Blinking is the new Black

I’m pretty excited to be here on LoveIsAnExplodingCigar. For one thing, I have always loved the name of this blog. For another, I think it’s my virgin blog. I know we’re all supposed to remember our first time, but hey, life can move fast sometimes, you know?

And speaking of life moving fast….Is it just me or is “the blink” the new black?

Over the past few weeks, blinking has been much in the news. Politicians blinked, or they didn’t, and pundits claimed they should have, or they shouldn’t have.

Things happen in the blink of an eye these days; you blink and something is gone or has irrevocably changed. Maybe it just seems that way, or maybe it’s just the MTV-jump-cut-24-hour news cycle we’ve become so accustomed to and almost dependent upon.

I read a great book a few months ago entitled Blink. It’s about people who make big, even huge, life-changing decisions in the blink of an eye. The decisions chronicled in the book are also the right decisions for the situation, and are based on a confluence of experience, wisdom, intuition, and timing. Great book. Of course, the decisions I make daily are not nearly as momentous or as life-changing as those in the book, but I do blink a lot, so the book sort of applies to my life.

When writing my books, I love it when I get the opportunity to make a character just stand there and blink for a second before responding to something they weren’t expecting. Just a simple little blink, five little letters and a quick, silent motion, can say so much. After all, there are so many moments in real life when that’s about all you can do anyway. Like when you get an unexpected compliment from an unlikely source and you have to take a second to make sure it’s not a trick, or when your world tilts in a way you didn’t know it could and you’re wondering if you’re going to faint but you just blink and then gravity starts doing its thing again.

I think a well-timed blink helps the brain shift gears, like an attitudinal clutch in the mental gear box.

So. To blink or not to blink—it’s rarely a question I ask myself because I just think that Life mostly happens in blinks. Doesn’t it? You’re single, happy, enjoying life and—blink—you meet The One and life is suddenly better. Colors are brighter, your senses are set to stun, and sex is on your mind. Love is all around you, as the saying goes, so you …. Blink. You’re a unit with two heads, one heart.

Blink. You’re expecting and then—blink—you’re a parent and your worldview changes instantly, irrevocably, eternally, wonderfully. Everything is personal now. Generosity, crime, serenity, fear, war, peace—the words stay the same but their meanings change forever. News stories from around the planet suddenly enter your private world with a certain urgency attached. And things like laughter and singing and preschool all acquire different associations in your mind and your heart.

In the time it takes to blink, you discover with a sense of dull shock that is somehow also smug that you much prefer small, sticky-sweet fingers and wet, smudgy, badly aimed kisses to silk blouses and expensive handbags. Not to say you would forgo the latter, but they eventually disappear whereas the hugs and the kisses are what memories are made of. The sweetness of those moments will never wear out or go out of style or bore you. They’ll survive the longest blink, even the one that lasts for eternity. So you blink and your daughter wants a Barbie doll, and you blink again and she wants your car keys.

Sometimes you blink and everything around you is more vivid when you open your eyes, as if you developed super powers or super senses in that tiny slice of time. The scent of freshly mown grass and the flowers you planted the first summer in your house surround you and you just want to bottle it all and save it because you know you will blink again and the world may return to the way it was a moment ago. Or not.

To me, writing is a lot like parenting. It causes lots of laughter and pain and exasperation and joy—all of it in my head—and lots of blinking. When my eyes are tired from looking at a screen for hours. When I’m writing a scene that’s crumpling my heart. When I get good news I blink a lot, and when I get bad news I blink even more.

I diddled around with writing fiction for years, writing lots of starts and stops and maybes. It was sort of like babysitting before I had children of my own. At thirty-five I blinked and my brain shifted out of neutral. I took the plunge and started writing to see if I could sell something. When I hit forty, I blinked again and started over, writing what I loved this time, and not long afterward an editor felt the same way about my stories and—blink—I was handed a contract to sign. Blink. I was staring at the cover on a rack in Borders. Blink. There was the next one. And the next.

And just last Thursday morning, one week ago today, the day before another birthday, I blinked as I read an email from my editor telling me that my current release had hit the NYT bestseller list at No. 21. Yes, I blinked in that moment and in the many that immediately followed. I blinked a lot. In surprise. Then with tears in my eyes, and then there were a few dozen quick ones to clear those tears just enough to see the numbers on the phone to start calling people.

And then a few hours later, I blinked again and my world righted itself. It was back to picking up, dropping off, going to practices, and fixing dinner. Making memories. Living the story of Life. But every so often, the thrill of the morning crept back into my brain and I had to stop and blink and then pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

Some people, even ones who wouldn’t describe themselves as unhappy, treat happiness as if it’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it proposition. As if it’s too ephemeral to enjoy, too fleeting to explore, too fragile to exploit. It’s an attitude that I encounter a lot, and more so every day it seems. But it’s not one I can absorb into my psyche. I love being happy. I love laughing. I mean, Life is good, even though it sometimes bites you on the soft, fleshy parts.

Those biting times are the times when I blink hard, breathe hard, and find something else to think about. I’ve found that focusing on the small things even for a moment—the everyday things we take for granted most of the time like kisses, clouds, good smells, and subtle beauty—can refresh the imagination and maybe even the soul just as surely as a good long blink can refresh tired eyes or a disbelieving brain.

So, yeah, go ahead and blink. I don’t really know if it’s the new black—I was just trying to be alliterative and somewhat clever with an opening line—but I do know it will do you good.

Hmmm. Maybe that means it’s the new pink…..

You’ve made it to the end of this mindful (or arguably mindless) ramble, so surely you need something to reward the effort. Leave a comment below and if you are a registered user, you might win one of two signed copies of Category 7 , my first, latest, and bestselling release from Tor, which I wrote with co-author and meteorologist Bill Evans. (I just had to get that all in there!). It’s an eco-thriller about a manmade hurricane aimed straight at New York City. See the video trailer here