TMW a memoir creates powerful connection between author and reader

When Bald in the Land of Big Hair was originally published by Harper Collins in 2001, I had no reason to expect that this funny little book by a nobody novelist would take on a quietly powerful life of its own. During its first year, BLBH was translated and published around the world, condensed by Reader’s Digest, excerpted in Good Housekeeping, and featured in a special on Oprah’s new TV channel. Later, it was adapted for an off-Broadway touring show, and in 2011, a 10th anniversary edition was published with a lovely forward by Elizabeth Berg. This book put my name on the bestseller lists for the first time, launched a robust public speaking side gig, and opened the door for my unexpected career as a ghostwriter and memoir guru. 

All this was tremendously rewarding, and I’m grateful. An intensely personal memoir takes a lot out of a person; there’s a cost to the author and her family. This book was the realization of the promise in Ecclesiastes: Cast your bread upon the water; in time, it will return a hundredfold. For me, the greatest gift has been 20-plus years of rich correspondence and chance encounters with readers. 

About five years after Bald in the Land of Big Hair was published, I received a long, heart-wrenching email from a Wall Street executive whose daughter, like me, was diagnosed with lymphoma as a young mom. He told me someone had given her an autographed copy of my book. As she struggled through a grueling year of chemo, she’d read it several times and copied bits and quotes from it on Post-it notes that peppered her bathroom mirror, bulletin boards, and refrigerator. 

“She wanted to talk to me about what she was going through,” he said, “but I wanted to keep up that damn stupid positive attitude.”

Frustrated, she’d told him, “If you ever want to know what it was really like, read this book.” 
She always took it with her when she checked into the hospital, so she had it with her when she began losing ground and slipped into an end stage haze. The man pulled his chair close to the bed and read the whole book to his daughter during the long last night of her life. In the morning, he wrote to me: “They say it’ll be another hour or two.” 

He said he felt compelled to email me because he’d missed his opportunity to talk to her about what she was going through, but now he felt as though he’d laughed and cried with her, that he’d shared in her journey, and that on some level, she knew, because she knew he would eventually read this book.

“Thank you,” he said, “for giving me a way to reach her.”

It was one of the most precious moments of my writing life. 

A few years later, I spoke at a large survivorship event and was signing books afterward, doing my best to hug and listen to each person in the long line but feeling very weary after a long day of travel and workshops. A woman came forward with a hardcover first edition copy of BLBH. The binding was broken, the dust jacket tattered and coffee-stained, and leafing through the dogeared pages, I could see that the well-worn book had been passed from that original reader to a sister, to a friend, to a daughter, to a book club mate, to a neighbor, to a chemo buddy—one reader after another—each adding notes and highlights in a kaleidoscope of colored pencils, inks, highlighters, and sticky notes. My story had become a conversation. 

Opening the book to the title page, I saw that I had already signed it back in 2001: To my sister in survivorship—shalom and joy, Joni Rodgers

I thought of the stockbroker’s daughter, how she and I, together, had found the language to get past her father’s stiff upper lip and allow him to let her go. This couldn’t possibly be hers; of course, I knew the vanishingly small odds of that. But in a rush came the realization that this book was one of thousands. There were others, each with its own chorus of voices chiming in with love and support for one another, sharing hopes and fears, creating a sacred space for laughter and tears. They were out there all along; I just didn’t know it. 

Not gonna lie. I cried. Oh, how I wish I could have put that gorgeously dilapidated volume in a shadowbox in my office! But it wasn’t mine to keep. When I wrote this book, I made the choice to share my story, and with that choice comes the understanding that writers have no control over how or where our words will land—which is ample reason to choose those words with care. 
I launched this little paper sailboat into the stream of consciousness more than two decades ago. Readers are the wind and water that carried it around the world, beyond time, and back to me. It was a profound privilege to hold the proof of that in my hands, a far more meaningful metric for “success” than any bestseller list or bank deposit.

Next to the hurried autograph of the my hopeful young author self, I added a brief note from my older, wiser self and sent the book on its way.

It belongs to you now. May it bring you peace.

A refreshed ebook edition of Bald in the Land of Big Hair is now available. The original paperback editions is available wherever books are sold.

How to love a bald woman, especially if that woman is yourself

The bald girl flashpoint at this year's Oscars stirred up memories of what it felt like to be a bald girl in the Big Hair Capital of America.

Big hair in Texas gives bees beehive envy. It’s prerequisite for a real estate license, a symbol of potent femininity and sensual largess. If people are willing to sit behind you in a movie theater, you’re just not doing it right. 

