Kristin Bair O'Keeffe: Writer. Mom. Teacher. Traveler.

Writing The Far-Flung Life: The Life and Times of Expat Writers

Here's the truth. We expat writers have some pretty hilarious, tres bizarro, mega-heart-breaking, uber-adventurous, heads-bowed enlightening, truth-revealing, "no effing way" stories to tell.

We could begin right at this exact moment telling those stories and not be finished until...well, until never. And the entire time we were telling them, you (our audience) would be bent over double with laughter, sobbing like babies, or saying "No effing way" over and over again.

After all, we brave, crazy, passionate expat writers not only travel to exotic locales for spits-and-spots of experience. We actually pack up our homes, our families, our hearts, our underwear, and our bottles of Imodium and MOVE to these exotic locales. We say, "Yeah, bring it on! I want to live in this place...as uncomfortable and confused as I am right now...and I want to...I want to..."

"You want to what?" you ask.

"I want to figure out who I am in relation to this new place. Because I was pretty damn clear about who I was in my home country, but here? Here? This place where I stand out like a sore thumb? I don't have a clue who I am or how I fit in."

"Anything else?" you ask.

"Yeah, I want to KNOW this place. Not just a little, but a lot. As much as an outsider can, I guess."

"That's a mighty tall order," you say in a John Wayne drawl because maybe you are an American.

"Yeah, but I've got a while."

Then we expat writers live in these locales for...one, two, three, four, even ten years...witnessing cultural clashes, cultural enlightenments, medicine-resistant illnesses, language conundrums, awe-inspiring kindnesses, life-changing revelations, strange fish-stomping deaths, unfamiliar burial rites, and perhaps most importantly, everyday life. We eat funky foods and compare this to that. We stare, get stared at, drop chopsticks, make friends, make mistakes, and finally, let the old shift as the new seeps in.

And of course we write about it. Because that's what we do. Because like all writers, we are obsessed with getting our stories onto the page...with working life out in pen and ink (or via the clickety-click).

But something else happens as well.

We start to change. We look in the mirror and say, "Who the hell are you?" We thumb through the myriad of stamps in our passports and say, "Who the hell am I?" We study the addresses on our mail and say, "Home?"

Because at some point...some critical point...we stop feeling like citizens of a single country...and instead feel like citizens of...well...the world.

How effing corny and wonderful and confusing and unlikely is that? There's no precedent for being a "citizen of the world." As far as I know, there's no "citizen of the world" anthem. No "citizen of the world" constitution. No "citizen of the world" rule book. No "citizen of the world" flag. There aren't any traditional "citizen of the world" costumes or sports clubs to cheer for.

Just what holidays does a citizen of the world celebrate? Tet? Chinese New Year? Passover? Christmas? And if Christmas, Santa Claus or Sinterklaas?

So once we feel this way, what do we do?

Well, you know, we're writers--expat writers-- so we do what we always do. We keep telling stories. And we find ways of sharing those stories with you (our audience)...wherever you are...back in our "home" countries...here in our adopted countries...or in the countries we touch down in along the way.

And hopefully, you (our beloved audience) read them.

_______

Thanks to Francesco Marino and djcodrin for the digital artwork.

How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families: Part II

On July 27, 2009, I wrote Part I of "How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families."

Unfortunately, here's Part II:

A month or so ago I was visiting preschools in Shanghai, looking for a good fit for my two-year-old daughter Tully. I wanted what all moms and dads want for their child's first school: a warm, creative, loving atmosphere with fun, attentive, smart teachers and a safe environment in which to thrive.

At one particular school that I'll not name here, I met with the staffing director, a Shanghainese woman named Katrina*.

After a tour of the school, Katrina and I sat down in the office to fill out paperwork and talk. Because the toddler classroom was located on the second floor of the building and featured a balcony, I wasn't interested in the school. Big safety issues. But I filled out an information form anyway: protocol.

Next to the question "What is your child's nationality?"I wrote Vietnamese.

"Vietnamese?" Katrina said, reading over my shoulder.

"Yes," I said.

"You are...?"

"From the United States."

 "And your husband is from?" Katrina glanced at the form. "Ireland."

"Yes," I said.

Katrina waited for me to explain. I didn't. I tried to move the conversation to the necessary topic: whether or not I was interested in sending Tully to school there.

But Katrina? Nope, Katrina was not ready to let go of the question of Tully's nationality.

"I don't understand," she said. "How is your daughter Vietnamese if you are American and your husband is Irish?"

[Quick pause to explain that while Katrina is from Shanghai, her English is excellent. There wasn't a language problem going on.]

