On Wednesday, May 26^th, Maya Angelou died. She was 86 years old, and had lived a life rich in words, wisdom, and people right up until she passed—may we all be so blessed. She was a poet, a singer, a dancer, an actress, and an activist. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was her first memoir, and it was groundbreaking both as a social piece and as literature: powerful enough to inspire, and also controversial enough that it prompted many school districts to try and ban it (my kind of book). She was one of my heroines, a true lady and great artist, and she will be acutely missed.

            I had the great pleasure of seeing her speak in Seattle a handful of years ago. She came to the Paramount Theater, and I had tickets way up in the nosebleed section; I had heard recordings of her voice, but never seen a picture of her (I tend to be oblivious to media in a lot of ways), and I honestly had forgotten how old she was, so it was very striking to see her live on stage. To this day, seeing and hearing Maya Angelou remains one of the most powerful experiences of my life. It inspired me to write the following poem, which I share with a certain amount of frustration because this is the original, raw draft—I have a refined finished version somewhere and I can’t find it. So this is a rather pitiful tribute to a great woman, but the emotion behind it is deep and sincere.

Having no photo of you
to prejudice my mind,
I created your portrait
from the template of your words.
With your poetry as my palette,
your cadence to suggest hues, and your
rhymes to offer shape,
I drew in my heart your likeness
to hang over my mental recitation of your work.
This portrait gave you
an Amazon's strong jaw,
and Athena's brow;
eyes like a Siren watching night blacked waters
the high cheeks of Justice
and the even lips of Mary, eloquent even in silence before the Cross.

Then a ticket and a concert hall gave summons,
which I would not reject.
Full eager and light I
came to adore my idol,
observe this face at last.
And there,
robed in red,
they

arranged you

seated before the curtain rose.
Your octogenarian limbs could not
cross the stage unaided,
trimmed your energy 

to scarcely an hour,
made lean your face and 

gray your hair--
Revealed my portrait as a fallacy.

But then your voice came
clear throughout the hall.
All images, real and myth, became as
dry leaves swept heedless before strong spring winds.
A soul so large no mortal frame could matter
Spoke.

When I heard you sing

I, Shall not, I shall not be moved,

I felt foundations of temples in my bones
my ears filled, welcoming all pieces;
and for the first moment in my life
my limbs stirred
in urge to kneel.

In a story I've been working on for awhile, demons play major characters--both heroes and villains.  And I flatter myself that any assumptions you made after reading that last sentence would be blown out of the water if you read the manuscript, but you can't because it's not finished.  So there.

Yesterday I was working on a scene where a full-fledged lieutenant of hell is summoned.  The thing was, I had no idea what the demon should look like.  I did a Google Image search on demons to try and get inspiration, and found an astonishing amount of erotic artwork.  While lust is one of the seven deadly sins, it wasn't the sin I was looking to emphasize.  There was also a lot of anime characters to peruse but that's not quite what I was looking for, either.  I refined my search to medieval demons, which came up with a lot of sketches, paintings and stone lithographs.  Lots of horns.  Lots of wings.  Lots of leering masculine faces.  And lots of random animal body parts.

None of those fit my itch, so to speak, but I felt I was getting closer.  I decided the animal thing seemed pretty classic--symbolic, no doubt, of the beast-like drives and passions which can tempt us off the path of righteousness...or...whatever.  So I figured OK, animal part it is.  But then which animal?

Ultimately I turned to a random page of the manuscript, flurried around my cursor with my eyes closed, and then opened my eyes to look at the letter it landed on: T.  So that's an animal that starts with the letter T?  Turtle.  Ok, my demon will be...part...turtle?  The first thing that came to mind was the enormous tortoise in "Never Ending Story," which was not in the least bit frightening despite its glum attitude and slimy, mossy back.  Ultimately I think I did find a way to use a turtle shell as inspiration to come up with something I've certainly never seen or heard of before. 

Scary is hard!  Really hard!  How do you do scary?

Another mass shooting, this time in California.

I am a fiction writer, and when I read news like this, I wish, I wish, I wish it was fiction. I wish these kinds of horrific deeds were only in movies and books, to astonish audiences and stir emotion. But they aren’t: mindless acts of terror such as this happen in real life. And they happen in America, possibly the most privileged country in the world, a country that wants everyone to think we have it all figured out.

Clearly, we don’t have it all figured out.

I have considered the argument that events such as these should not be fixated upon by the media, that the gunmen receive too much “fame,” and the news coverage unintentionally inspires other acts of violence. There may be something to this—but on the other hand, if we’re to find an effective way to preventing such horrors in the future, we must understand the perpetrators. Not just authorities and lawmakers, all of us: if we truly live in a democracy, then we are all the lawmakers. And we understand people by telling their story.