I was 32, a working mom living in Houston, when I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a potentially lethal blood cancer. A few weeks into the aggressive chemo, I wasn’t just bald, I was salamander. No eyebrows. No eyelashes. No, um…etcetera. I’m not sure I still qualified as a mammal. Even if I could have found a wig that didn’t make me look like Betty Rubble, the summer heat in Houston made wigs, hats, and turbans unbearable. 

If I went out with my head uncovered, people called me “sir.” They stared. They snickered. They judged, because it’s human nature to judge first and ask questions later. During a break at my chi gong class one night, I bent down to get a drink from a water fountain, and when I stood up, the young man in line behind me was visibly startled. He glanced down at the floor and then crossed to the other side of the gym to drink from a different water fountain. 

For most women, involuntary baldness is a painful experience. This isn’t about vanity; it’s about isolation, separation, and nonsensical cultural bias. My main problem wasn’t the abnormal situation on top of my head; it was the toxic assumptions in the heads of people around me. For me, baldness was the manifestation of the inward exile I’d felt as an awkwardly tall, utterly flat-chested, bisexual girl in a bitchily insular fundamentalist Christian high school. Now my true freak status was out there for all to see. And it was weirdly liberating. 

At the moment I was faced with my own mortality, baldness freed me to live in my own skin, finally accepting myself as I am because this is the only self available to me in this lifetime; I can either rock it or die trying to be someone else. I became addicted to the clean, comfortable feeling of baldness, because I liked the feeling of an unabridged me. 

My hair grew back after a couple years, but it still gets thin and patchy when I’m sick or stressed, so I’ve buzzed it off many times for practical reasons or just because I felt like it. People used to say how “brave” it was for me to be openly bald. And now they say how “brave” it is for me to not color my gray hair. The subtext of both these backhanded compliments is a reminder that I’m not the woman the world says I’m supposed to be. And I’m cool with that.

I’ve been praised for having a sense of humor about it all in my memoir Bald in the Land of Big Hair (HarperCollins 2001), but when late night comics held up Britney Spears shaving her head as evidence of her mental instability, I wasn’t laughing. And I didn’t laugh at Chris Rock’s “G.I. Jane” joke at the Oscars. It was a cheap laugh at the expense of Jada Pinkett Smith, who’s spoken openly about her alopecia. But more offensive than the joke itself was the response of Jada’s husband, Will Smith, who strode up to the stage and gave Chris Rock a swift slap upside the head. 

It was inexcusable that the show’s producers allowed Smith to remain in the theater. And then presented him with a prestigious award. And then let him blather on about “protecting” his wife, who strikes me as a person who's capable of defending herself. Frankly, his reaction showed how sensitive he is to her baldness, like it’s a handicap or a disease or a “we don’t talk about Bruno” type mortification to the family. 

When I was bald, my husband didn’t “protect” me by acting like a jackass or trying to take ownership of my pain. He stood up for me by shaving his own head in solidarity.

If you really want to support a woman who’s bald, respect her for having the courage to be herself. Show her you don’t fear contagion or distrust her sanity. And be grateful, because that beautiful bald head signals how welcome you are to be your own unique self when you’re around her.  

Peace and grooviness to all.

jr

 

Mrs. Grey will see you now (3 things I learned coming out of the hair color closet)

Continuing the extended metaphor I began back in 2011 with this post on My Publishing Career as Illustrated by My Hair, in which I detailed a circuitous journey that began in the 1970s. Back then, a slow-to-blossom tweenage flower child, I was ironing my hair straight and selling erotic short stories in the girls' bathroom at the local roller rink.

My long auburn locks disappeared during chemo when I was in my early 30s. For ten years, I kept my hair super short and colored it various shades of red in an attempt to ward off the bad cancer juju. During my 40s, I let it grow, gave up on the auburn and went with an ash blond that made the increasingly ashy roots less noticeable.

When I hit my 50s, I decided to stop coloring my hair and embrace my grey. That was easier said than done, but here I am, and along the way, I learned three important lessons, which I intend to apply to life and writing as I enjoy my hard-earned silver era.

Thing #1: It's a process. Whatever "it" is, it's a process.
I suppose it would have been easier to just cut the hair off and start over, but I've done the micro-short-to-hippie-long hair transition before. There's a lot of bad hair days as you hang in there through the awkward stages. The temptation to cut (like the temptation to abandon a book that becomes a struggle) is always lurking.

In order to keep the length, I had to allow a few inches of roots to grow out. Years of hair color had to be stripped away. Then I had to nurture my hair with cold water and conditioner for several weeks before the final process of low-lighting, high-lighting and toning to match my true color.

As a structural editor/book doctor, I've held the hands of several authors as they did a similar strip, recovery and restoration process on a book. The key is that natural root. Once you can see the authentic soul of the book, you know what to do with the rest.