"We adopted Tully from Vietnam," I said after a long silence during which I tried to decide whether to answer or leave abruptly. In retrospect, I should have left abruptly.

Katrina and her husband, it turns out, had talked a lot about adopting a child themselves. Of course, in China, most couples are still only allowed to have one child (although this is changing a little). So in the end, adoption was not a possibility.

"Besides," Katrina went on to explain, "I don't believe you can love an adopted child as much as you love 'your own child.'"

See?

Should have left abruptly.

Without going into the details of every one of my responses, here's a quick list of the things Katrina said to me over the next (very long) 5 minutes:

• If you get very angry and beat your child, "your own" child will understand that you did it because you love him. Your adopted child will always think it's his fault.

• Does your daughter [pause] "look" Vietnamese?

• You can't love an adopted child as much as you love "your own child." (She said this a number of times.)

• I don't understand...why don't you have a child of "your own"?

There were a lot of issues buzzing around this conversation, including a wide cultural gap that I couldn't have narrowed no matter what I'd said. Adoption isn't common in China, and many people are bewildered by the concept. But Katrina? She's a pretty smart, educated woman with a lot of interaction with the expat community. Even if these thoughts were in her head, she should have known to keep her trap shut.

"I have a child of my own," I told her before I left the school.

"Oh," she said, getting visibly excited, "you have a child besides your daughter? A child of your own?"

[OMG]

"No, I have one child," I said, "I have my daughter."

"I don't understand," she said. "You just said you have a child of your own."

"Exactly," I said.

_______

*Katrina's name has been changed.

8 Things I'm Thinking About Right This Very Second

A little something for everyone:

• If Vice President Joe Biden didn't say "this is a f'ing big deal" to President Obama, I'll say it for him. This healthcare thing is a f'ing big deal. Bravo! Standing ovation! Kudos! Cheers! It's about time.

•  Beyond The Margins -- This is my new favorite go-to online pub about writing. The writers are funny, passionate, experienced, and diverse. Check it out. (Lots of them are on Twitter!)

• Steve Almond's new book ROCK AND ROLL WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE (Random House, available April 13, 2010). Almond makes me laugh no matter what work of his I'm reading, so I'm looking forward to this one. (Great for all you music fanatics out there.)

• My hometown of Pittsburgh as a new literary Mecca. The New Yorker says so in "The Hills Are Alive."

• THIRSTY is featured on fREADO right now. See "The Story Behind the Book" on the fREADO home page. (This is a cool way to check out a new book.)

• Cool new ways publishers are marketing books: The Algonquin (hotel) in New York City is not only offering Kindles and Nooks to their guests (free of charge), but it has also formed a partnership with Harper Perennial. HP will provide new titles and classics to the hotel every month and will be hosting author signings & book events at the hotel. (I want to stay there!)

• David Foster Wallace's books (WRITTEN IN!) -- I am not alone. DFW used to write in his books...just like me. Love it.

• Christina Katz--a good friend, a spectacular writing colleague, and an amazing author/teacher/mom/person. Check out her current project, The Prosperous Writer. Sign up for her motivating, informative weekly newsletter.

What are you thinking about right now?

St. Patrick's Day in Shangai: Parades, Pints, & Irish Poets

And so goes another Paddy's Day in Shanghai...complete with the wonderful, weird, cross-cultural parade that is half-Irish/half-Chinese and (thanks to the Shanghai International Literary Festival) a couple of terrific Irish poets straight from Cork.

It was grand.

I'm often more entranced by the folks watching the parade in Shanghai than the parade itself. Take this pajama-clad attendee, for instance, much more interesting than the green dragon.

And this woman in the window...obviously wondering, just what the heck is going on out there on Yandong Lu?

 

Love this picture with the Irish flag.

And Tully's shamrock...  Billy Ramsell...kick-ass Irish poet.

Alan Titley reading at the Glamour Bar.

  And poet Liz O'Donoghue singing a beautiful Irish tune.

THIRSTY & Self-Promotion at the Shanghai International Literary Festival (ssshhh, secret revealed)

Last Saturday, March 7, I did a session at the Shanghai International Literary Festival about self-promotion and social networking for authors. It was a full house; I had a blast yakking about all the ways there are for writers to connect, share their work, learn about others' work, and open their writing worlds; and since the 7th, two audience members have friended me on Facebook and two others have made their maiden voyages on Twitter.

Success. People got it. Took my words to heart and reached out.

Now for the secret...one of the things I admitted during my session is that I've got a love/hate relationship with all this social networking and self-promotion stuff. 75% of the time, I love reaching out...chatting with readers and writers all over the world...sharing links to pertinent info (and links to irrelevant but fun info as well), and talking books. 25% of the time, I just want to be left alone in my 23rd floor apartment in Shanghai to write. I want to say, "Sssssshhhhh, I'm in writerhead" (or when I feel REALLY sick of it all, "PISS OFF!")...and then, yep, quietly face the page...alone.

