Claudia Sternbach's path to publication: It's Pub Day for the bouncing baby book!

About six months ago, I received an ARC of Claudia Sternbach's Reading Lips: a Memoir of Kisses. I inhaled it in one afternoon and wrote to her editor, "Reading Lips rings true and sweet as a music box. In a sea of memoirs based on big marketing hooks, Sternbach’s subtle theme is refreshing and, you come to realize, profound. Flawless pitch and balance. Guileless, unaffected writing. A book club’s dream date. I loved this perfect little opal earring of a book."

Yeah, that's blurbspeak, but I meant every word. And the Kirkus reviewer (for once)agrees with me:

Sternbach...is an impressive stylist and a candid guide through her life. Although the reality of kissing serves as the connecting thread, each essay is grounded in one of a wide variety of complementary topics, such as the first love as an adolescent, best friends, parents, sisters, birthdays, tennis, summer camp, air travel, marriage, divorce, cancer, rape and death—among others. Sternbach has carefully considered how to make a life story interesting through unusual yet approachable formatting, and she throws humor, sarcasm and self-deprecation into the mix. A memorable, laugh-out-loud, cry-out-loud essay collection for both genders and all ages.

Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses is in stores today, and Thursday night, the book launches with an event on Manhattan's Upper East Side at Barnes & Noble, 86th and Lex, where Claudia will be introduced by none other than Jonathan Franzen. I so want this beautiful little book to be embraced by book clubs, gifted to sisters and friends, eaten with a spoon by anyone and everyone who's ever experienced the simple wonder of a kiss. Visit Unbridled Books to read an excerpt.

I invited Claudia to share her path to publication with our readers, and she responded with a series of essays that have delighted and inspired all of us trying to make a go of this crazy business and life in general. Here's linkage to all six installments:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

Congratulations, Claudia!

Claudia Sternbach's path to publication continues with Chapter 6: Out the Door

Another installment of Claudia Sternbach's continuing adventure from brainstorm to bookshelf with her forthcoming book Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses. Click here to read Chapter One.

Well. I didn't see that coming. For almost eighteen months I have known that the release date for my book, Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses, was April 5th, 2011. This is what my contract from Unbridled Books stated. So, when during the first week of March I received an email from one of my sisters telling me how excited she was that she had received notification that her copy of my book had been shipped, I was surprised. After all, my copy had not been shipped. And wouldn't be for quite a while.

I emailed my publisher and politely asked, “WTF?”

“Amazon,” he replied. “Once a book lands in Amazon's big old storeroom they begin shipping. Filling orders before the official date of publication.”

“But,” said my publisher, “I will overnight one to you so your sister won't get the book before you—the person who wrote the book—do.”

I was happy. Except for the fact that I thought I had a few weeks before I would actually hear what my sisters thought of what I had written. I fully realized this would happen at some point, but it felt like the time I popped in to the doctor to discuss a possible surgery and within the hour was wearing an open-in-the-back cotton gown and being wheeled on a gurney down a hospital corridor.

Perhaps it is better this way. Just grab the corner of the band-aid and let her rip.

There is something rather surreal about opening a package and finding a book inside written by yourself. I had been working at my desk when I heard a knock on the door. I ignored it as I was not in "receiving company" dress. It was, after all, only a bit before noon and any self-respecting writer is still in her pajamas at that hour.

After waiting long enough to hear what sounded like a UPS truck drive up the hill I opened the front door just a crack. There was a small package lying on the Welcome mat. I reached out with one flannel-covered arm, snatched it up, and closed the door. Then sat on the floor staring at it.

This is the second time a UPS driver has delivered a book I have written. The last time I happened to be dressed—it must have been late in the day—and I answered the door. A uniformed deliveryman stood there with a carton in his arms. Recognizing the return address I began to bubble over with excitement, certain I was scaring the guy dressed in brown from head to toe. I suggested he wait right there on the porch while I opened said box. Then I pulled a book from the carton, held it up proudly and said, “I wrote this!”

There was a photo on the cover of a naked breast, not mine but how could he know, and he turned a lovely shade of red. Rather like Friday-night lipstick worn by women deeply interested in being noticed across a smoky room.

I asked his name and signed a copy for him. Gifting him whether he wanted to be gifted or not. About an hour later my husband, Michael, called me from the tractor dealership where he works to tell me that a UPS driver had just stopped in with a case of tractor parts and told him about the crazy woman with the naked-breast book.

“That's no woman, that's my wife,” said Michael. Small world.

So, I sat quietly on the floor. Then opened the package and there it was. The shiny new book. My book. And just a few days later an entire box of them arrived. The driver, I assume hoping to avoid embarrassment, just delivered, knocked and ran.

And both of my sisters have weighed in. It's all good. I have not been voted off the family island.

Path to Publication: Claudia Sternbach's (mis)adventure continues

Claudia Sternbach is out of pocket this week, so I'm posting the fourth installment of her continuing adventure from brainstorm to bookshelf with her forthcoming book Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses. Click here to read Chapter One.

Chapter 4

It is funny thinking about all of the things that can and did happen over the past few months while waiting for the book to come out. As my friends and family began to hear about the "tell all" each had comments and/or advice. Everyone felt I should go on Oprah. And that advice was given as easily as say, you should put on a jacket if it is snowing out.