Book process, life process, color process, whatever. Patience and persistence will be required. Bet on that and assemble a great team. Which brings me to...

Thing #2: A lot of experts are terrified of change. Because it means they won't be experts anymore.

For years, stylists kept telling me there was no way to go grey without cutting off my long hair, but I started seeing young women doing it for themselves on YouTube. Apparently that's a thing now, young women with grey hair, and as soon as that trend took hold, well, whadya know! Shut up experts. Young women do what needs to get done. (Which brings me to Thing #2 subsection A: Young women, you have a lot more power than you think. Use it wisely.)

This is reminiscent of the dragging acceptance of indie publishing in the traditional publishing world. Agents and publishers were loathe to accept this new universe because it meant the crumbling of the system in which they were super comfy, even though the vast majority of authors were not. Lamest battle cry ever: "That's the way it's always been done." Whether I'm looking for a colorist, oncologist or freelance copy editor, I want someone who has ten years of experience, not one year of experience ten times.

I knew I'd found the right guy when Sergio Sepulveda at Visible Changes told me, "There's always a way to do something. It's just a question of 'has somebody figured it out yet'." Apply this to publishing big time. The only thing we know for sure about anything is that it is not the same as it was yesterday. Expertise in the way things have always been done is a great foundation for the purpose of exploring, building and inventing the way forward. It's less useful when it becomes the La-Z-Boy recliner from which experts advocate for status quo.

Thing #3: If someone tells you not to be yourself, they are wrong. 

Before Sergio, every stylist I consulted tried to warn me off the idea of embracing my grey with the same dire (in their minds) prediction: "You'll look older." The thing is, I AM older. I'm thrilled to be older.  Why invest time, energy or money in not looking like myself? For whose benefit would I be doing that?

Sergio's take on it: "There's nothing more beautiful than a woman who's happy about who she is." Can I get a "Amen" up in here?

It kills me to see authors jumping through hoops to please agents, acquiring editors, theoretical readerships and nebulous trends. It's like trying to reinvent yourself to please an indifferent boyfriend. Down that path lies despair. Your power to create, your best hope of happiness, and yes, your marketability lie in your uniqueness. Embrace it with joy!

Here's the new older me with the amazing Sergio, awesome haircutter Hua, their shampoo-slinging sidekick Justin, and a totally fabulous photo-bomber rocking her own silver streaks.

It takes a village: Me, Hua, Sergio, Justin and Foxy Frostentip

UPDATE 2/2/17 ~ Having escaped the abusive environment of chemicals and color, my hair has grown out a lot faster. I now have 100% virgin/chemical free, 99.9% gray hair. And I love it.

Goodbye with enormous gratitude to my friend and editor Marjorie Braman

Stunned and sad to see this news today:

"Marjorie Braman, 60, died July 2 at her home in Taghkanic, NY of complications from breast cancer. She began her 26 years in publishing as an editorial assistant and worked her way up to svp, publishing director at HarperCollins and then vp, editor-in-chief at Henry Holt. She has worked as a consultant at Open Road Integrated Media. Authors she worked with include Elmore Leonard, Michael Crichton and Sena Jeter Naslund. Most recently Braman worked as an independent editor and was a member of the independent editors' group 5e..."

It's an understatement to say that Marjorie changed my life. She acquired my memoir Bald in the Land of Big Hair for HarperCollins in 2001, my doorway to what was then The Big 6 and my first crack at the bestseller lists. While it was in the pipeline, she encouraged me to start a syndicated newspaper column and, even though it was way outside her job description, provided feedback and advice that shaped the direction of that column ("Earth to Joni") and a national magazine column that followed.

HarperCollins published my third novel, The Secret Sisters, in 2006, and Marjorie's feet-to-the-fire editing took my craft sense to the next level. In the years I worked with Marjorie, I learned most of what I know about the art of writing, the craft of editing and the business of publishing.

Elmore Leonard had this to say about how she worked:

"Marjorie was never a pushover, we talked all the time while I was at work on a novel. She would question the identity of pronouns wandering through a paragraph, or cite passages where I was telling rather than showing what was going on. But for the most part Marjorie liked my style and let me run with it." 

It says a lot about Marjorie that this perfectly describes my experience with her. She worked with a lot of big names, but she made a little nobody like me feel like my work was just as important. And she would sharply correct me for calling myself a little nobody. Every once in a while she would send me a fax (and later email) with instructions to print it out and post it on my office wall. One that remained there for almost 15 years simply said: JONI RODGERS: YOU ARE NOT A HACK.

