Kimberly Menozzi, Author

_ Davide

One of the most surprising aspects of writing Ask Me if I'm Happy had to be the way Davide was received by the first folks to read the story. From its earliest days, men and women alike singled Davide out:

"Davide is a knight in shining armor that we all pray for to come save us."

"This Davide fella gets more attractive by the word."

The story was reworked considerably before it appeared on Authonomy, but I was confident it would – for the most part, anyway – pass muster. Again, to my surprise, people still seemed to notice Davide more than I expected:

"This man could seduce an iceberg! I'm half in love with him myself."

"Davide sounds so dreamy - good looking, sophisticated, cultured, kind, and a professor of literature - what girl wouldn't fall for him?"

"… Davide is lovely and one wants to spend time in his company."

I became concerned. Had I written someone too perfect? Had I written someone who couldn't possibly exist in the real world?

This proved rather troubling, as my intention had been to write a story which was, ultimately, very realistic. I wanted both Emily and Davide to strike home for the reader, to be people with whom the reader could identify – not in a fantastic manner, but in recognizing something of themselves as they read along.

I forged forward and the story grew and grew, giving me deeper insight into Davide's mind, his motivations and even his past. Based on "Connections" alone, it's clear he's not the "typical" Italian male. He's studious, perhaps slightly nerdy, honest and conscientious almost to a fault – not the self-involved, vainglorious and self-assured sort of man we're accustomed to imagining as the classic "Italian love interest".

No, Davide is no Casanova, no Valentino, no love-'em-and-leave-'em sort of guy. However, when the moment presents itself, he knows when to step in, when to seize the opportunity to declare himself and his intentions. When he does, he does so with all the fear and trepidation most of us would surely feel for taking such a chance.

In short, Davide is simply himself. A man who doesn't bow to the caprices of fashion and who quietly despairs for a world around him which seems to do just that; who struggles to maintain a standard of civility and propriety which he sees slipping to the wayside; who worships the woman he loves because he isn't able to see her flaws – however many there may be – and can only see her perfection magnified by his love.

Tragically, this may well be his most self-destructive aspect. Davide believes himself to be honest in all things yet his mistrust of anyone's ability to love him, or to be as honest with him as he is with them, keeps the world safely at arm's length. This, combined with his need to protect Emily, is his blessing and his curse. The very things which bring them together are what might well break them apart.

Not long ago, a friend read through Ask Me if I'm Happy and cited Davide's self-imposed isolation, his rejection of societal trends, his need for a deep emotional connection with someone – anyone – as proof that he is a man "out of his time". His initial perfection – as seen through Emily's eyes – gives way to his own view of his imperfection. His self-critical nature stifles his ability to be honest with himself – and thus, with Emily – in the way he knows he needs to be. Of course, this leads to trouble. Just like in real life.

Now, when I hear people telling me how much they admire Davide, how attractive and romantic he is to them, I have a better understanding of why that is. It is my belief that these readers, male and female alike, really do identify with him and with his struggles throughout the novel. They see themselves or their loved ones – or both – in him, and that spurs their desire to see him succeed, to work out his problems and emerge victorious on the other side of the struggle.

Whether or not he does this, I won't say here. You'll just have to read the book to find out.

_ Emily

Being one of those writers from the "my characters tell me what happens" school, I'm endlessly surprised by the things I learn about my characters while I write the story. In this regard, they really do feel like friends I'm spending time with, getting to know them over time. Sometimes, the surprises are astounding.

Emily had a lot of those surprises in store for me from the start. When I first wrote the short story which became Ask Me if I'm Happy, I confess she wasn't terribly well-formed in my own mind. Over time, she shaped up on the page, but initially all I knew about her was that she was leaving Italy after a fair amount of time there, and she spoke Italian better than I did. I didn't know whether she was married, divorced or widowed. I didn't know precisely how old she was. I didn't really know for sure what she looked like, either.

Soon enough I understood she was nervous, and scared. She was frustrated at the obstacles keeping her in Italy. She prized honesty because she'd been lied to in previous relationships. Her attraction to Davide was natural and unhurried, and it was part of her becoming honest with herself once more.

