Sharon Harrigan

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July 8, 2014 By Sharon Harrigan

You say linger-ay, I say linger-ee

nightie 1

 

I hate shopping. I hate confronting the difference between what a beautiful dress looks like on a hanger and on my body. I hate making decisions. (Another black dress? Or am I ready to show on the outside how iconoclastic I am on the inside, by wearing, say, neon orange?) And then there’s the pesky little detail about money. (Shouldn’t I just put every penny into my kids’ college funds?)

But here I am in Paris, during the twice-a-year season of soldes. Everything is on sale, marked way, way down. Plus I didn’t bring enough underwear.

My husband and I are alone for a few days while the kids are at camp. Even the dog has a sitter. And, since we’re in the Land of Lingerie, an underthings store beckons me on every block.

The last time I shopped for unmentionables was a year ago, again during the season of soldes, right before our sabbatical year here ended. I thought I’d gotten over my feelings of inadequacy vis-a-vis the natives (French women are so tiny! So chic!) I’d recovered from the fear that the boutiques wouldn’t even have anything that fit me. I knew my French bra size now. I took off the one I was wearing and looked at the tag. Then laughed out loud.

Why? Because the size is a ludicrously high number.

In America I am a 36, but in France I am a 90. (No need to remind myself that my dress size went from 8 to 38 and my shoe size from 7 to 37. I can just ignore the numbers I don’t like, the way politicians do.)

I’ll try to pretend I don’t know that the difference has to do with centimeters being smaller than inches. I’ll tell myself that all I had to do was fly over the Atlantic and my breasts almost tripled in size. And my weight, in kilos, is almost half its imperial number. Those 90-size breasts must be filled with something as light as fantasy. I imagine slipping my shirts over a couple of hot air balloons.  

I bought a bra and panties to replace the ones that had stretched out and faded since last year. I also nabbed a lacy red nuisette. I didn’t actually need a nightie, but it was 50 percent off. Judging from how little fabric there was, it seems only fair that I was able to buy it for next to nothing.

So I still have a little money left to take care of my kids. But I’m not going to think about that—or them—tonight.

Filed Under: Paris Tagged With: lingerie, Paris, Sharon Harrigan

July 2, 2014 By Sharon Harrigan

Merguez

merguez 2. jpg

We’re in Paris—my husband, daughter, and I—for a few weeks. We’ve come so James can work on security-sensitive data that can only be accessed by his thumbprint. We’ve rented an apartment for all of us so Ella can reconnect with her friends from the year we lived here.

At least that’s what we tell people. But if you’d been in our dining room the other night, you might have thought this transatlantic journey was just a quest for merguez.

We returned to the U.S. almost a year ago, and during those months of reacclimation we missed many things:  Sundays spent at museums, school days memorizing Paul Eluard and Jean de la Fontaine, a city dripping with architectural elegance, a culture in which writers and artists are treated like celebrities. But we distilled all that longing into a humble Moroccan sausage oozing with orange-red grease. We pined, at the store and at the table, about how much we missed merguez.

God knows we tried to find a replacement. In Virginia, we asked at the Middle Eastern market, at every grocery store and butcher shop. We found lamb sausages, but they weren’t the same. Finally, we asked at JM Stock, a new butcher that specializes in “whole animal” meat, and they told us, in February, that they were still trying to find a lamb farm they could trust. Then in March they said the lamb would be ready to slaughter by April. The butcher would make merguez, especially for us, by Easter.

We kept stopping by and checking. “Is the merguez ready?”

“Not yet.”

My husband suspected my daugher and I visited so often because the butchers are gorgeous. That wasn’t the (only) reason. We were groupies, yes, but the rock star we sought was a sausage.

We arrived on Easter Sunday. “We’re making it now!” the young men assured us, their cleavers as big as their biceps. “Come back tomorrow.” We did. We ate and ate and froze what we couldn’t eat. It was good meat. Humanely raised, deliciously spiced. But it wasn’t exactly the same as what we remembered. It didn’t contain, its its casing, our year in Paris.

Then, the other day, we finally bought a plastic-wrapped pack of merguez from the French supermarket chain, Monoprix. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s not the best merguez in the world. But it’s our merguez. If pressed, I will even confess that the JM Stock merguez, artisanal and freshly butchered, is objectively better. Fresher. Less greasy. But it’s not our madeleine, our Proustian food that brings back a whole time and place in our mouth and our soul.

The sausage was not as delicious as I’d imagined it would be, during that year away from it. But that’s not what comfort food is about, anyway. Is it?

Filed Under: Paris Tagged With: JM Stock, merguez, Monoprix, Sharon Harrigan

June 14, 2014 By Sharon Harrigan

Links to New Publications

mirror-neuron1

It’s been a while since I posted links on my blog to my new publications. Below are some of my recent stories, essays, reviews, and interviews, published in Pleaides, The  Nervous Breakdown, and Fiction Writers Review.

Tattoo Titans, Mirror Neurons, and Intergenerational Empathy. Read it
here:

Interview with Artis Henderson. Read it
here:

Half, which won the 2013 Kinder Prize from Pleiades. Read it
here:

Review of Praying Drunk by Kyle Minor.
Read it here:

Review of Kids These Days by Drew Perry
Read it here:

Interview with Virginia Pye
Read it here:

Review of Red Sky in Morning by Paul Lynch
Read it here:

Filed Under: Writing Life Tagged With: 2013 Kinder Prize in Fiction, Artis Henderson, Drew Perry, Intergenerational Empathy, Kyle Minor, Mirror Neurons, Paul Lynch, Pleiades, Sharon Harrigan, Tattoo Titans, Virginia Pye

May 2, 2014 By Sharon Harrigan

What I’m Working On . . . My Stop on a Blog Tour

 

notebook

Fellow Virginia writer Mark Meier asked me to participate in a “blog tour.” The idea is for a bunch of writers to take turns answering questions about what we are working on. You can see his responses at his blog: (http://www.markmeierwriting.com). Below are mine:

1) What am I working on?

