The nice people at Kunati sent me a copy of a review of bang BANG in a magazine called BookList. Now, I know that book reviews don't matter, or if they do matter, they cancel themselves out. And nobody in his right mind writes in the hope of reviews. But still. . . .

This novel-writing business is weird. You really have to listen to your own ear for words and stories. You have to work on your sensibility constantly to make it sharper, but in the end, it's just you. It's such an isolating thing that after a while, I start to worry. I wonder if everything I write is garbage and I only think it's good because I'm wearing ego blinders. It gets worse: if you're writing to be read, you worry that your book won't ever find an audience. Maybe you start to think that all that effort is for nothing and you might be better off taking a part-time job or just doing the crossword puzzle.

And then you get a review like this one, and it's from an association of librarians. I felt relief and joy and contentment and now, because reviews really don't matter, it's time to forget about it and get back to work.

May your holidays be filled with surprising contradictions and delightful reconciliations.

This was the New Years Card that I sent out in January of 2004. I was divorced and unemployed and living in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I thought I was making a pretty brave face of things. 'Don't Cry Over Spilled Wine' seemed like a pretty useful motto for the year coming up.

PS. for more on my wine obsession, click here. 

Right now, from my little office at the corner end of a corner row house in South Philadelphia, I can hear the fountain in the piazza outside my window. The 'gang' at the corner, mostly men in their 20''s 40's and 50's are talking about the Eagle's game last Sunday. The weather--an annoying drizzle--will drive them inside soon and then there'll be nothing but the fountain and the sounds of side-street traffic. It's twilight in the 'hood.

South Philly is a lot like the Brooklyn where I grew up. You know your neighbors by name. You know their kids, hell, you know their dogs and their in-laws. There's a little bistro a block from the house where you can get a glass of wine and a couple of small plates for under twenty bucks and a Chinese take-out and a genuine Mexican taqueria. If you really love food, it's just a five-block walk to the famous Italian Market. The Market is a sprawl of wholesale and retail produce, meat, poultry and cheese shops. You can pick out your live chicken as you walk north, fill your bags with the freshest and best and pick the chicken up, cleaned and dressed on your way south.

I've been living here for almost three years. Divorce and disappointment took me out of the big house in the woods and since I was no longer attached to anything in particular, I figured I could live anyplace I wanted. Here I am.

--Lynn Hoffman, author of bang BANG 

* * * *

So here's what I'm about these days: I'm a guy who loves food and wine. I love cooking and tasting and sharing. If you knocked on the downstairs door right now, you'd have a glass of wine in your fist inside of a minute and a plate of something in five or ten. For a long time, I've written and taught about food and drink.

I have a little book called THE NEW SHORT COURSE IN WINE. It's a condensation of all that teaching--a 135 page way to help you get wise to the ways of wine and do it quickly. It's not for dummies or complete idiots, but it might be for you.

The rest of my indoor time is spent cooking, playing pool and writing.

There are two more novels right behind bang BANG, a book about alcoholic beverages and a set of sketches that's about to turn itself into another novel. Outdoors, I row, kayak, fish and sail. If I can't do those, I just go outside and stand there for a while. Philly is loaded with great outdoors stuff. In twenty minutes I can be in a marshy bird sanctuary or a hilly forest.

* * * *

I know we've just met, but I think I'll show you one of the most pompous things I've ever written. It was in response to a request from my kid--the sophomore at Cornell--to say what I'd learned from life. This is what I told her: (Did I mention that she's a beautiful, creative, caring kid?)

1. When in doubt, go outdoors and stay there as long as you can.

2. Learn to draw with your eyes. Take a deep breath and follow the contours of an object. Let your fingers imagine that they are walking along the same edges that you’re seeing.

3. Speak at least two languages. If your childhood gave you two, learn a third.

4. Make it a habit to make something with your hands. The worse you are at handwork, the more important this becomes.

5. Ignorance is an emergency, but it is not a disgrace. Never hesitate to ask for an explanation of something you don’t understand.

6. Love dangerously, f*ck cautiously, tan slowly if at all.

7. If you have friends, be a light to them--miss no opportunity

8. Be a willing student. If you meet someone who is further along than you are, pay attention without shame.

9. Enjoy small moments, they are your life.

10. There’s nothing better than a good challenge. Stay Challenged.

11. Have at least one person in your life with whom there are no barriers. None.

12. Don’t take the bait. Any time you’re verbally provoked into a sharp response, you’ve been offered a big juicy worm.

13. Never complain. You acquire allies in diversity by seeming to be calm, strong and fearless. This is true even if you are in the process of admitting that you’re panicked, weak and scared.

* * * *

Maybe I should tell you more about my kid? No? Oh.

~ Lynn Hoffman, author of bang BANG