Matthew Dicks

On good authority, I haven’t changed a bit

During my appearance at Renaissance Books on Saturday, I was asked to explain the reasoning behind choosing the section of SOMETHING MISSING that I read aloud to audiences.

Personally, I find the actual reading of the book to be the most boring part of any author’s appearance, my own included. I would much prefer to plug my iPhone into a docking station and play a portion of the audio book, read by the talented Jefferson Mayes, instead. As an audience member and an author, I much prefer the variety and spontaneity of the question-and-answer portion of an author’s appearance to be the most entertaining. As such, I try to keep the reading as short as possible. In answer to this woman’s question, I confessed that my publicist had recommended the section that I read after I was unable to identify a suitable passage on my own.

She then followed up her question by asking if I had to choose a section of the book to read, what would it have been?

“The last ten pages,” I answered.

“Is this because the end is your favorite part?”

“No,” I said. “I just want to spoil the ending for everyone.”

With the utmost sincerity, another audience member asked, “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because that’s just the kind of guy I am.”

From the back of the room, Mrs. Allan, my former middle school teacher, grumbled, “He hasn’t changed a bit.”

As odd as it may seem, I find great comfort in knowing that my occasionally sarcastic, slightly rude, and less-than-conforming nature is not something new.

Hometown appearance

I spent Saturday in my hometown of Blackstone, MA, speaking about SOMETHING MISSING to audiences in the Blackstone Public Library and then down the road at Renaissance Books in Uxbridge, MA.  There were great turnouts for both events, thanks in part to Stacy Juba, a local author who arranged the appearances, promoted them aggressively, and spoke alongside me.

Oddly enough, the library stands on the former site of my middle school, and before that, my father’s high school.  It was quite surreal to return to a space that I once occupied as a student in order to share my novel with an enthusiastic audience.  I have many memories from that AF Maloney Middle School, which was raised in order to construct one of the finest small town libraries that I have ever seen.  One of my most distinct memories is of the playground, which consisted of a patch of blacktop that was backed by a dirt field.  A white line was painted across the pavement, dividing the playground into a boy’s side and a girl’s side, with the patch of dirt in the back reserved for the boys who used it for football and soccer games. 

The fact that we still enjoyed recess in middle school is incomprehensible to my current students.

The fact that boys and girls could not play together is still incomprehensible to me. 

The fact that boys were allotted twice as much space than the girls was incomprehensible to me even as I enjoyed this unfair benefit as a ten-year-old. 

I also had a science teacher (Mr. Morin) who required you to raise your dominant hand (left for me, right for most) and a math teacher who played Dungeons & Dragons with students during study hall.  Lunches were cooked at the high school and eaten in the classroom, and as a member of the top group of third graders (students were sorted by academic ability back then), my class was sent to middle school a year ahead of the rest of kids in our grade.

Strange times indeed.  

One of the most enjoyable aspects of Saturday’s visit was the number of old friends and teachers who were kind enough to attend, some of whom have actually played a role in the writing of SOMETHING MISSING and UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO. 

Mr. Compopiano, the high school English teacher who is mentioned in the Acknowledgements of SOMETHING MISSING, stopped by prior to my appearance to say hello.

Laura, my high school sweetheart and the girl from whom Martin’s girlfriend, Laura, derives her name, also stopped by with her sister and mother.  I haven’t seen Laura in years, so it was great to spend some time together.   

Wendy, whose last name is used for a minor character in UNEXPECTEFLY, MILO, also attended the reading.  Wendy and I attended our Sophomore Semi-Formal together (she brought photos from that evening to show my wife), and she was also kind enough to bring a photograph of me and Patty Catalano, on stage during the elementary school spring concert.  By order of our music teacher, Mrs. Carroll, I kissed Patty at the end of our song and dance number while Wendy was being kissed by a boy named Danny.  This turned out to be my very first kiss, onstage of all places, and it was probably Patty’s as well. 

I’m sure it’s all been downhill for Patty since that fateful spring evening. 

I also saw my high school friend, Jim, who actually appears, alongside his mother, as a minor character in UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO.

Later on in the afternoon, during my appearance at Renaissance Books, I was greeted by Mrs. Allan, my middle school social studies teacher.  Mrs. Allan’s classroom was formally the middle school’s undersized auditorium, and as a result, she had a stage in her classroom, which was one of the most beautiful and unique classrooms that I have ever seen.  Mrs. Allan’s classroom, and specifically her stage, served as the inspiration for the stage that I now have in my fifth grade classroom.