I recently finished a book-length memoir called Playing with Dynamite: A Daughter’s Story. It’s about my father, who died when I was seven. Of course, it’s about me, too. About how I coped with such a huge loss, in my childhood and adulthood, how I have discovered my father’s legacy in me, how I am passing it on to my own children. It’s about taking the myth that my father had turned into and turning that into a portrait of a man–flawed and contradictory, brilliant and funny—but most of all REAL.

My agent is in the process of reading the whole manuscript now. In the meantime, I’m working on some self-contained essays and a novel called Half, based on my short story by the same name. Here is the link to the story: http://www.ucmo.edu/pleiades/news/harrigan.html

2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

My fiction has a wide range of styles, but what unifies my work, I think, is the way I like to take risks. For instance, “Half” is written in the first person plural (we) voice, which is pretty unusual. Some examples of this voice are We the Animals by Justin Torres, Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides, and And Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. But there aren’t many others. I also have a story in five points of view (it’s published in Louisiana Literature in print only, so I don’t have a link). I’ve never read another story that tries to do that. I’m not sure I would try to do it ever again!

3) Why do I write what I do?

Writing in the “we” voice captures something about childhood that isn’t possible any other way. This device shows the intense closeness of siblings, an us-against-them mentality. I use it to represent the linked consciousness of twins. Though I’m not a twin, I’ve always been fascinated by twins and like to imagine their fused minds.

4) How does my writing process work?

I’m a very fast typist (I won the fastest typing award in high school!) so it’s very efficient for me to work on a computer. Recently, though, I’ve been experimenting with writing by hand, appreciating the benefits of slowing down the fingers, which, in turn, slows down the mind enough to think more deeply. When I spent a year in Paris I befriended a French novelist who writes his books entirely in longhand. He inspired me to try. A little. But it’s hard to change to old habits.

Next week, look for answers to these same questions from two fabulous writers who I studied with in my MFA: Tabitha Blankenbiller and Leigh Camacho Rourks.

tabitha photo

Tabitha Blankenbiller is a Pacific Northwest native, originally born in Seattle and raised on the Mt. Rainier plateau. She graduated from the Pacific University MFA program in June 2012 (and was student commencement speaker, a credential that doesn’t quite fit anywhere else but in this web bio). She is a staff contributor at Bustle, Food Riot, PDXX Collective, and Spectrum Culture, and writes The Wordstalker column for Barrelhouse Magazine. Her personal essays have been widely published in journals including Hobart, Passages North, and Brevity. She has written a full-length memoir titled Paper Bag: Tales of Love, Beauty and Baggage, which is represented by Jennifer Chen Tran at Penumbra Literary. Find Tabitha’s blog athttp://tabithablanken.wordpress.com/tag/tabitha-blankenbiller/

leigh photo

Leigh Camacho Rourks lives in South Louisiana and, on her best days, can be found lazing in the sun, doing not much of anything at all. She teaches English at Southeastern Louisiana University, where she is also the assistant editor of Louisiana Literature. Her stories have been chosen as finalists for the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival Fiction Contest (2012) and The American Fiction Prize (2013), and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in a number of journals including Kenyon Review and Prairie Schooner. Find Leigh’s blog at http://lcrourks.com/

Filed Under: Writing Life

April 12, 2014 By Sharon Harrigan

Ready to Reveal

Julia Louis-Dreyfus showed us this week that a middle-aged naked woman can be fun to look at. Her cover photo for Rolling Stone is cheeky, funny, and sexy (and who cares if it’s a teeny bit historically inaccurate?).

Julia-Louis-Dreyfus-Rolling-Stone-cover-jpg

I’m going to reveal something here, too. (Don’t worry, no naked photos, I promise.) It feels like a dirty little secret to tell you this. Why is it so hard? I write about my life. I’m a memoirist. I’ve recounted so many embarrassing details about stupid mistakes I’ve made, it should be easy to tell you this one simple fact:

I’m 47. Today’s my birthday.

I can’t hide my age, anyway. I have a 20-year-old son, so nobody’s going to believe I’m 20. Even if I did go through puberty early.

I was feeling bad about this birthday until I read “This Is 57”:

In her blog, Catching Days, Cynthia Newberry Martin makes turning 57 seem so beautiful that I started to look forward to my birthday a decade from now.

Maybe if you read about my 47, you’ll look forward to turning my age, too.

47 is a second marriage, a second career, a second child, a second chance

47 is being grateful to be alive and solvent after early-adulthood medical and financial scares

47 is being done with my education

47 is being mature enough to finally “go home”

47 is knowing how to say no, how to speak up, how to ask questions, knowing that the only way I’m going to find out anything is to ask

47 is having lived a life interesting enough to write about

I was on the plane a few weeks ago and the man next to me asked how old my children are. “If I tell you you’ll guess my age,” I said, then laughed akwardly. But I should have just said, “My children are 10 and 20. And I am 47.”

Maybe that’s the best thing about this age: being finally ready to reveal.

Here I am, with my clothes on but my secret off my chest. This is 47, too:

blackandwhiteheadshot for web       SharonPortraits0055-L  orangedressheadshotforweb

Filed Under: Lives Lived Tagged With: Aging, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Rolling Stone, This Is 47, women's aging

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