from Celtic mythology in his 2017 book, Norse Mythology. Now he felt even more like a kindred spirit to me!
Of all the beautiful advice he offered that evening, this quote is the one that affected me the most because it helped me give myself some grace as a writer:
“I’m not an outliner or someone who free writes. I’m more of a gardener. I plant seeds and I see what grows. I plant pumpkins and I expect a pumpkin. But if I get a tomato, I’ll figure out what to do with a tomato. That’s how I write. I love that magic moment when something happens on the page I’m writing that I didn’t know was going to happen. I get to be the first reader of my work, and it’s very exciting. And quite frankly that magic doesn’t happen often enough. A lot of writing is just laying brick.”
I’m a planner (probably because I grew up with a lot of instability). I like order and organization. I like to know what I’m doing and where I’m going, and I absolutely hate wasting time because I know what a precious and finite resource time is. I can’t imagine a world in which I completely let that go. However, Neil made me realize I could be a little less afraid and loosen the reins a bit.
As I walked back to my hotel in Dublin that night, I let myself entertain the idea that I don’t need the next bit figured out before I sit down to write every single time. I could be okay with planting seeds, seeing what grows, and figuring it out as I go. It was at least worth trying, and giving something a try is where everything begins.
In the 6 years since I heard Neil speak in Dublin, I’ve learned how to let more air into my writing and life. I’m still a planner, and I also plan to be delighted by surprise. There’s a time for hard and serious work, for laying bricks, and there’s also a time for fun and play. There’s room for the unexpected, for magic. My second Emerson Page novel that came out this week embodies that. I’m so grateful to Neil for helping me grow as a writer, and also as a person.
My Emerson Page books surrounded by good vibes from my favorite flowers, Kin Euphorics, and Homesick
This post is about the fear of criticism we all face whenever we do something new, and why it’s worth taking that risk.
Thanks to kind and generous readers, my second Emerson Page novel made her way into the world this week and became an Amazon # 1 new release. To say I’m grateful, honored, and filled with joy is a massive understatement. I toasted my courageous and creative girl and sent a wish out into the universe: “I want to keep telling stories that help people feel less alone”.
On Monday when I was doing all the final prep for Tuesday’s book launch, I had the TV on. Drew Barrymore was interviewing Bella Hadid on The Drew Barrymore Show. They talked about the bravery it takes to create something and put it into the world.
This conversation is exactly the one I needed at that moment. It’s scary to build something with your whole heart for years and then brace yourself for the response. The only thing scarier is not creating at all.
Their conversation reminded me of the beautiful quote in the movie Ratatouille. The character Anton Ego has a monologue about the creative process and criticism, and it’s one of the truest things I’ve ever heard:
“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and themselves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the *new*. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends…Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist *can* come from *anywhere*.”
If in the pit of your stomach there’s both a fire to create and a fear of what people will think of what you’ve made, please know everyone who’s ever made anything has been right where you are. Take the risk. Someone somewhere needs exactly what you have to offer. As the great Maya Angelou said, “Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: ‘I’m with you kid. Let’s go.’” It’s time to get going. Make the thing that’s in your heart, send it out, and see what happens.
A special treat for eBook fans! To celebrate the launch of my second novel, Emerson Page and Where the Light Leads, and as a big thank you for helping the book hit #1 on Amazon on its first day, my publisher is running a special price promotion for the eBook on Amazon. It’s $0.99 now through May 20th — an 80% discount.
Synopsis: It’s New Year’s Eve in Times Square. Just as Emerson Page is about to celebrate the start of her 15th birthday, she comes face-to-face with a family friend-turned-traitor. They begin a dangerous race against time, both willing to give their lives for the lost treasure her mother died trying to protect: an ancient book authored by the Greek muses, Emerson’s ancestors, that contains the secrets to unlimited creativity. Its wisdom is both a powerful tool and a dangerous weapon.
To find the book, Emerson, her friends Skylar and Truman, and her service dog Friday, have to entrust their lives to a series of mythological creatures to usher them deep below the streets of Dublin, Ireland into the land of the faeries. There, they’ll have to convince the faeries to give them the book by exchanging it for a priceless gift of their own.