Little did she know how much influence she might have on one of her former students. 

In addition to former classmates and teachers, I met a whole bunch of new people, many of whom have read SOMETHING MISSING and enjoyed it a great deal.  I met a woman whose book club just met about the book last week, as well as a man who is currently reading the book to his 85-year old father. 

Many thanks to Stacy Juba and her husband, a teacher at my former high school, who were kind enough to make the day possible.   

My hometown

Tomorrow I will be heading to my hometown of Blackstone, MA to join local author Stacy Juba in a joint appearance at the Blackstone Public Library and Renaissance Books in Uxbridge, MA.

If you’d like to stop by, we’ll be at the Blackstone Public Library from 12:30-2:00, speaking, reading, answering questions, and signing books.  Then we’ll be down the road in Uxbridge at 3:00 for another appearance at the local bookstore.  

My sister lives one town over from our hometown, so I occasionally return to my old stomping grounds, but almost always just to pass through.  But this time it’s likely that I will see some old faces and have the opportunity to say hello to some old friends.

I can’t wait. 

I can remember my version of the Blackstone Public Library well:

A small, one room library located on the first floor of the Town Hall and containing, if memory serves me correctly, a total of six to eight stacks of books. 

Not a lot in comparison to many of the libraries of today.

As I recall, the room was also poorly lighted, less-than-inviting, and contained almost no place to sit and read a book.  It was strictly a get-your-book-and-go operation.  

Yet I adored the library as a kid.  Having grown up in a house with few books and almost no children’s books, the Blackstone Public Library’s collection of books was enormous in my eyes.  I remember riding my bike to Town Hall the first time, signing up for a blue library card, and choosing my first book.  The title has escaped me for years, but it was a science fiction story in which all the tallest buildings in the world have begun to melt from the top in rivulets of silver and black.  From what can recall, aliens were attempting to save the human race by halting industrial progress and returning the world to a simpler time, which included buildings no higher than two stories.  I’m pretty sure that humankind ultimately agreed with the aliens and bowed to their demands.

I’ve looked for the title and author of this book many times without success.  If anyone knows it, please let me know.

I wonder if the library still owns a copy of the book. 

That was just the beginning of a childhood adventure with books.  I can remember feverishly going through the library’s Stephen King collection and discovering THE LORD OF THE RINGS for the first time.  I recall asking the librarian for any more Douglas Adams books and being disappointed in discovering that there was no sequel to LORD OF THE FLIES. 

I loved that tiny library. 

Apparently, my tiny library no longer exists, replaced by a free-standing building that seems to be located on the site of my old middle school (and my father’s old high school), making tomorrow’s experience even more surreal.

Of course, there’s a brand new elementary school on the street that I grew up on, named after my old elementary school principal, making the whole town seem like from another time to me, so perhaps the middle school turned library isn’t so strange after all. 

I have some great stories about AF Maloney Middle School to share someday.

And hopefully I’ll have some great stories about tomorrow’s appearance to share next week.

Loving me some new vocabulary

A friend of mine introduced me to a new word today: sprezzatura.  

I was explaining to her how I have always treated my post-high school education like a competition.  All of my classmates versus me in a battle to determine who was best.  Receiving an exceptional grade was great, but knowing that I was on top was even better.  

As such, I would routinely find ways to demoralize my classmates on my climb to the top.  Finishing tests as quickly as possible.  Casually displaying high marks for my classmates to see. Making it appear as if the completion of a tough homework assignment was afterthought.  Preparing two or three insightful comments prior to class, usually based upon research in an area that appealed to the professor.

The fact that my classmates were almost never aware of this battle probably helped a lot. 

And so, in an effort to describe my attitude, my friend gave me sprezzatura:

“A certain nonchalance, so as to conceal all art and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it.”

She also asked me if I thought that this was a healthy way to live.

I dunno. I graduated in the top 5% of every school I’ve ever attended, I’ve achieved my dream of becoming a teacher and an author, and I’m very happy with my life.

I feel pretty healthy.

Strange days

A friend of mine suggested that I post this, which I wrote a couple years ago. He thought it might be a good way for readers to get to know me a little better. I have edited the original piece slightly to reflect changes in my life since I first wrote it.

