as if the book wasn't enough
This is one of my absolutely favorite ads in the book. Tangerine flowers and the pouty model’s matching skin tight tube dress set against a darkening sky. TShe’s waiting for a lover, a secret message from Russia, a very rich dessert. She’s pensive, thoughtful, sensing perhaps danger or something dark. Or maybe the impending doom is her period.
In anticipation of an editor lunch tomorrow, I’m re-reading Flow—it’s been awhile since I went through it beginning to end, not looking for typos or art issues. And I have to say . . . it’s fantastic. I’m so caught up in what I’m reading that I’m almost done after one afternoon. Yes, it’s easier to skim as I know all the info, but I’m still shocked, amazed, intrigued at facts I’m rediscovering.
Yes, Flow’s release date is three months from today. It’s both a thrill and terrifying. All that work, time, effort, energy, is now out of our hands. People are reading galleys, forming opinions, discussing amongst themselves. And hopefully loving it. But, you never know. The next three months are for drumming up interest, starting conversations, getting the word out there that this is something people should be reading and talking about. Not to mention buying. It would be a fabulous, quirky, unique holiday gift.
ARCs (advance reading copies) came today (!). Otherwise known as bound galleys, they’re printed and bound copies of the book. Softcover. Black and white pages, although the cover is color. These were created from uncorrected pages, so everything isn’t picture perfect, but one gets a strong sense of what the final book will be.
The NYC part of the story comes from how they were delivered. I was sitting in my car—it’s an alternate side parking day—parked across the street from my building. As I was typing away on my iphone, someone knocked on my car window. It was pouring and this poor messenger was carrying a huge black umbrella and a large manilla envelope. I opened the door (the car was turned off so the logical window choice was not available). He said my doorman had sent him over and handed me a clipboard so I could sign a delivery receipt. First time I ever received a package in my car.
We had our first publicity meeting today. The shift from Flow being a 2+ years work in progress, to a finished book heading out into the world is a little hard to wrap our heads around. It’s such an all-encompassing book—so many angles to discuss, so much information that’s pertinent and intriguing to different groups of people. Advertising, menopause, social history, camp value, product development, biology . . . who will want to talk about what?
Specifically, my breasts. They’ve never caused me anxiety, except during the profoundly embarrassing experience of being fitted for my first bra and being told they “wing out” as a middle-aged saleswoman draped a measuring tape around me. Aside from a bout of thrush, they’ve successfully nursed two babies. They fit my body well—not too big, not too small. Generally speaking, we’ve had a good run together. But right now they’re throbbing, as if each has been punched really hard,or crushed in a vise. Hurting to the point that sometimes I’m doubling over, wrapping my arms around myself, the pain is so intense. Out of nowhere, they feel bruised to tenderness.
This is one of my new PMS symptoms. Or, as I’m starting to think, it’s yet another sign of perimenopause, of my body reminding me in increasingly harsh ways, that my periods are numbered and damn it, I better pay attention to the ones that are left. For the past year or two—I wish I’d paid more attention—I’ve gone from relatively uneventful periods and very few PMS symptoms, aside from vague sadness and anger, to being overwhelmed by extreme pain and erratic emotional swings. Every couple of months I get excruciating headaches, always in my left temple, that last for 2 days. Nothing helps and every movement brings yet another sharp stab. In the few days before my period takes over, I find myself so profoundly melancholy, tears well up over nothing. Or so filled with rage I explode, again, over nothing. Wearing a bra isn’t as bad as a those hair shirts people used to throw on, but even the slightest constriction feels like sandpaper on super sensitive skin. And to top it all off, the first day of my period is now so intense, I lie in bed, clutching a hot water bottle to my middle, waiting for the advil to kick in.
There’s no test out there to definitively diagnose what’s going on and for a person who flirts with the edge of anxiety, the not knowing is almost harder than the physical symptoms. And the only way to know perimenopause is officially over is when my period hasn’t shown up for 12 months straight. Somehow, the changes of adolescence are looking far less dramatic than I thought they were when I was 13.
We submitted Flow to the publisher over a year ago—it’s been awhile since I sat with the book, as a whole, and read the story. And it’s so, SO good. I am newly blown away at how much we covered, how thoroughly we told the story, how much research went in, the magnitude of the project. This is a book that every person should read, men as well as women. It’s n new twist on the history of women’s rights, their experiences, their treatment by and role in society.
Let’s start from here. There is none. No set policy. No standard curriculum. No obligatory class. That film we saw in fifth grade about menstruation, adolescence, and reproduction? Doesn’t happen anymore. No movies with mom, no free samples from companies, no Q&A’s with the school nurse. In one of the most vibrant cities on the planet, at a time when cybersex and naked cell phone photos and teen pregnancy are staples of society, who’s educating our kids—about cyber stalking? STD’s? Birth control options?
While searching for art to illustrate Flow, I found phenomenal images—vintage ads, patent illustrations, seminal books on feminism, educational pamphlets from fifth grade and more. Sadly, not all could make the book. Having said that, this is a great forum for sharing art you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else. Above is one of the earliest patent illustrations for a menstrual product. It looks like a feedbag for a horse, a tool belt that keeps instruments close to hand (or pelvis, as it were) or perhaps very strange rigging for men to wear while playing contact sports. It’s hard to imagine strapping oneself into this complicated get up, with countless snaps, belts, loops and straps. Imagine having to undo all that under a long skirt and petticoats. It’s easy to see why this didn’t catch on.