Can Emerson and her best friends finish the work her mother began and protect the power of human imagination forever, or will her enemy capture the book to boost his own power?
Two notes: Local bookstores and libraries can order the book with ISBN: 978-1-958901-80-9. The book is distributed by Ingram.
This is a photo of pure potential and a crazy dream. 12 tree saplings in their youngest and most vulnerable state: 3 eastern redbuds, 2 sargent crabapples, 2 washington hawthorns, 3 white flowering dogwoods, and 2 crapemyrtles. They all begin as a single twig with wispy roots.
The next time you’re looking at a fully grown tree, consider all the energy, effort, and time they took to transform themselves. If you’re thinking of doing something new or growing in a new direction, think of a tree. If they can grow from a fragile shoot into a towering figure who provides shade, clean air, food, and a home for so many species, who stands tall in the face of difficulty, then you can grow into who you want to be.
Over the next few months, I’ll be looking after these little ones in the hopes of giving them to my Brooklyn neighbors to plant in their yards when they’re a bit bigger and stronger. I’m sure there will be many lessons in this botanical endeavor. For now, these are the words they’re speaking to me: surround yourself with love and nourishment, and see how you flourish.
Water bears look like works of science fiction. The microscopic, 8-legged 1,300 species of water bears (tardigrades) are alive and well. Their remarkable abilities to survive and thrive in harsh conditions make them seem even more improbable. They’re one of the most resilient lifeforms that’s ever lived.
When I had 6 weeks of daily radiation to treat cancer, I thought a lot about the perseverance of water bears. The technicians would position me on the table, then close the heavy door behind them as they left the room to protect themselves from the radiation. Click. Through a small window, they’d watched me, alone, unmoving, exposed on a table with no protection from the radiation blasting my body. I imagined myself as a tardigrade, opening to the light and radiation, absorbing it to kill any microscopic cancer cells floating around my body. I would think of Rumi’s quote, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”
By the end of week six, I had a painful burn the size of a baseball in the middle of my chest. “What would a tardigrade do with a burn like this?”, I wondered. They’d tend to what needed tending. So, that’s what I did. I changed dressings and applied the medication twice a day. I meditated on my wound, imagining it closing and healing. It was painful and frightening to have a wound like that, but like so much along my cancer journey, it passed. To my amazement and my doctors’, it healed in 2 weeks. Today it’s only a few freckles and the tattoo that marks the focus of the radiation beam, the place where the light entered me and healed me.
As we consider how to create a world resilient to climate change impacts, again I’m thinking of tardigrades. How can we withstand hardship, quickly and completely fixing what breaks? How can we endure? Nature-based solutions to our most dire challenges are found all around us if only we look, listen, and seek to understand. In a world where we constantly navigate change and manage difficulty, I want to be a tardigrade — repairing myself, my ecosystem, and all beings with whom I share it.
My last dose of Verzenio. Photo by Christa Avampato.
A little over two years ago, I wrote an article about my decision to take Verzenio to prevent breast cancer recurrence. On April 14th, I took my last dose of the medication and now I feel like a new person. Taking Verzenio at the maximum dose for two years was one of the most challenging parts of cancer treatment. Still, I’m glad I took it as part of doing everything I possibly can to stay healthy. I’m beyond grateful that the medication was delivered to my door every month free of charge to me because my health insurance paid the entire cost – $14,000 per month for a grand total of $336,000.
The indignities of cancer treatment are many, and I’ve experienced most of them. Verzenio certainly caused me a lot of anguish. Every day I had at least a low-grade stomach ache, and often much worse. I carried medication to deal with these issues everywhere I went, and often had to use it. Alcohol and grapefruit were off limits. I worried about everything I ate because anything could make me sick at any time. I had to constantly manage fatigue that sleep couldn’t fix, insomnia, depression, hair thinning, dry and sensitive skin, weight gain and aching joints, decreasing bone density, and the possibilities of developing liver and lung issues, being immunocompromised, and having anemia. Mercifully, my blood work was always normal when it was checked by my oncologist every three months – partly from my constant management of my diet and partly because I was very lucky.
