Ashley Harris

Thanks to everyone who participated in my poll to identify the culinary traits for which Viking Pizza, the local hang-out in my fictional town of Yatesville, is known. And as the majority guessed, the correct answer is….All of the above! Those of you with an emotional connection to Sir Pizza, the legendary pizza restaurant in my hometown of Asheboro, had a definite edge because this place is the model for Viking Pizza. I haven’t seen a Sir Pizza menu in so long that I couldn’t swear that the wine-baked ham sandwich is still offered. Can someone confirm? At any rate, what’s important is that the sandwich will forever live in my heart, which is the true vessel of truth.

And on that subject, today I was sifting through quotes by Joyce Cary, who I’ve mentioned before and is the author of one of my favorite novels, The Horse’s Mouth. He wasn’t the kind of person who could just spit out witticisms like Winston Churchill or Cicero. Instead, like a true writer, he saved his best lines for his characters. However, I happened to stumble upon a quote that is simply a gem. It’s a rare reflection of his on the writing process.

A novel should be an experience and convey an emotional truth rather than arguments.

Doesn’t that just sing to you? Not just among my writer friends, but to fellow readers as well. The novels that have made the most impact on me deal less with exacting descriptions or plot, but with an emotional truth. I realize that this is sort of deep for a Thursday night but I promise that it does go back to the pizza. What makes a little place like Viking Pizza or Sir Pizza so special is not the type of pepperoni or shape of the slices, but the emotions it evokes in its patrons.

The same goes for novels. Take The Horse’s Mouth, for example, whose main character is a down-and-out painter trying to revive his career. The plot is interesting and comic, but the emotional truth is what lingers: Gulley Jimson’s tragic obsession to make himself immortal. Take a much more recent novel, Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger. The book’s technique is unusual in that it has a ghost as an integral character. The author does a brilliant job of describing how the ghost moves and her physical sensations. But what really brings the book alive for me is the ghost’s emotional state of mind, particularly her refusal to be forgotten. And like Mr. Jimson, isn’t this a universal emotion? The desire to live forever in some way?

What universal truths have you uncovered in fiction? Think about it, and share it here!

Being a fond eater and a “wanna-be” chef, one of the things that I enjoyed most about bringing the community of Yatesville to life was creating the culinary scene. After all, the eateries of a small town make up its lifeblood, the kind of places where people gather for more than just food: fellowship and gossip! So, of course there’s a biscuit place or two, an old-fashioned diner, and a Mexican restaurant, El Gato Gordo, which is a popular spot for lunchtime business meetings.

But in my view, and you know I’m not biased, no respectable small town should be without a signature pizza restaurant. And fortunately, I had a wealth of great memories to draw upon in the creation of Viking Pizza, Yatesville’s most famous pizza joint. For fun, try to guess which of the following attributes makes Viking Pizza so popular.

Hint: My fellow Asheboroians will have a definite advantage here!

Guess what? More than 70 percent of you chose the original Krispy Kreme doughnut as H.T.’s favorite treat…and you were right! While a respectable number chose chocolate-covered, the truth is that H.T’s version of heaven is the plain glazed variety! He’s a no-frills guy when it comes to his doughnuts, and as it turns out, so are many of my guy friends, including Heath, who actually transported a batch of Krispy Kreme across state lines over the weekend. My hero!

This week has been a heavy travel week for me, first going to Chicago for a marketing conference and then to Knoxville for the wedding of my dear nephew, Christopher, but as we drove back last night and passed through Winston-Salem, it was so comforting to see that familiar red and green neon sign for the KK headquarters among the skyline. After I finish up some work here today, I plan to go to the grocery store and I do hope that I’ll be able to score another batch of the Cheerwine variety.