The story expanded and went deeper into her head. I found she was prone to self-doubt – well, who isn't? – and that she struggled to move forward from her own past mistakes. I learned that she'd been alone for a long time, and she'd practically been abandoned to her despair to see her worst fears come true. I also found she was stubborn and bullheaded, usually at the worst possible times.

When she described herself in the story, it wasn't Emily who provided the words. Instead, it was the voice of Jacopo, her ex, who spoke – and he didn't speak kindly. He described Emily as mousy and dumpy – words which, ironically, weren't in his English lexicon until he met her. He even used the phrase thirty-four-year-old-woman as though this were some sort of insult.

My heart ached for her. I tried to determine what exactly had happened to Emily which sent her on this downward trajectory. Why was she so vulnerable? How was she so easily manipulated? Why did Jacopo choose Emily if he would be so unhappy with a woman like her?

It came to me in a rush, while discussing the plot's possibilities with a friend of mine while we walked through the city center. In the middle of a piazza not unlike the ones she would walk with Davide, I understood the source of Emily's pain: it was all I could do not to start crying on the spot. For a moment, it was as though Emily stood there with me, her head bowed so I couldn't see her face, waiting for me to give voice to her pain.

The linchpin to the story was given to me just like that. When I got home, I sat at my writing desk and cried while I made my notes and typed them out. It really was like having a friend tell me a devastating secret she'd held back from telling, out of fear of being judged.

For all her quiet, mousy tendencies, Emily was no blushing innocent nor was she brazen and careless with her affections. She'd been devastated by her father's death when she was a teenager, and she'd acted out, as teenagers do. Her mother, who was always distant, became more so in spite of the fact that she was all Emily had, and her daughter was all she had. So, Emily sought affection wherever she could find it, and it cost her dearly.

Writing all of this was difficult for me, but with every revelation, Emily became more real, and more realistic. She wasn't at all perfect. She had her flaws, and with each choice she made, with each tough path she chose, I found myself rooting for her.

Of course I hope that anyone who reads Ask Me if I'm Happy will feel the same way. I will always hope that my efforts to put Emily's (and Davide's) story on the page will be as moving an experience to read as it was for me to write. My constant refrain, as always, is "Time will tell" – because it always does.

And what we hear in the meantime is often quite surprising.

_"Felicità
improvvisa vertigine
illusione ottica
occasione da prendere…

… E infatti, infatti non dimentico
la mia fotografia
e l'amore se non ce l'ho.
Ripeterei tutto quello che è passato
comprese le tue bugie
perché le scoprirei molto prima e senza aiuto."

"Happiness,
Sudden dizziness
Optical illusion
(An) opportunity to take…

… And indeed, in fact I don't forget
my photograph
and love, if I don't have it (with me).
I would repeat all that has passed
including your lies
because I'd discover them much earlier and without help."

-        From "Chiedimi se Sono Felice (Ask Me if I'm Happy)" by Samuele Bersani (translation mine)

One of the first things people living outside Italy often say to me about Ask Me if I'm Happy is "I love the title!" Every time they do, I have to smile. I'm pleased they like the optimistic sound of it. I'm glad they'll likely remember it – or, hopefully, they'll remember something close enough for a bookseller to find it for them! And of course, I'm glad it sounds unique enough for them to comment on it in the first place.

Here in Italy, that's not the case. Here, my students and co-workers at the language school, my friends and acquaintances, have all asked me the same question: "You know that's the title of an Aldo, Giovanni and Giacomo movie (Chiedimi se Sono Felice), right?" And I have to laugh, and nod, and say "Yes, yes; I know. It's a favorite of mine." For, you see, this title had a life before my novel. I confess – much like Jackson Browne lifted "Tender is the Night" for his personal use, just as Kate Bush appropriated "Wuthering Heights" for her own haunting tune, I too have nicked this title from another source. Or rather, two.

I've quoted a few lines from the song at the start of this blog to show I'm aware of it. More to the point: I was inspired by the song. This story has nothing to do with the film in any way, but the song (which, incidentally, was featured in the film) has strong similarities. At least, it does on the surface.