Of course, I'm hesitant to admit this love/hate relationship out loud. We're really not supposed to. I'm pretty sure that's in a rule book somewhere.

But I've always hated rule books. And other people's rules. So there, I've said it. Out loud. Most of the time I love reaching out, but sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I feel completely smothered by all the contact.

What's the answer?

A small hut in Borneo? With no electricity and no Internet? 

Mmmmm, a lovely idea, but a tad unrealistic. (Besides...I know me. I'd get lonely and start saying things like, "Wow, I wish I could Twitter.")

So I've decided that balance is a more viable answer. I'm learning (slowly) how to manage my time on Twitter, Facebook, my blog, and the blogs of others. And I'm writing my own rulebook. Here's what I've got so far:

Rule #1: Admit when I'm burnt out & in need of a break.

Rule #2: When Rule #1 moves into play, take needed break (preferably before breakdown...break should not be ).

Rule #3: Do not turn on Internet when writing creative stuff--novel, memoir, etc.

Rule #4: Do not turn on Internet when writing creative stuff--novel, memoir, etc. (Some rules are worth repeating.)

Rule #5: Before shutting down at night, I must close all but seven tabs on Firefox (my blog, the THIRSTY website, Facebook, Twitter, Typepad, Constant Contact, and Google Reader). No more of this keeping 30 tabs open. Too much browsing. Too much reading. Too much, too much, too much.

Rule #6: Take 1 weekend day off every week. Completely. No work. No writing. No Tweeting. No Facebooking. In fact, except on special occasions, don't even turn on the computer. (This will be hard for me.)

So that's where I am. How about you and your relationship with all this stuff? Love? Hate? Some combo? And how do you manage it all? (suggestions welcome)

Shanghai International Literary Festival: Shameless Self-Promotion

Tomorrow (Sunday, March 7, 12:00) I'm giving a talk at the Shanghai International Literary Festival. If you're in Shanghai, come on down to M on the Bund...where all the cool, hip, smart, in-the-know readers/writers are hanging out.

Details?

Here ya go:

“Hi, My Name Is___”: Shameless Self-Promotion & The Art of Social Networking for Authors

Sunday, March 7 (12:00 - 1:00)

It used to be that an author could write a book, publish it, and then draw her curtains while a publicist promoted it to the reading world. Not so anymore. Today when an author gets a book contract, a publisher asks: Do you Twitter? Are you on Facebook? Do you have a newsletter? A website? A blog? How many hits do you get a month? And more. (Translation: How are you going to promote your book?) Come along for the ride as debut novelist & seasoned social media dame Kristin Bair O’Keeffe (Thirsty, Swallow Press, 2009) explores the art of shameless self-promotion and social networking…and shows you just how much fun it can be.

A Writer's Vacation: Can You Disconnect?

For the last eight days, I was in Borneo...breathing in this:

And sinking into that:

And taking in lots of this, too:

Now keep in mind that for weeks before we left Shanghai, I'd planned to work during our vacation. I'd planned to Tweet, Facebook, blog, continue to connect, and yep, even get some work done on the session I'm doing at the Shanghai Literary Festival this weekend.

But, alas, I forgot to take my travel adapter along, and believe it or not, the resort did not have an adapter that fit the three-pronged plug of my computer cord.

The result? I couldn't work.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT??????????

Nope, I couldn't work.

This was, at first, panic-inducing. "What do you mean I can't work? I have to work." My stomach coiled up in knots.

But after a few days of this:

 

And that:

I realized how much I needed NOT to work. Since the launch of THIRSTY back in October, I've been moving at lightning speed. Brain in overdrive. Body in overdrive. Soul in overdrive.

I needed to disconnect, and I'm pretty sure the great gods of travel adapters knew this and conspired to leave me, truly, wireless.

What happened?

I quieted down inside. That idgy feeling in my belly of "I'm not doing enough to get the word out about THIRSTY" and "How do I get THIRSTY to more readers?" went away. I relaxed. I chilled out. I played. I got centered.

And then?

The same thing that always happens when I allow myself some breathing room happened: I started to write in my head.

Tra-la-la. I was writing in my head. Waking from gorgeous, wacky, wonderful dreams with full sentences and scenes. Staring at the ocean and learning something new about the characters in my second novel.

It was glorious.

Now that I'm back in Shanghai, I'm trying to hold onto that feeling. That tra-la-la-ing. And the wisdom of knowing that I when I push a little less, more happens.