Whenever I felt deflated by the industry slings and arrows, she would chastise me for "acting like an orphan in the storm" and remind me that an author has to be the bravest champion of her own work. We can't depend on the editor or the agent or the PR department. She is solely responsible for kicking my ass into the big girl pants that make it possible for me to thrive as an indie author and freelance editor. And I often hear myself repeating time-proven Marjorie-isms to my editing clients.

When I started putting myself out there as a freelance editor, Marjorie encouraged me and sent me some great advice in the form of this incisive PW article she wrote on the changing roles of in-house and freelance editors:

In this changing landscape, as publishers look more and more at their bottom lines and continue cutting back on in-house staff, I can envision a model in which the in-house editor is the jack-of-all-trades that the publisher requires, while still editing select projects. For other projects, the in-house editor might need to work with a trusted freelance editor to help move things along. But publishers have to acknowledge what every editor—in-house or freelance—knows: editing is crucial and can make the difference between the success or failure of a book.

Marjorie's sure editorial hand made an enormous difference in the books we did together. Her advocacy and mentorship made a huge difference in my career. Her friendship made a profound difference in my life.

Introducing LOVE & OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS (Enjoy a sweet little read on me this week!)

So the Gare Bear and I have been married for 30 years as of this summer. Blows my mind. I've always said it's impossible to be married to the same person for 30 years, because it's impossible to be the same person for 30 years. The best you can hope for is that you will be foolish enough to keep falling in love. That seems to be the case for us.

By way of celebration: Love & Other Natural Disasters (the first in a series of memoirellas based on my syndicated newspaper column "Earth to Joni") offers about a dozen essays reflecting on our somewhat stormy but overwhelmingly happy (and frequently hilarious) life together from the perspective of a month-long power outage that kept the Rodgers neighborhood in the dark after Hurricane Ike.

Download it free this week exclusively on Kindle.

"There's Always Tomorrow": A final thought on #BloodCancerAwarenessMonth

Wrapping up Blood Cancer Awareness Month with a huge thank you to Ashley Rodgers for her expert answers to reader/survivor FAQs about cancer's emotional roller coaster. (To see the whole Q&A series, click the #BloodCancerAwarenessMonth hash tag below.)

On a personal note: My daughter Jerusha, five years old in the photo here, went with me to many of my chemo treatments, including one on her sixth birthday. Today she is a fabulous 24-year-old freelance editor, and this summer, she donated bone marrow to a six-year-old child with leukemia through a national anonymous bone marrow registry. I can't begin to express how proud of her I am.

(For more information on how you can help someone with a life-threatening blood cancer, visit Be The Match.)

Of all the songs that spoke to me during the journey of my own cancer experience (and the continuing journey of survivorship) is this anthem from Gloria Estefan. The first time I heard it, I was weeping in the ladies room at my oncologist's office, and perhaps it sounds melodramatic, but by the end of the song, I had changed. I had let go of an old life that was not working for me and embraced a new life that has been ridiculously blessed. To this day, I can't hear it without crying.

For me, "Always Tomorrow" captures all the longing and regret I felt with my diagnosis, thinking how differently I would have lived had I known my life might end so soon. It also speaks to the hope and determination to go forward and the acceptance that remission doesn't mean everything is okay, and it definitely doesn't mean "back to normal."

Things will never be the same, the only one sure thing is change. Remission means you have this moment to start over again and steer that change with love.

Peace, love and joy to all my fellow survivors, along with the energy to embrace a beautiful tomorrow.

#BloodCancerAwarenessMonth Q&A: "Is it crazy to think I deserve to find love before I die?"

Over the years, I've received thousands of emails about Bald in the Land of Big Hair, a memoir about my experience with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. A cancer diagnosis brings a firestorm of questions, and as a survivor, I can sympathize, but I'm not an expert; many times I just don't have the answers. So this year during Blood Cancer Awareness Month, I've asked Ashley Rodgers (Masters in Rehabilitation and Mental Health Counseling), to respond to some FAQs about the emotional and psychological aspects of the cancer journey. 

Q: My wife and I have been pretty unhappy for most of our 15-year marriage but stayed together because of the kids. Now I have cancer, and I feel like I'm wasting what might be the last years of my life. Is it crazy to think I should try to find love before I die?

Ashley says: Your desire to have love in your life is not crazy. It is natural to want passion and connection with another person. You can choose to dissolve your current relationship and look for someone new or you can try to rekindle what was once there between you and your wife. Either one you choose is okay.

If you opt to leave your marriage: When moving on from a long relationship, there are some important things to consider when looking for new love.

Take a break after the divorce to find out who you are as an individual. When you are in a long-term relationship, even if you are no longer close, you have grown as a person with someone else. You have to separate from that and see what it is you want now that you are single.