I will not spout my personal opinions on the political issues at hand here, I will only state with the deepest possible human conviction what I believe we all can and should agree on: something must change. Clearly, what we are doing now – arguing and delaying – does nothing but give time for seeds of madness to take root and grow, for arsenals to be stockpiled and massacres to be planned in detail. Friday’s victims could have been me, they could have been you; they could have been your friends; they could have been your parent, your sibling, or your child. Every day we are not pushing for change, we line ourselves up as possible targets, and perhaps worse we passively take on part of the blame.

I debated with myself before posting this, as it does not seem relevant to my blog. But the idea of saying nothing, of going on my merry way even in the blogosphere, and pretending that everything is OK, literally sickens me. This is everyone’s business. It should be among our top business. This year in the state of Ohio, there will be elections for a state governor and sixteen seats in the U.S. House of Representatives—those running for office had better be paying attention, because I damn well know I am.

            Back in March, I declared 2014 The Year of the Pie.*  This matters little to anybody but myself and those fortunate enough to dine at my table. The simple fact is that pie is one of the most delicious, amazing, fabulous, mouth-wateringly spectacular foods in the universe—when it is done correctly. When it is done poorly, pie is a sad, sad disappointment, bordering on tragedy. And then there is possibly the saddest sin of them all: the crappy piecrust.

            Maybe it’s tough. Maybe it’s flavorless. There are many ways a pie crust can fail, and I never realized how far-flung was the problem until I met a young lady who actually told me she DID NOT LIKE PIE—only pie filling—because “the crust is always so bad.”

            Enough, I say. The madness must end! True, you can purchase your crust mixes, your pre-made crust rounds, even your pre-baked crusts in a disposable tin—but why?  Why do that to yourself, and your fellow diners!? We are now in the Year of the Pie, and summer grows ever nearer with its glorious bounty of dessert-perfect fruits; I challenge you to rethink your position on baking your own! Allow me to enlighten you to the truth behind the expression “easy as pie,” and then you, too, shall enjoy the deliciousness of pie heaven.

            I begin with the crust, for without good crust, pie is little more than slop. (Later posts will offer filling suggestions, both sweet and savory.) This is my own dough recipe, developed over years of ardent pie pursuit. The final version you see here is a combination of recipes from Cooks Illustrated, Alton Brown, Dorie Greenspan, and my family. Yes, you can do this. Just read the following recipe carefully, don’t cut corners, and give it a try. It only seems tricky when you’re new to it, after you’ve practiced once or twice you will realize the gloriousness that is home made pie crust.

Z.D.’s Perfect-for-Everything Pie Crust

¼ Cup vodka

2/3 Cup cold water

3 Cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon kosher salt (if you use regular salt, make it generous)

¼ Cup sugar

1 ½ sticks (3/4 Cup) cold unsalted butter, diced

1/3 Cup shortening, frozen and quartered

-Combine the water and vodka in a clean jar and stick it in the freezer. If you’re wondering, “What’s with the booze?” Allow me to explain. The #1 problem most people run into when making pie crust is what I call The Moisture Challenge: you need the crust to be damp enough to stay together for easy rolling, otherwise you overwork it and it gets tough. Unfortunately this can lead to over-compensating with the cold water, which affects the flour starch and can also lead to toughness. Either way, tough piecrust = bad pie. But here’s where science gets awesome: vodka evaporates at a waaaay lower temperature than water, and it leaves behind NO FLAVOR.** So the vodka you use in this recipe makes the dough wet and handle-able, but then it evaporates in the oven and leaves a tender, tasty crust! TA DAAA! But it needs to be cold, so let it sit in the freezer while you do the rest. If your vodka/water mixture gets slushy on you, that’s just fine.

-Whisk together all your dry ingredients in a large bowl. Using your fingertips cut in the butter and the shortening. (Remember my entry from the other week on cutting in fats? Yes, use your fingertips.) When the mixture resembles coarse sand with some little pebbles, you’re right on the money.

-Gently pour about half of your cold vodka/water mixture into the flour, and toss with a fork. Tossing is not the same as stirring; you want to use the fork to slide down the side of the bowl to the bottom, and bring whatever is on the bottom up to the top with a tiny toss—that’s how you get those stray bits of flour mixture that like to hide at the bottom of the bowl. As you toss, sprinkle in more vodka/water as needed. Your dough should come together into big, moist clumps that you can easily press together into a big happy ball. And yes, you can err on the side of adding more liquid—because it’s not going to cause toughness!

-Ok, now you’re going to divide your dough into balls, press them into disks, wrap them in plastic and stick ‘em in the fridge for at least two hours. How many disks? That depends on what you want to do with this dough. This recipe makes enough pie dough for one deep-dish 12 inch pie, which is a LOT. It can also make two regular 8 inch pies. Or it can make one 9 inch double-crust pie, and one 10 inch tart. Or it can make half a dozen good size meat pasties. So depending on how you plan to use your dough, divide accordingly. Wrapped properly, these disks of dough will keep nicely in the fridge for up to five days, or be frozen for up to two months. So if you’re a pie person, I suggest making a double (or even triple) batch of crust and freezing a bunch, for easy pie indulgence all summer long.