____________________________________

Here are some strange things about me:

I haven’t vomited since the riding on the Music Express at Rocky Point Amusement Park in 1982.

When I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend named Johnson-Johnson, named after Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder, so my mother presumed. This imagery friend was so real that many of my childhood memories include him, as if the little boy had actually been there. I can recall my mother telling me years later that Johnson-Johnson had never existed and being stunned by this revelation.

I am able to drink more alcohol than anyone I know, and yet I have never suffered from a hangover. In fact, I feel extremely good the next morning. My friend, Scott, once referred to me as a drinking God. Despite this, I do not drink anymore. I prefer Diet Coke and apple juice.  Alcohol possesses no allure for me. 

Early on in our relationship, I was eating breakfast with Elysha and her parents.  In lieu of coffee, another drink that I do not consume, I ordered a large glass of apple juice. Her father responded with, “Apple juice? Who orders apple juice?”

I still don’t understand his question.

But I digress. Back to my strangeness.

I have never bruised. Not once. Despite having been injured more than anyone I know, including a car accident that sent me into the windshield and left me clinically dead for a few minutes on the side of a road, I escaped without a single bruise. Many other life-threatening injuries, but no bruises. The doctors thought I was a freak of nature.

This ability to avoid bruising led me to form my own band of superheroes a while back. Sounds strange, I know, but it was a difficult time in my life. I was living alone in a cruddy little apartment above an apartment that reeked of curry.  I was maintaining a serious relationship with a fictional character from a now defunct television series (which was outstanding during its one season). It was a tough time for me, so anything to take my mind off my troubles was good.

So one evening I decided to start a band of modern-day superheroes. In order to join the team, all you had to have was a superpower that was also somehow connected to a personal weakness or flaw. Like Superman. The fact that he came from the planet Krypton gave him his remarkable powers here on Earth, yet Kryptonite (a piece of Krypton) could kill him while he was on Earth.

Classic superhero motif.

I was Mr. Indestructible. I cannot be killed (having been brought back from death twice already) nor can I be bruised, yet I tend to be hurt all the time. Torn rotator cuff. Bad knees. Concussions. You name it. Strength and weakness tied together. Get it?

My friend, Bengi, was Ocular Man, since he has 20/10 vision and can see anything from about a mile away. But he is so frightened about getting water in his eyes that he has to wear a hat with a brim during a rainstorm.

My friend, Shep, was Mediocre Man, since he can do just about anything, but he can’t do anything exceptionally well.

There were other contenders for a spot on the team, including my wife, Elysha. She can identify any song and artist within three seconds of hearing it. It’s freakish how quick she is. And her musical knowledge ranges from the Ink Spots to the Beastie Boys.

I sometimes wonder if she’s some kind of musical-identification savant.

If Elysha had made the team, her weakness could have been her poor sense of direction (unfortunately, this does not tie in well with musical identification). She has driven for an hour across Connecticut to the border with New York, stopped off at an exit for a coffee, gotten back on the highway, and driven nearly home before realizing that she is headed in the wrong direction. There was an evening a couple years ago when she headed for the restaurant’s kitchen, thinking it was the exit, even though the door that we had entered (and would presumably exit) was in plain view of our table.

Still, I wouldn’t change a thing about her.

You may be wondering what the purpose was in forming this band of superheroes (other than to distract me from my misery). That’s easy. We planned on battling our evil nemesis, Gary, also my friend. I thought that Gary would play the role well. He seems kind of evil and he’s easy to anger. Getting him to battle us wouldn’t be difficult, I surmised.

Alas, nothing ever became of my band of superheroes. Elysha entered my life and my sanity returned. But I still think about those brave souls, ready to give their lives in order to fight against evil Gary, with the fate of the world in the balance.

Those were good days.

This is my new favorite photo of my daughter

The presence of my wife in the photograph is just a bonus.

Worth paying a second college tuition

In the debate over whether or not to have a second child, my wife might just win the argument by agreeing to purchase and wear these tee-shorts with some frequency.

Vying for a spot on The Moth

The Moth is a not-for-profit storytelling organization which features true stories told live on stage without notes.  I’ve been listening to their weekly podcasts for a long time and attended a live performance earlier this year.  I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Looking for an opportunity to tell me own stories, I flirted with the idea of creating a Connecticut version of The Moth, which currently is based in New York, Los Angeles, Detroit and Chicago.  But then Moth organizers recently put out a call to potential storytellers as they launch the new Moth Radio Hour.  If selected, storytellers will have the opportunity to record their story for the radio program with the possibility of being asked to appear live on stage as well.