Be choosy. Don’t just go for the person who is the exact opposite of your ex-wife just because of that fact. Maybe you do want the new person to be different, but it is okay to want that person to have some of the same qualities that attracted you to your ex-wife in the beginning.

Look everywhere for a new relationship, don’t limit your choices to the bar around the corner. You may have been out of the dating game for several years; people meet love interests everywhere now. You can find people at the bar, the grocery store, the library, or park. This is important because this could help you find someone with the same interests or hobbies as you.

Here are a few tips on dating after divorce.

If you want to rekindle your marriage instead of moving on with a divorce there are many tools you can use to light that passion.

Start by listening to your wife. What is she asking of you, what kind of interaction dos she want from you? Find out and try to incorporate those things into your daily lives. Maybe she wants to be complimented on how she looks, or thanked for the things she does at home or for your children. If she is not sharing those needs with you anymore, start asking. Show her you are interested in what she wants and needs.

Take a trip down good memory lane. Remember some of the things you both used to do when you first got together. Make an effort to recreate one of those dates. Or, if you have been listening and your wife wants to do something new, try that instead! It will show her that you are listening, you are interested and that you want to build your relationship with new experiences together. Just remember to take strides toward the goal of rekindling your relationship even when it gets difficult.

If it took 15 years to get to where you are now, it may take time to get to where you want to be. But keeping your wife in the loop of what your goal is and how you are feeling with greatly assist you in your efforts.

Here are some tips on rekindling your relationship.

We welcome your questions and comments.

*No part of this blog or the book Bald in the Land of Big Hair should be misconstrued as or substituted for medical advice.

#BloodCancerAwarenessMonth Q&A: "Anger management? I just want to punch somebody in the face."

Over the years, I've received thousands of emails about Bald in the Land of Big Hair, a memoir about my experience with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. A cancer diagnosis brings a firestorm of questions, and as a survivor, I can sympathize, but I'm not an expert; many times I just don't have the answers. So this year during Blood Cancer Awareness Month, I've asked Ashley Rodgers (Masters in Rehabilitation and Mental Health Counseling), to respond to some FAQs about the emotional and psychological aspects of the cancer journey. 

Q: Every time someone comes up to me and says, "How ARE you?" or tells me what an inspiration I am, I just want to punch them in the face. It's not their fault, but it pisses me off. What am I supposed to do with all this anger?

Ashley says: Feeling anger towards friends and family is normal. From people who are currently undergoing treatment to people who have been in remission for years, they all go through a rollercoaster of emotions regarding their experience with cancer. Having the emotions is neither positive nor negative; it is how you cope with them that matter.

One option for coping with anger is to focus it into energy and motivation to do something active. For example, take up running, biking, dancing, or some other activity. This helps to relieve the tension and gives you an outlet that you can utilize again and again.

Another option is to use your anger as fuel for creativity. Try your hand at painting, restoring an old piece of furniture, or pottery. These tasks require your focus and attention to detail. They can distract the anger you feel and burn it up in mental focus. You can come out feeling less angry and have a work of art you can be proud of.

Or perhaps, a more internal medium is what you are looking for. In that case, journaling can be an excellent tool for coping with the anger you feel. It can be a daily effort or utilized only on occasion when the emotion seems over the top. Getting your thoughts and feelings out of your head and on to the paper can help lower its intensity but also help you to focus on what it is exactly and where it is coming from. Processing the emotion can help you understand its origin and what it means for you.

Communicating how you feel with your family and friends is an option, and an important one. These other options described above can help you independently manage the anger in a healthy way but preventing the build up from happening in the first place comes with sharing how you feel with your loved ones. It may be that they want you to know they care by discussing the topic of cancer specifically. You could tell them that you would prefer more of the day-to-day conversation and less reminders of cancer. This gives your loved ones choices on how to interact with you rather than simply being pushed away. Chances are they will choose to adjust their conversation topics in an effort to stay connected with you and be supportive.

The Mayo Clinic’s Nurse Educator, Sheryl M. Ness, R.N. has more on anger and cancer here.

We welcome your questions and comments.

*No part of this blog or the book Bald in the Land of Big Hair should be misconstrued as or substituted for medical advice.

#BloodCancerAwarenessMonth Q&A: "Is chemo brain a thing? And where the hell are my car keys?"

Over the years, I've received thousands of emails about Bald in the Land of Big Hair, a memoir about my experience with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. A cancer diagnosis brings a firestorm of questions, and as a survivor, I can sympathize, but I'm not an expert; many times I just don't have the answers. So this year during Blood Cancer Awareness Month, I've asked Ashley Rodgers (Masters in Rehabilitation and Mental Health Counseling), to respond to some FAQs about the emotional and psychological aspects of the cancer journey. 