-After your dough has chilled at least two hours (yes, this is necessary—it allows the flour to absorb moisture and makes for way, way easier rolling) remove your dough to a lightly floured surface—I like to use a pastry frame if I don’t have a granite countertop handy. Using a floured rolling pin, start in the middle and roll with quick pressure out to the side. After a couple rolls, turn the dough a little and roll some more. Keep doing this so the dough gets rolled out in all directions, until you have a rough round the size you need for your pie pan (this is why a pastry frame is nice—it has measurements on it). If your crust breaks anywhere, you can pinch it closed. If it’s too cold to roll, you can let it rest a few minutes. When finished, put your rolling pin at one edge and gently roll part of the crust back up over it, and use this to quickly transfer to your pan. Repeat for a top crust.

- Fill as desired and bake away! Some general pie tips: never forget to give the steam a way out, such as poking your top crust with a fork/knife or using a pie bird. I like to dot my pie filling with a little extra butter before putting on that top crust, I think it adds a little something-something. 

Also, remember piecrust dough doesn’t really rise or expand when baked, so the way it looks when it goes in the oven is how it’s going to look when you take it out. If you’re like my aunt, this means it’s going to come out looking like something on the cover of “Gourmet” magazine. If you’re like me, this means it’s going to look…um…rustic! Yeah, rustic, that’s a nice adjective! But it’s going to taste great, regardless.



Also, remember to let your pie cool, otherwise the filling just runs out all over the place and the crust falls apart. And last but not least: did anybody say, a la mode? Good pie deserves good ice cream—indulge in quality, local, from-scratch dairy delights!

*For culinary purposes, the calendar year is from spring equinox to spring equinox…because I didn’t think of it earlier.

**Unless you want it to! Once you’ve got this recipe down, may I suggest making some of your own flavored vodkas for baking? Get a bottle of cheap-ass vodka and divide it among some clean jars, and add infusion items of your choice. I like to use leftover lemon zest in one (especially Meyer lemons, mm!), ginger peel in another, and even the tips of old vanilla beans in another. Then seal and stick in the back of your fridge and forget until you need them. This is booze, people—it will stay good for years. Strain and apply per this recipe. Using these in your piecrust will leave a subtle flavor that enhances the pie. Get creative! (And never pay for flavored vodkas—Waste. Of. Money.)

For those of you unfamiliar with the process, getting a novel published professionally is actually a heck of a lot of work. First there’s finishing up your manuscript to industry standards. If you don’t have your manuscript formatted correctly, it’s a glaring red flag of your lack of professionalism, and neither agents nor publishers are going to take you seriously. Then there’s the submission/query process itself: are you going to hit up publishers directly, or try to find an agent? Either way, you’ll need to do plenty of research to find out who might be interested in your work (if you write children’s books and query an agent who only handled political biographies, you get an “F” in research), whether or not they look at unsolicited manuscripts, whether or not they are accepting queries right now, and – if they are – precisely how to approach them. If they want a query letter and the first ten pages, and instead you send a query and the first three chapters, guess what? You’ve just proved you don’t pay attention to detail, your carelessness essentially suggests that the agent/publisher’s time is not all that important.  Once again: “F.”

So where am I in all this mess? Well, I have two complete manuscripts, formatted perfectly to industry standards. Both have a composed pitch. Right now only one has a synopsis (soooo hard to write, but that’s another post), I need to do a good one for the other. Currently, I’m working on compiling a list of agents to query. And this. Takes. Time.

At one writer’s conference I attended, I heard an agent say she wouldn’t bother querying fewer than 30 agents at a time. I also heard one published author explain that he had blanket queried about 60 agents, but only heard back from about 26, out of which four were interested, and only one had a potential publisher in mind. See how this works? Putting together a list of potential agents is like the opposite of shopping for good produce at the farmer’s market: you are not eyeing multiple vendors of the same goods, sniffing and testing until you select that one, mouthwatering, perfect peach. Nope, this is a lot more like panning for gold: dump a ton of gravel in, swirl with care, and see if anything glitters as the silt slowly washes out…over…and over…and over…again.*

So I’m visiting dozens of literary agency websites, reading up on the individual agents in said agencies, checking out other books/authors they’ve represented, and then drafting query letters to each. Oh, and yesterday I went to bookstore and actually read a few chapters from some of the books represented by some of the agents I think are the most promising. This all very important – and it can be very exciting, like flipping through a great cookbook and seeing so many beautiful possibilities – but it’s also rather daunting; it’s easy to see these polished, professional finished products and second guess myself. But hey, how do I know they didn’t all feel the same way when they started this process?

I’ve started a page on this blog for documenting my progress. I intend to update it every weekend, so feel free to check in.  

*If there are any agents reading this post, please do not mistake me: you are ALL glittering gold nuggets—you just might not be mine. :-D