Another task today is to continue to polish up the manuscript, which is due to my editor in a couple of weeks. She is a terrific lady who is very excited about this project and I look forward to working with her. She is kindly giving me a little time to re-read and make small changes to the manuscript that we agreed upon in an earlier meeting. And at this point, I’ve been toying with the idea of adding a short quote to the beginning of the book to help set the stage for the action. Throughout the novel, poor H.T. finds himself in one predicament after another, and I thought that the quote below from Joyce Cary in the comic novel, The Horse’s Mouth, summarizes it well:

“Things are never so bad that they can’t get any worse.”

This is also what I’m trying to tell my husband today. We came home from our travels to find that our dryer doesn’t work AND that our satellite TV is out. So my question to all of you is when is the last time you had to tell yourself: Well, it could be worse!

Tell me about it and let’s commiserate!

The goodwill sent my way yesterday was simply amazing. Nearly 300 people viewed this blog and a good many lent their very kind comments. For the very latest news, please sign up for updates on Naked and Hungry. To do so, scroll down the right-hand column of this page and select “Sign me up!” under “Email Subscription.” By providing your email address, you’ll receive the latest news about the book, including information on events, signings, advance copies, and much more!

Now back to the matter at hand….Krispy Kreme doughnuts. My confession about my hankering for the Cheerwine-cream-filled variety inspired a virtual pilgrimage on the part of my friend Walter, who was determined to sample them for himself. Sad to say, he did not share my enthusiasm. Like my son Dashiel, he is a purist and prefers his Cheerwine straight up. Fair enough.

My main character, H.T., fancies himself a bit of a gourmet cook. As a native Tar Heel, however, he nurtures a passion for these yeasty treats. For fun, I invite you to vote on his favorite type of Krispy Kreme.

We’ll announce the results in my next posting. Until then, again, thank you, dear family and friends for your support. Hugs, kisses and Krispy Kreme!

Yesterday I signed a contract with Ingalls Publishing Group in Boone, N.C. for the publication of Naked and Hungry, my first novel. I did it with very little fanfare, my husband Robert as the witness, as we leaned over the counter in the kitchen. My main character would have been most proud of me because my very next action was to polish off the rest of my Krispy Kreme doughnut with Cheerwine cream filling. If the contract arrives in Boone a little stickier than before, I hope Mr. Ingalls will forgive me. (Pure heaven, by the way, the doughnut!)

The act of signing the contract is the not quite the end of the story–another very interesting adventure is certain to lie ahead–but it did symbolize a major stepping stone along the journey of writing the novel. Writing is a solitary art, by necessity, but it’s never been a lonely one. There are many, many people to thank, starting with my wonderful family, Robert and my son Dashiel, who graciously allowed me the luxury of all those sequestered Saturdays spent in front of the computer. To my Dad, who served as the catalyst and motivator, and to my Mom, for encouraging my love of reading all these years. To Christy for her meticulous proofreading, (by the way, you rock, sister-in-law) and to Sarah Beth, Kelly, George, Jen, and a kind gentleman named John Maxwell with the Wake County Sheriff’s Office for their early reads and wise counsel. And a special thanks to my beloved carpooler Missy, who tolerated my daily musings on the matter!

And last but certainly not least, to Mr. Bob Ingalls himself, whose phone call that Saturday morning I’ll never forget. Of course I was flipping crepes, and I remember fumbling across the stove as I reached for the phone. His first words were magical, words that everyone ought to have the chance to hear just once in their lives. “Wait, wait,” he said. “Before we talk about your work, can you tell me a little about yourself?  I want to know who you are.”

Sometimes I think people make too much of their birthdays. It’s not a very popular notion, and that’s why I often keep it to myself. While it’s true that your birthday only comes around once a year, and everyone loves a party, I think it’s important that people celebrate every day of their life. Their life, that is. Not just their birthdate, which to be honest, is not an accomplishment for which you can take direct credit. Rather than go overboard with the margaritas, the cake and the presents, send your parents a thank-you card, for heaven’s sake.  And certainly you should thank God for allowing it all to happen in the first place. But to be alive is worth celebrating every day.