Q: Ever since chemo, I've been struggling with my memory and concentration. It's hard to read a book. I get lost on my way to the grocery store. Sometimes I can't even recite my own phone number! I've heard about "chemo brain" and post-traumatic issues, but my friends tell me it's just stress. What can I do to get my brain back?

Ashley says: The term “chemo brain” refers to mild cognitive impairment; this includes thought processing, concentration, multi-tasking, memory and other mental functions. It is a very real problem that people who have undergone cancer treatment experience. For some it only lasts for a short while, for others it can go on for years. There are several ways to cope with this issue on your own, with the help of your friends and family, and with your doctor(s).

On your own you can focus on healthy habits that support an active brain. Try to maintain a routine of a good night’s sleep, healthy foods including vegetables, and exercise. Your brain is part of your body, so creating a routine full of healthy habits can help give your brain the assistance it needs to combat the mental effects of the cancer treatment.

It can also be helpful to create a regular schedule. When your memory is affected it can be difficult to remember what you wanted to buy at the grocery store, that job interview next week, or the gifts your best friend wanted for his or her birthday this year. Utilize a daily planner, coordinate all your lists, appointments, and contact information all into one place. This is something you can take with you wherever you go and refer back to it whenever you need.

Sometimes chemo brain can make it difficult to multi-task and here is where your friends and family come in. Do not be afraid to ask for help. Your support system is there to support you. If you are trying to do too many things at once, ask someone to help take care of some of the things on your list for you. Take on things one at a time.

Whether these tips help manage the difficulties you are having or not, it is always a good idea to let your doctor(s) know what is happening. They may be able to adjust your treatment or their care relating to these symptoms. Often times, patients will wait to share this with their doctors until it has majorly impacted their day-to-day lives. Help prevent further complications in your everyday by taking action now.

For more information on anything and everything related to “Chemo Brain,” here's an article from the American Cancer Society.

We welcome your questions and comments.

*No part of this blog or the book Bald in the Land of Big Hair should be misconstrued as or substituted for medical advice.

#BloodCancerAwarenessMonth Q&A: "Do I really have to tell my date I've had cancer?"

Over the years, I've received thousands of emails about Bald in the Land of Big Hair, a memoir about my experience with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. A cancer diagnosis brings a firestorm of questions, and as a survivor, I can sympathize, but I'm not an expert; many times I just don't have the answers. So this year during Blood Cancer Awareness Month, I've asked Ashley Rodgers (Masters in Rehabilitation and Mental Health Counseling), to respond to some FAQs about the emotional and psychological aspects of the cancer journey. 

Q: I'm 25 years old and just finished 18 months of chemo and radiation. My hair is super short, but I'm not bald. My energy is starting to come back, and I'm trying to get out into the dating world again. It feels dishonest to not mention this huge thing in my life, but any mention the cancer thing either hijacks the whole conversation or totally turns the person off. What's the best way to bring it up without making people uncomfortable?

Ashley says: Many young adults have experienced the same dilemma. Your 20’s are a time of transition without the added rollercoaster of having had cancer, and sometimes having a love interest to any degree can help give you strength and comfort. But how do you bring it up? When do you share that information? Are you ready for a life long commitment or do you want a distraction?

The most important question to address first is, are you ready for a relationship? You have to find out from within yourself what it is you want. Do you want someone fun to distract yourself for now? Or are you looking for the husband or wife that will live happily ever after with you in a house with a white picket fence? Wherever you fall on that relationship continuum is perfectly fine. Once you know what you want and are emotional ready to get out into the dating world, just bring your confidence and go get them!

So, you are out there looking for that special someone and now you want to know when to bring up the C-word. Most experts agree that you should bring this up relatively early on in the relationship so that your partner has the choice to stay or go, before either of you is too emotionally invested. I would suggest having a few dates under your belt first so they get to know you and build a foundation of what to expect from being with you as a person, before the news. That way they know whom they are giving up if they choose that cancer is too heavy a thing to deal with.

But, how do you bring it up in the first place? The best way that I have found is to come at it with confidence. Each individual finds his or her own specific words to say but when you are sure about yourself and the subject, it can be less scary for you and the person you are sharing the information with. Otherwise, people can typically see the uncertainty on your face or hear it in your voice and that can fuel their fear. Just own who you are and the cancer that you have dealt with, and when you feel comfortable, most times others around you do, too.

The Huffington Post was interested in the same topic. Here is an article on the subject along with video testimony from other young adults in the same situation.

We welcome your questions and comments.

*No part of this blog or the book Bald in the Land of Big Hair should be misconstrued as or substituted for medical advice.