I'd listened to this song many times, but I didn't think I had really taken it to heart until I had finished writing the first drafts and needed a title for what was – at the time – a novel consisting of four novellas. A couple of lines suddenly stood out to me, and I looked up the lyrics online to be sure I was hearing them correctly. With my novel in mind, these lines (among others in the song) took on a new meaning for me and were an almost perfect fit, considering the storyline. When I said to my husband that I thought it would be a good title for my story, he thought about it and eventually agreed.

So I went forward, aware that readers would bring this up if they knew about the film or the song. The title stuck, becoming known as Ask Me... in its abbreviated version. One of my students teased me, saying if the book should be translated into Italian, at least we'd already know the title.

The thing is, should I be so lucky that this book should merit an Italian translation, I doubt it'll take back the moniker of Chiedimi se Sono Felice. The fact is, most books and films translated from English to Italian rarely get direct translations of their titles. Common practice is to give it a new title – sometimes relevant, sometimes obscure – which seems to work better in Italian. I'm ready for them, though. I've already got an Italian title in mind, and it works on several levels, including English.

The best part? It was the title of the story when it appeared on the URBIS and Authonomy writing sites, where it first caught the eyes of those who would go on to support my work today. At that time, the story was called "Connections" and was a play on words, meaning travel connections, personal connections and the circumstances which connected Emily and Davide. And what is one translation of "Connections" in Italian?

Coincidenze: Coincidences.

So I invite you to go ahead, because I know you're dying to:

Ask me if I'm happy.

There are people who are surprised by how much attention I'm currently giving to details in my WiP, 27 Stages. I am teased on a regular basis about the research I'm doing (real and fanciful), because I clearly enjoy cycling so much.

Well, there are many reasons I'm putting so much time and effort into this project. Not only is cycling a passion of mine (at least, as a spectator), not only do I want to write the best possible story I can and not only do I want people to read this and really and truly feel like they are there...

I also don't want a review like this:

Zosia's Review of Amorous Liaisons.

It's not that I feel the review is in any way unfair - far from it, in fact. I think Zosia has legitimate gripes and complaints. Absolutely legitimate. While the author of Amorous Liaisons seems to have done some research, it would seem she didn't dig quite deep enough. Granted, I don't have an in-depth/expert knowledge of ballet, but even I know (courtesy of a brief but intense love of the art while I was in my teens) some of the things this author got wrong.

My point being - when it comes to research, I think it's vital to go the extra mile. Don't sell your audience short. Don't skim over details which are important to the plot. Don't assume they won't catch if you're bluffing.

Because they will.

Knowing that a good portion of my target audience will, at the very least, be familiar with le Tour de France, I know I have to maintain a certain level of realism and detail in 27 Stages. If I don't, they'll catch me out on the big things. The members of my audience who know more about cycling (perhaps are even riders themselves) will pick on the smaller details, the lesser-known things. I know it. I expect it.

And I hope I can write this book well enough to avoid it. At least somewhat.

The only way to do this is to write to the best of my ability, to find common ground for everyone and to do as much research as I possibly can. And, in the meantime, I need to create a story that'll suck everyone in so they don't care if/when I go a little wrong.

Cross your fingers for me. I could use the luck.

And now, I've got to go do some research.

Time for the tried and true. Since I'm dealing with allergies, straightening up the house for my private English lesson this evening, preparing to go to the doctor and trying to get some laundry done - I'm pretty well squeezed for time today.

So I'll have to do a "promotional" Thirteen today.

With your kind indulgence, I present:

8) Because you want to read more of this excerpt:

Fifteen minutes later, that man was smiling at her again. His eyes tickled at her periphery like so many nimble fingers until she allowed herself to sneak a few peeks at him on the sly, using the reflection in the window. In only a few minutes, she noted he was Jacopo’s exact opposite in many ways.

He’s the other side of the same coin, though, I’ll bet.

Still, he was easy on the eyes, with a strong jaw, dark eyes and dark, boyish curls which fell along his brow. His clothes weren’t fancy, but simple in design. A pale blue chambrayshirt peeked out from beneath his red scarf.There were no fancy designer labels, no ostentatious, trendy affectations on view.

