I’d like to write a book.
There, I said it.

That’s something I’ve had trouble admitting to people, for fear of them saying something like “You? A book? What makes you think you’re interesting/knowledgeable/talented enough to write a book?”

But after the Symposium for Professional Food Writers conference, I don’t have trouble telling people this anymore. After you sheepishly admit something like that to Michael Ruhlman himself while at dinner one night, you kind of get over your fear. His responses: “I wanted to write a book when I was your age, too,” followed by, “About what?” and “Why?” Hmm.

Well, I want to write about food. I want to write about food and memory and life and love and all that. Memoir-style. Because I’ve been blessed with a multiracial background, with a loving mother stuck in the ways of pre-war Vietnam, who tried to raise her child in that old manner in this new country. Because there’s a lot to explore in this often hot-blooded mother-daughter relationship, both culturally and personally, that I hope can help other mother-daughter teams out there understand their own relationship dynamics.

Even more, because there’s a story in my Irish/Italian father, too. He’s a lover of Mexican food who told me that he believes he’s an alien from another planet, sent to Earth because his brother wanted to be king of said planet. My father apparently was next in line for the throne. A year later, I would meet him for the first time in 22 years.

And because I believe food heals. Not in the way a person temporarily binges away depression, or in the medicinal or nutritious way, but in that can’t-put-your-finger-on-it, soul-calming way. If you let it, it will assemble you back together and make you whole again. People really need to know that food can do this. It’s certainly done this for me.

I kinda wish I wasn’t embarrassed to detail this to Ruhlman when he asked. I said something along the lines of “I don’t know, I have time; I’ll figure it out.” He probably would have given me some great advice. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for more)

Anyway, the rest of the trouble is – and this is what the conference taught me – I have to figure out if there is indeed a book idea in this mess. Is there an audience that would willingly read this book? What if I try to sweeten the deal with recipes of story-relevant comforting foods at the end of every chapter? And there’s the fact that my idea may be better suited as a magazine article. Or, if the whole idea is so broad that no publisher will want it because it’s a “tweener” – meaning it falls between normal bookstore categories so there’s virtually no one shelf where it can be placed.

There’s much to think about, and it all begins with the questions that every book editor asks when they read a book proposal: “Why you? Why this book now? Who cares?” So when you’re writing your book proposal, be prepared to slam dunk these questions, or you’re outta the ring.

So that’s what I’ve got. I know this post isn’t entirely about food, but I really had to get this out there. And if I sound angry, it’s because I’m just frustrated at myself.  Normal posting will resume next week, I promise. And always, thank you for reading.

– Cynthia Furey

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 21st, 2009 at 11:06 pm and is filed under At the table. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.