Once upon a time...I got cancer. (Bald in the Land of Big Hair trailer)

This month's Reader's Digest features a story about the day Gary and I met, and it's spurred a lot of interest in my memoir, Bald in the Land of Big Hair.

My favorite review of the book said, "This is not the usual cancer memoir; it is a love letter to an extraordinary caregiver." This year, the Gare Bear and I mark 30 years together, our kids (5 and 7 when I was diagnosed) are grown up and thriving, and life is good.

Click for a free preview of Bald in the Land of Big Hair

Everything you need to know about storytelling: Anthony Griffith's best and worst of times

Just in case you feel a sudden urge to make a donation to support blood cancer research...

Why I'm supporting the Bald Ambition Kickstart (and I hope you will too!)

I sat down to write a book about cancer. What came out was a book about life.

When my memoir, Bald in the Land of Big Hair, was originally published by Harper Collins in 2001, I never imagined that this funny little book by a nobody novelist would take on a quietly powerful life of its own. Over the years, BLBH has been condensed by Reader's Digest, excerpted in Good Housekeeping, translated and published around the world. In 2011, with the paperback still in print from HC, I independently released the 10th anniversary ebook edition with a forward from the wonderful Elizabeth Berg and an update on me and my family.

Now the hilarious and heart-wrenching one-woman show adaptation by actress Lisa Hamilton is headed for an off-Broadway debut. And she needs your help. Not a lot of help. Just a little. As she says in her Kickstarter video below, "I want your beer money." With just 3 days left in her Kickstarter campaign, $20 each from fewer than 100 people would get her to her goal.

Lisa Hamilton's script remains impeccably true to my original text. Impressed by her passion and in awe of her talent, I gave her permission to run with it. I've never asked for or received a dime from the production of this show. I'll receive no portion of donated funds and no royalties for the New York workshop production.

This book was never about money for me; it was about message.

That's why I released the ebook independently: I wanted to keep the price low, making it accessible to as many readers as possible. And that's why I'm pricing the 10th Anniversary Ebook Edition of Bald in the Land of Big Hair at $.99 on Kindle this weekend only: to draw attention to the final weekend of Lisa's Kickstarter campaign and thank everyone who's supported her by chipping in and spreading the word on Facebook, Twitter and beyond.

Seeing Lisa's show for the first time was one of three mind-blowing moments when I realized this book is no longer about me.

About five years ago, I received a long, heart-wrenching email from a Wall Street executive whose daughter, like me, was diagnosed with lymphoma as a young mom. He told me she'd read Bald in the Land of Big Hair and copied bits and quotes from it on Post-It notes that peppered her bathroom mirror, bulletin boards and refrigerator.

"She wanted to talk to me about what she was going through," he said, "but I wanted to keep up that damn stupid positive attitude."

Frustrated, she'd told him, "If you ever want to know, read this book."

She always took it with her when she checked into the hospital, so she had it with her that week, but she suddenly lost ground and slipped into unconsciousness. Her father took the book from her bag, pulled his chair close to her bed and read through the long last night of his daughter's life. Now it was morning. "They say it'll be another hour or two," he told me.

He said he felt compelled to email me because he'd missed his opportunity to talk to her, but now he felt as though he'd laughed and cried with her, that he'd shared in her journey, and that on some level, she knew it, because she knew he would eventually read the book. "Thank you," he said, "for giving me a way to reach her."

A few years later, I spoke at a large survivorship event and was signing books afterward. As I did my best to hug and listen to each person in the long line, a woman came forward with a hardcover first edition copy of BLBH, and opening to the title page, I saw that I had signed it ten years earlier: "To my sister in survivorship. Shalom and Joy, Joni Rodgers."

The binding was broken, the dust jacket tattered and coffee-stained, and leafing through the worn pages I could see that the well-worn book had been passed from that original reader to a sister, to a friend, to a daughter, to a book club mate, to a neighbor, to a chemo buddy, to one woman after another, and each of them had added notes and highlights in a host of different handwriting, pens and pencils. The book had become a conversation, two dozen voices chiming in love and support, sharing hopes and fears, giving in to the laughter and tears.

I'd launched this little paper sailboat a decade earlier. Readers were the wind and water that carried it literally around the world and back to me, and though it was a profound privilege to have in my hands again for that brief moment, I had to send it on its way. It didn't belong to me.

Seeing Lisa Hamilton's adaptation of BLBH, witnessing what it meant to that audience, I was stricken again with the realization that this isn't the story of me; it's the story of every person's inevitable crucible moment in life. Lisa's show takes it to that level, using my words to create an entirely new work of art, and everyone who sees it, each in his or her own way, will make it their own.