Despite all that, that were bright spots, too, when I would discover something that helped, at least for some amount of time. Probiotics lessened the stomach issues, and I stopped drinking coffee, paired everything with carbs, upped my protein intake, and limited spicy, acidic, adventurous food. Audiobooks, an eye mask, and meditating helped me sleep, or at least rest. When I couldn’t sleep, I would often imagine myself traveling over coral reefs in the company of my dog, Phin, with a whale tour guide whom my imagination named Blue. Creativity was a great help on sleepless nights.
Shampoo and conditioner bars from Kitsch slowed the hair thinning. The dryness of my skin was eased by products from Good Molecules, Cetaphil, and HyaloGyn. Daily exercise and fish oil supplements eased my aching joints. The Zometa infusions I get every six months are helping me regrow the bone density I’ve lost. I kept anemia at bay with daily protein shakes. I bought a digital scale to monitor my weight every day, and experimented with recipes that were high nutrition, low-calorie, economical, and not too complicated to make.
Managing depression required a daily recalibration. My dog, Phineas, was my biggest support in that effort. Losing him in January of this year was a devastating loss and the grief at times felt unbearable. Verzenio made his passing even worse. To keep my head up, I did something every day that brought me joy – I spent time with friends, listened to music, watched movies, read books, visited museums, and did things I loved to do – writing, learning from and about nature, running, taking long walks, making art, and studying for my master’s program in sustainability. Joy was one of my saviors during active treatment and it helped with Verzenio, too. Though sometimes I had no choice but to just let myself feel sad, frustrated, and depressed. I cried a lot. Knowing the depression was driven by the medication helped. Knowing this was my now and not my forever encouraged me to keep going, to keep moving.
If all this sounds exhausting, I can assure you it was. Now that I’ve been off the medication for nearly a month, I can see how much effort it took to be on it. In the moment, I tried my best not to acknowledge that. I’ve spent most of the past four years since my diagnosis with my head down, focused on getting to this finish line.
Now that I feel better and lighter, I’m lifting my gaze. Right now, the field of my future is wide open. That’s equal parts exciting, and scary. I don’t know what lies ahead. Sometimes I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff. And that’s okay because even on the cliff, I’m dancing, fully alive. I’m just glad to be here, and to be healthy. Verzenio was a part of making that possible.
So, if I had it to do over again, would I take Verzenio? Absolutely, unequivocally, yes. This is a life worth fighting for.
These are the days that make all the years of effort an author puts into a book worthwhile. Today, I got to hold my second novel for the first time, and it was even more magical than I imagined it would be. She’s beautiful! Emerson Page and Where the Light Leads launches globally everywhere books are sold on May 14th, a week from today! Pre-order available now at https://www.amazon.com/Emerson-Page-Where-Light-Leads/dp/1958901806
The wonders of nature amaze me every day, and today a piece of natural news left me in awe. A paper was just published in the journal Nature about an orangutan who was observed self-medicating with remarkable effects that even trained medical doctors would have trouble reproducing.
In Sumatra, a 35-year-old orangutan known to researchers as Rakus had a large, deep, open wound on his face close to his eye. To look at it even made me wince, and I’m not at all squeamish about medical issues! With his teeth, he ground yellow root, an herb he rarely ate that has anti-inflammatory and anti-bacterial properties. He then applied the yellow root paste to his facial wound. In several days, it scabbed over. A little over a month later, it was barely noticeable with no sign of infection. (The images of Rakus above are from the paper in Nature.)
How could Rakus possibly act as his own doctor and healer? Where did he learn this yellow root technique? Scientists don’t know yet. While other animals have been observed in the wild tending to their injuries and the injuries of others, some even administering self-care and preventative-care, this was the first time an animal was observed medicinally treating a wound and with remarkable success.
There is so much we don’t know nor understand about the natural world. This is one of the many reasons why conservation is so vital for the health of people and our planet. Nature-based solutions to what ails us are everywhere, and to allow us to learn from them we must conserve the ecosystems where they occur. Perhaps Rakus has shown us a new medication that we could use to treat human wounds. He and his species are sentient, thoughtful beings who hurt and heal just as we do, deserve respect and concern, and have a right to survive and thrive.
Christa Avampato 