I know that to slip into my black puffy parka I just need to grab it from the hall closet and pull it on. I haven't a clue how to end up on Oprah. But I do know I wouldn't wear that fat jacket.

Many felt that the book should come out on Valentine's Day. The title, Reading Lips, a memoir of kisses, seemed to go perfectly with heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and red roses by the dozens. But, I told them, not all of the kisses in life are romantic. I have kissed my dog and had no lust in my heart whatsoever.

Eventually the advice died down. After all, how many months can go by with nothing happening and still find folks interested in the publishing process. New topics of conversation cropped up at dinner parties and holiday gatherings. I was off their radar. But deep in the night when I could not sleep I held the truth close. A book, small as it was, was on the way. I had a new job I loved as an editor of a literary journal, I had my position as a newspaper columnist that I found fulfilling, I was still finding a moment here and there to work on a novel. Life was good.

But I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. I am sixty years old and am much more used to the snags and glitches and pot holes and black holes in life.

So when, one evening late in the summer, my phone rang and it was a new features editor at the paper calling to say that after more than fifteen years I was no longer needed as of that very moment I began to feel a bit more like myself. And when the next day a writer friend sent me a letter filled with angry denunciations, not the least of which was calling me an idiot, I thought, yes this is more like it. And when the following afternoon while making my way through New York's JFK Jet Blue terminal and getting ready to check in for a flight to California I heard my cell phone ring and was able to answer it while my carry on was being scanned only to have my sister tell me that our father had died just moments ago, I thought, ah ha. My life is back on track.

I settled in to my aisle seat. Tried to stay composed. But when one of the flight attendants noticed my tense expression, my clenched jaw, my blank stare, he kindly asked if I was alright. Which caused me to cry. Which caused him to bring me a cocktail. Which I appreciated so much I wanted to kiss him.

Who's on your list? (Author Claudia Sternbach is in a giving mood)

Claudia Sternbach's forthcoming Reading Lips: a Memoir of Kisses rings true and sweet as a music box. In a sea of memoirs based on big marketing hooks, Sternbach’s subtle theme is refreshing and, you come to realize, profound. Flawless pitch and balance. Guileless, unaffected writing. A book club’s dream date. I loved this perfect little opal earring of a book. After devouring an advance copy, I promptly pre-ordered copies for friends. (It's coming out in April, just in time for Easter baskets.) I also asked Claudia to stop by and tell us about books she might be giving for the holidays. Here's what she has to say:

So, the other evening while watching the gigantic film extravaganza, Avatar I wondered if I might add James Cameron to my holiday gift giving list.

Not that we have ever met. Not that he needs anything from me that he can't with his millions, purchase for himself, but as I sat trying to become mesmerized by all of the big, blue, excitement on the screen I kept thinking about a book I happen to love which while reading made my heart pound faster than anything this film was doing. Not that there is anything wrong with the movie or any other of his super-size films. It is just that I believe James is in danger of falling into the bigger is better trap to the point where the heart of the story may get lost in all the flash and bang.

If Jimmy, as I would call him if we were gift exchange buddies, would spend a few evenings sitting quietly with Per Petterson's novel Out Stealing Horses, he might find himself recalling a time before special effects were available and the story itself packed an emotional punch, rather than a giant 3-D Transformer. Pettersen places the reader in a small cabin in the Norwegian woods in the middle of winter and quietly builds a tale that unfolds with the subtlety of the approaching Nordic spring. The emotional impact is as large as the iceberg which took down the Titanic. But without the orchestra playing on the deck or Leonardo DiCaprio turning into an ice pop.

And as long as I am in the book giving mood I believe I might pick up a dozen copies of Geraldine Brooks' People of the Book to wrap with bright paper and shiny ribbons and share them with my friends who have made the switch to e-readers. Not that there is anything wrong with those clever electronic devices. They are quite handy and an amazing invention, if you ask me. But. I just don't want my gadget-loving friends to forget about actual books. The beauty of holding in your hands something more than plastic. A book, perhaps paperback, or leather bound. The pages crisp or softened with age. An item handed down by a family member or checked out of the library or purchased new and if one is really lucky, inscribed by the author.

People of the Book is a novel about a work of art. A hand printed, illumination passed down through generations, hidden during times of war, smuggled from one country to another. Not, I will admit, the typical history of any book we have sitting around the house. But Brooks reminds us that a book is not simply the story. It is the object itself. A treasure.

Then there is my husband, Michael. We exchange very little when it comes to the holidays but a book which may find its way into his stocking may be Here is New York, by E.B. White. A perfect little jewel so slim and elegant one should read it while eating fine chocolate truffles and sipping golden, bubbly Champagne from a crystal flute.

Written in the summer of 1948 it is a love letter to the city. It is tender and witty and explains better than I ever could what makes some people fall in love with that place on the planet. What keeps me going back again and again to wander the canyons and sit by the river. Michael has never felt his heart leap at the sight of the skyline or experienced complete contentment while standing on a subway platform. Perhaps this book could change all that. Or at the very least, help him understand my deep and abiding affection for this place I have made my second home.

Read an excerpt from Claudia Sternbach's Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses and watch this space for more on her publishing journey with this remarkable book.