This attitude is what makes the day after a birthday so important. The hangover will hopefully have slacked off,  your blood sugar may be back to normal again, and the presents or cards are tucked neatly away. It’s a good day to remind yourself that today, after all, is someone else’s birthday (probably hundreds of thousands of peoples’ birthdays in fact) and it’s time to resume the march of life that began the moment you were born. Be kind to yourself, to others,  admire the simple beauty of the weed before you pluck it, and perhaps as in my case, model the behavior of your dog. He will charge zestfully outside every day, regardless of his own birthday, in search of a grand adventure.

Soapbox aside,  I will say that yesterday, July 6, was a marvelous day. As an adult, the greatest joy in having a birthday are the acknowlegements you receive from so many family members and friends, close to home and faraway. They use your birthday as an occasion to simply say hello and by doing so, you’re reminded of them, and when their birthday happens to be. Oh, there we go, back to birthdays again…just can’t help myself.

My dad shared with me a beautiful quote today: “Until one has loved an animal, part of their soul remains unawakened.”

So true. Most of my friends have animals in their lives–whether it be a dog, cat, rabbit, hamster, or even backyard birds–and love them passionately. Although many fine people do not have a pet, I do tend to bond more quickly with those who do or have had an animal once in their lives. With two very furry American Eskimos–one of whom is now permanently napping  in our backyard, alas–being part of our family for so long I did notice a definite change in the types of friends we kept. Those who didn’t mind a little dog hair on their pants, or  in some cases, in their salad. Those who didn’t mind sharing the sofa with a dog who was already there. Those who didn’t mind a temporary lull in our conversation as I said, “Pardon me for a moment, while I wipe up the piddle on the floor….” And these were the very first of our crowd to comfort me when we had to put our beloved Milo to sleep.

The rest of our friends retreated to the fringes of our lives, where Christmas cards are exchanged and Facebook does the heavy lifting, allowing us the fiction of an enduring friendship. It’s not that we’re not friends, it’s just that, well, I wonder if some part of their soul needs to be awakened. Because as we pet lovers know, it’s a incredible journey laced with equal parts joy and heartbreak and when you join the “team,” there’s absolutely no going back.

Okay, a story. A funny one. Today my friend Melissa (yes, of the big green eyes) was bemoaning the fact that there exists no musical tribute to “green eyes.” It’s only about brown or blue eyes, she says, citing Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl,” Elton John’s “Blue Eyes,” and dare we forget (I almost had!): Crystal Gale’s: Don’t it make my brown eyes blue….”

Well, driving home today, of all days, what song do you think came across the radio? Cliff Richard’s 1970ish hit, “Devil Woman.”

“I drank the potion she offered me. I found myself on the floor. Then I looked in those big green eyes, and I wondered what I came there for!”

My carpooler and I sang along and giggled for the rest of the ride home. Of course we called Melissa, couldn’t get her, and so we left her a  musical tribute of our own. Now, is this kind of tribute she had in mind? Maybe not. Is it worthy of her green eyes? Definitely not. Would most of us like to be called “Devil Woman?” Certainly not. But if anything, it was a fitting end to the kind of day that only “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” could appreciate.

Interesting day. Started out sunny, then turned rainy and teetered between the two extremes all day. It was hot, too, so it wasn’t a bad day to be at work, after all. Had a lot of catching up to do since my vacation but it’s always a pleasure to see my co-workers, especially my car-pool buddy. We keep each other amused the whole way to work and back, particularly laughing at the antics of our husbands and pets. Had she been born a couple of centuries before, she might well have been the subject of Byron’s classic: “She walks in beauty like the night…..”

Tomorrow, meetings, ugh. Ever since I read The 4-hour Workweek by Timothy Ferris–I admit I’ve had a rather negative view of them. The good news is that my trip to an annual strategic marketing seminar in Chicago was approved. I’ll be going there in July, which is a great time to be in the Windy City. And the conference itself is simply fantastic. I always return more energized, for work and life. And I’m sure there’s bound to be a creperie or two. Stomach is growling just thinking about it…..:)