Flow.

We Pause in the Regularly Schedule Programming for...A TRIP TO BORNEO

Whoop! Whoop!

Those of you who've been looking for the regularly scheduled blog entries (Travel Tuesday: Writing the Far-Flung Life, Women Rock Wednesday, etc.) and my normal musings on writing, China, life, etc., thanks for checking in.

But...right now I'm lying on the beach in Borneo (well, actually, right now I'm in my hotel room, but a few hours ago, I was on the beach, and in another hour or so, I'll be on the beach again. And, of course, with a two-year-old there is much "lying on the beach" going on...mostly I'm chasing Tully, digging in the sand, chasing Tully...get the picture. It's lovely.)

Last week we were in China suffering a case of "too much, too many" (too much noise, too many people, too much traffic, too much smog, too many ____). So before one of us (hubby or I) began to exhibit bad expat behavior, we did what it takes to love our second home (China) again...we got out. It's like that sometimes.

Nothing a week in Borneo won't cure. :)

Here's a peek at our current digs.

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.

The South China Sea.

Ooh, this is gooooddddd.

Who's ready for the beach?

Chinese New Year: The Lantern Festival at Yu Garden in Shanghai

One of my favorite things about Chinese New Year in Shanghai? The Lantern Festival which is (in my humble opinion) best celebrated at Yu Garden...lots of cool lanterns...a few cheesy lanterns...but gorgeous at night. (My daughter loved it!)

Check it out...

 

Mao. Right next-door? Obama.

 

 

 

Read carefully before you order: "Dumpling filled with ovary and digestive glands of a crab..."

 

It is the Year of the Tiger, you know.

Cool, huh?

Chinese New Year: Wulumuqi Road Prepares for the Roaring Tiger

Have you heard? The Year of the Tiger begins this Sunday, February 14, and here in China, we'll be ushering it in with gusto on Saturday the 13th.

With a bang and a bang and a bang, bang, bang. (in other words, with hours and hours of fireworks used to scare away the evil gods)

I've got my spring couplets (chunlian) hung on either side of our door, a door god (menshen) hung on the door to ward off evil and give a hearty welcome to the new year, and a red lantern setting in the living room. I even bought new red tiger placemats from IKEA. (Can't have too many tigers hanging around...nor too much red.)

This morning I took a walk around my Wulumuqi (pronounced oo-loo-moo-chee) Road neighborhood  to check out how preparations were going. Looking good...

The markets & carts are bustling today. Everyone's buying flowers, nuts, meats, fruits, and goodies. There's no mistaking it...the New Year's feast is a'coming.

Out with the old, in with the new. Out with the dirt, in with the clean. Folks in Shanghai are getting ready for a fresh start and that includes washing all the laundry before the new year. Bad luck out, good luck in. So clean your house, cut your hair, get new shoes, and do your laundry. All will show the gods you are ready for happiness, good health, and prosperity. (But once the new year is upon us, put those cleaning tools away. You don't want to sweep away the good luck!)

Have you washed your special red gutchies yet? What? No? Get busy then, because donning red undies on Chinese New Year is a must. Back in the day when the awful monster "Nian" came to destroy Chinese villages at the end of every year, folks figured out that he was afraid of three things: noise, sunshine, and yep, red. In modern China, everyone wears red undies during the New Year celebrations. Every little bit helps, right?

See what I mean?

Need to pick up a few last-minute lanterns, couplets, hongbao (red envelopes for gifts of money)? Here's your one-stop shop in my neighborhood.

Door gods & hongbao envelopes.

Fish are important during Chinese New Year. First, the Chinese word for fish, yu, sounds like the word for riches or abundance...and everyone wants to welcome riches and abundance into their homes, right? Of course. Thus the red fish. Folks also eat lots of fish during the new year celebrations because doing so will help wishes come true.

Speaking of fish...

And look, the fish seller himself...

Everyone around here gives and eats lots of oranges and tangerines during Chinese New Year. (My daughter has eaten 4.32 million of them in the past three weeks.) Why? Well, the Chinese words for gold and orange sound alike, and the word for tangerine sounds like the word for luck.

Bonus: If you can give oranges and tangerines with the leaves still attached, by all means do, because leaves symbolize longevity.

(Warning: Don’t give fruits in groups of four. In Chinese, the number 4 sounds like the word for death. 4 is an unlucky number in China, much like the number 13 back home.)

Don't forget your seeds & nuts...two more staples of Chinese New Year. Seeds for having many children and nuts for a long life.

And finally, East meets West. A New Year's party at the JZ Club. (Great jazz!)

More soon, my friends!

Gong xi fa cai!