Good enough for me! 

And since I have been blessed (and cursed) with an interesting life, I am full of stories, ready to tell.  Yesterday I called The Moth and recorded my first, one-minute pitch, a pretty tame story by my standards but one that can be quite funny when told right.  If I don’t hear from The Moth in the next month, I will call back with a new pitch. 

Here was my first:

In high school, I was an average sprinter and a sub-par long jumper. One day my coach announced that he needed two more pole vaulters to compete with our state champion, James Dean. These two vaulters, Coach explained, must be capable of clearing opening height in order to qualify for the district relays, and at that point, the team had no one. And so after an eventful and amusing tryout, Matthew Dicks, Jack Daniels, and the great James Dean became the Blackstone Millville Regional pole vaulting team for the next two years. During our first meet, James cleared opening height with ease, but Jack and I failed miserably on our first and second attempts. If we both cleared opening height on our final attempts, James’s eventual vault of eleven feet would be more than enough for us to take first place. Failure would mean that our team would be disqualified and would earn no points from the vault competition. More importantly, if I failed but Jack succeeded, I would be faced with the additional stigma of having cost the team a chance at a gold medal. As Jack approach his third and final attempt, I found myself secretly hoping that he would fail, taking the pressure off me. Even though his failure would undoubtedly cost me a gold medal, there was far more at stake in this competition. Meaningless adolescent pride and misbegotten social standing. I’d love an opportunity to tell this story. 

Zombies!

Check it out.  A zombie wedding cake! Do you like it?

In terms of unconventional and nonconforming things like this, I believe that people fall into one of three camps:

1.  I love it!  It’s amazing! I wish I had done something like it at my wedding.

2.  It’s definitely not for me, but isn’t it great how people are willing to go out on a limb to do something unique and different and buck conventional wisdom?

3.  This is stupid and tasteless.  What could this couple been thinking?

I love and admire people who fall into the first camp.

I like and respect people who fall into the second camp.

I loathe and despise people who fall into the third camp. 

Bad day

Not a bad day.  I had a rotten day today.

It began as one of those days when all I wanted to do was stay home and play with my eight-month-old daughter.  My wife and I used to work together, our classrooms just two doors apart, but she is taking the year off to be with Clara, which leaves me on some mornings lamenting the loss of my wife at work and my daughter from my entire day.  As much as I enjoy teaching, I think that I could probably stay home with my daughter, playing with her, cleaning the house, walking the dog, visiting friends, and squeezing in a little writing, and I would be perfectly content.

Today this desire was especially strong. 

Then, through a confluence of annoying and unavoidable events, the day got worse and my mood sullied in a way that it rarely does.  I had more on my plate than I could manage.  I never found time for lunch and was forced to skip the gym in the afternoon.  And I’m just feeling rotten about a bunch of things that I must do.

As if my sour mood was emanating into the ether, I was greeted by three emails today, from three different readers from around the country, who recently read my book.  One was from an eighteen year old who went into the bookstore in order to find the novel of a first-time author in hopes of discovering someone new.  He compared this desire to being the one who discovers the next, great indie band, and he seems to think that he had found the indie equivalent in me and the book.

Another wrote in order to plead for a sequel to SOMETHING MISSING, finding Martin to be remarkably likeable and real.

A third asked if I was going to be appearing in New Jersey anytime soon, anxious to meet the author of her “new, all-time favorite book.” 

That’s been one of the amazing and most surprising parts of publishing the book.  People from around the United States routinely contact me about the book, through email, Facebook, Twitter and even snail mail.  Last week I received a handwritten card from a woman who wanted to compliment me on the book and (no surprise) ask about a sequel.  I receive about two of these communications a day from readers, and though it takes time to respond to every one, each is an unexpected blessing. 

The day ended with another reader forwarded me this review from a book blogger.  It’s one that my Google Alert had picked up a few days ago, but it was nice of an anonymous reader to so enthusiastically forward me the link.

My mood was still not great when I went to bed, and until I manage to clear my plate a bit, I expect that it won’t improve by much.  But those readers did manage to lift my spirits a bit and send me back to my manuscript, enthusiastic in knowing that there are people in the world who enjoy my work and want to read more.

It doesn’t make up for having to leave my little one each day, but it’s not bad.