My absolute favorite thing about being an author is getting to talk storytelling with other authors! That only gets better when you can do that while still chilling at home drinking a bougie cider. Check out my episode of the podcast Drinking with Authors where I do just that with hilarious hosts, Erika Lance and Valerie Willis. I had a blast talking with them about the inspiration behind Jaguars, why I reject the idea of the starving artist (We should expect just compensation and healthcare like any other worker!), and that dystopian YA I have in a drawer that Erika demands I revisit.
You can listen to the episode here, Spotify or your favorite podcast app!
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you to everyone who came out to the launch of Jaguars and Other Game. We had a wonderful night at Buteco in Grant Park with Brazilian salgados and caipirinhas. We raffled off some Haviannas, Garoto candy and coffee fresh off the plane form Brazil curtesy of my husband. The amazing Kendra, of 
“How long did it take you to get a book deal?” I’m rarely asked that question when I have enough time for a complete answer. Or when people really want an honest answer. Nobody at Thanksgiving wants to hear “Well Aunt Hattie, it took me thirteen years from first book idea to book deal, so if you’re think about a memoir, you probably want to get on that.”
Book 3 is Jaguars and Other Game. It comes out November 22, 2022.
After more than a decade of writing with the intention of building a career, I’m participating in my first author event! Corner Cup on Mainstreet in Tucker, GA from 10am-2pm Sunday, February 27. I’m going to show up in public as a writer. Not just a writer but An Author. With a novel coming out. I really want to be the cool, chill writer, rocking a blazer and sneakers. But I’ll probably be crying through the event. Or talking way too loudly at a million words a minutes. I have trouble using my indoor voice when I’m excited, and I will be very excited this Sunday.
The other night my daughter and I died repeatedly in a lava lake. We were playing Yoshi’s Woolly World and trying to get a final daisy that would unlock a secret board but the lava was rising and covering the daisy and…well, we died a lot.
It did not take me long after announcing my study abroad plans to realize that “abroad” for most of the people I knew meant Western Europe or Australia. Any other country was not so much abroad as another planet. The first time I mentioned Morocco to family or friends there was usually a momentary pause as people first, tried to place Morocco on a map, and second tried to figure out why I wanted to spend a significant amount of time there. Australia they could understand. It has beaches and people with funny accents. Italy has pasta and Prada. The only thing Morocco has is a city named after a Humphrey Bogart film.
On September 3, I found myself all alone, completely lost, standing on a street corner in Rabat. That was the day of the Drop Off–the morning our program directors piled all 22 students on a bus, drove us around Rabat until we had no directional bearings whatsoever, and dropped us off one by one on random street corners throughout the city. Our first full day in Morocco and each of us was left stranded on a different street corner with no maps, no cell phones, and no idea how to even pronounce the street our hotel was on. The only thing we had was an assignment. Get back to the hotel by 1 o’clock. Welcome to Morocco and good luck.
As I frantically looked around I noticed one opening in the wall flanked by two heavily armed Moroccan soldiers. I had heard stories about corrupt police officers in developing countries, about the actions of local military around the world who were supposed to be protecting refugees in various places, and decided the best direction to start walking would be away from the men with guns, uniform or no uniform. It would be much later before I realized this was my first decision in Morocco based entirely on a stereotype.
Yes, that was one of the many thoughts running through my head as I tried to keep myself together. Despite all my boasting about being above the negative stereotyping of Arabs many friends and family engaged in, as I stood on the sidewalk of an unknown street somewhere in Rabat, I was genuinely afraid I was going to be harassed, beaten, or worse by those “fanatical Arabs.” So much for being a good liberal who doesn’t stereotype. I was alone, in a completely foreign country, with no knowledge of the language, or the culture, or where in God’s name my hotel was–and in that panic I embraced the most negative, racist stereotypes that had ever been presented in Western media. I wanted to go back to the time when being liberal meant eating vegan chocolate cake and discussing Said’s definition of orientalism on the quad of my $34,000 a year university in Northwest Washington, DC. While I walked, my mind kept repeating, “What am I doing here? I’m a white girl from Snellville, Georgia USA, where all the teenagers wear ‘what would Jesus do?’ bracelets. Why didn’t I study abroad in London with all of my friends?”
As pleasantly surprising as this man’s generosity had been it was not the biggest surprise of the day. I was struck to the core when I walked into the hotel’s lobby and saw it was filled with students and all the Moroccans who had taken the time to help each of us find our way back. As we breathlessly shared our stories at increasing levels of volume, it became evident that every student made it back to the hotel through the generosity of complete strangers who were willing to take time out of their day to help another person. We had not experienced any kind of anti-American sentiment; in fact most of us had gotten incredibly positive reactions toward Americans. I hadn’t come across a flag or Bush effigy burning in the street. I had been in Morocco one full day and I had already had an exciting and liberating adventure, which introduced to many touchingly generous people and brought me face to face with my own hidden stereotypes.
While tenaciously clinging to stereotypes, particularly if they are negative, will also blind a person to the wonderful and fascinating realities and practices of any culture. Recognizing stereotypes for what they are, imagined realities based on limited information, and preparing yourself to leave them behind as you learn and observe the reality from within the culture, are essential in order to make the transition into a new culture.