I hope you'll take a moment to watch this short video about the NYC workshop production and pony up that beer money, sending the story on its way.

Bald Ambition: Lisa Hamilton takes her show to NYC

Here's the Kickstarter video for Lisa Hamilton's workshop performance of the one-woman show based on my memoir. I love the poster! Gorgeous.

I wish I could take any credit here, but when Lisa first approached me a few years ago, I was so won over, all I did was step back and say, "Run with it girl!" I've seen the show twice. Lisa blew the doors off the place and remained very true to the original text. It's thrilling to see this book that means so much to me experience this amazing reincarnation. Go, girl, go!

This is your brain on storytelling

A fascinating little video about the astonishing physical effects of storytelling on our blood chemistry, heart rate and brain function. Makes me wonder if there's such a thing as extreme readers. Like there are extreme tasters.

Because I might be one...


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Gloria Estefan "There's Always Tomorrow"

I heard this song the day I was diagnosed with lymphoma, and it still brings tears to my eyes. Can't begin to express what these words meant to me in that moment and all the years since.

If you're hanging by a thread today, please know that you're not the only one. And there's always tomorrow.

BALD IN THE LAND OF BIG HAIR to Benefit Blood Cancer Awareness Month

September is Blood Cancer Awareness Month, and I'm doing what I can to spread the word. Please be aware: BLOOD CANCER SUCKS.

This month, Bald in the Land of Big Hair, my memoir about surviving non-Hodgkin's lymphoma when my children were small, is priced at just $2.99, and 100% of the royalties will go to the Lymphoma Research Foundation.

 The hardcover was originally published in 2001 by HarperCollins, so last year, I did a 10th Anniversary Ebook edition with bonus content, including a foreword by Elizabeth Berg.

 Help me raise a good chunk of cash for blood cancer research! If you haven't read it, grab it! If you loved it, gift it! If you hated it, gift it to someone you don't like! Here's a link to the Lymphoma Research Foundation.

Gary's Chevy SSR and the definition of practical

I won't lie; I teared up when Gary signed the papers for this Chevy SSR yesterday.

"Your wife is more excited than you are," the salesman marveled. "Usually it's the guy who's crying 'cause the wife won't go for it."

It wasn't an impulse purchase; it was the sudden and unexpected realization of a dream he's had for years. He's wanted one since they came out in 2004. Priced and looked and Googled them a thousand times.

In Bald in the Land of Big Hair, my memoir about how I got my first book published while undergoing chemotherapy for non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, I wrote a lot about Gary's dedication to our family and his role as my Rock of Gibraltar co-survivor. My favorite review of the book called it "a love letter to an extraordinary caregiver." And the book doesn't begin to cover how he's stood behind me through the feast and famine of my career as an author.

Beyond the basic fact that Gary deserves this -- and he's earned it -- is the basic philosophy that's guided our lives since cancer barged in and kicked us in the head. The most impractical, wasteful and foolish thing a person can do with his or her life is to not live it.

Gary's Chevy SSR and the definition of practical

I won't lie; I teared up when Gary signed the papers for this Chevy SSR yesterday.

"Your wife is more excited than you are," the salesman marveled. "Usually it's the guy who's crying 'cause the wife won't go for it."

It wasn't an impulse purchase; it was the sudden and unexpected realization of a dream he's had for years. He's wanted one since they came out in 2004. Priced and looked and Googled them a thousand times.

In Bald in the Land of Big Hair, my memoir about how I got my first book published while undergoing chemotherapy for non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, I wrote a lot about Gary's dedication to our family and his role as my Rock of Gibraltar co-survivor. My favorite review of the book called it "a love letter to an extraordinary caregiver." And the book doesn't begin to cover how he's stood behind me through the feast and famine of my career as an author.

Beyond the basic fact that Gary deserves this -- and he's earned it -- is the basic philosophy that's guided our lives since cancer barged in and kicked us in the head. The most impractical, wasteful and foolish thing a person can do with his or her life is to not live it.

Writer/Moms are multi-tasking divas

In Anand Giridharadas' NYT op ed A New, Noisier Way of Writing, he reports that Jonathan Franzen is “doubtful that anyone with an Internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction.”

Maybe he should check out a few "her" workplaces. The writer/moms I know are multi-tasking divas.

Fortunately, while I wrote my first two novels - Crazy for Trying and Sugarland - I had no internet. All I had was two small children, various day jobs, bill collectors, a cross-country move and blood cancer.

But twitter? Oh, no. Thank God, I didn't have to deal with the distraction of that. I’m such a hothouse flower.

I wrote about becoming a writer and other strange side effects of chemo in my third book, Bald in the Land of Big Hair.