She liked that.

When he crossed his legs, she risked a direct look at him and smiled in spite of herself. His shoes were black running shoes, rather scuffed up at that. She knew too well the premium Italians placed on footwear; it was nice to see someone who wasn’t completely fussy about his appearance for a change.

When he drew out an eyeglass case from the inside pocket of his coat, she turned to the reflection in the window once more. He perused a copy of La Repubblica—not Libero, not La Padania—so she was reasonably sure he wasn’t from Veneto. Despite her fugue, this thought made her smile again. A glimpse of his dark eyes straying in her direction, followed by his own secretive smile, sent a pleasant shimmy down her spine.

Ciao for now!

As I start to write this, it is 10:30 in the morning. In twenty-four hours I'll be waiting to board my flight (a whole two-hour journey) to London out of Bologna.

My bags are almost completely packed (just a few items to go).

I've read and re-read my excerpts for the readings until I'm nearly sick of seeing 'em.

I've decided on my outifits for the launch and the readings. (Dressy, not fussy; quite "me", really.)

When Alle and I arrive in London, we'll find my mother and my friend who are waiting for us there (their flight gets in earlier), and we'll get them to the hotel. We'll rest, have dinner, and then?

My nerves will start kicking in and I'll become a chattering, blithering idiot, most likely. LOL! Not that anyone can tell the difference, I reckon.

No, I'm sure we'll have a quick toddle around our neighborhood before we retire to our rooms, chat and then get some rest. Thursday morning, to one degree or another, my London adventure will begin. I hope things go smoothly, and that I don't actually make a fool of myself in front of anyone.

To quote the Grateful Dead (and when you think London, don't you just think of Jerry and the gang?) "What a long, strange trip it's been..." I mean, I started out writing this little short story which I initially meant to be just for me and mine, and instead it became something much, much bigger - both literally and figuratively.

In the end, a story about Bologna is taking me to London, and then back home again where the real world will intrude once more - and regularly at that. I'll have to look on the next ten days as something out of the norm, and cross my fingers and hope and wish and pray that all goes as well as it can.

And then I'll have to knuckle down and get to writing again. I want to see where the next story takes me.

and then I'll be in London to prepare for the launch of Ask Me if I'm Happy! That I'm excited is no surprise to anyone, I'm sure. This is my first published novel, and so I'm experiencing a lot of things for the first time:

Interviews - initially by my Diiarts cohorts, and soon by others.

Guest Blogs - I did one a couple of years ago for Shelley Munro, but now I've done two for Diiarts, as well. You can read them here and here.

People asking for my autograph - Honestly! It's so strange, even if they are/were friends and/or acquaintances before the fact. I'll be doing a lot of signing in London, too, on the pre-orders of Ask Me... and of course at the launch.

Public readings - I did one here in Italy last June at the End of the School Year party at the language school where I work, and that was fun - and a little nerve-wracking, too. In November, I'm scheduled to do three readings: one at the launch and two in Oxford (at the Oxford International Women's Festival Poetry Competition and at the Into the Desert Live event, respectively)!

I was in London one year ago, too. I went for the launch of Diiarts' first four titles and I had a wonderful time. Alas, it was only for an all-too-brief weekend, but Alessandro and I had fun with our friends while we were there.

This time around, my mother and my best friend will be in attendance, and with a little luck, many of my online mates will be there for the launch, too. I'll get to meet my cp (critique partner), Nell Dixon in person for the first time, and I can't wait for our lunch date together!

My appearances in Oxford were facilitated by a longtime supporter, too - the lovely and talented Dan Holloway - and I can't wait to meet him, too!

With luck, I'll also be meeting many of my longtime Authonomy and Facebook friends, and I think this event will be even more exciting as a result of finally getting to be with them, in person.

All the good wishes I've received so far, all the encouragement from friends and acquaintances are only now starting to make this feel real. I can't even begin to imagine yet how it's going to feel once I'm actually there, in London, sitting behind that table and signing copies of Ask Me if I'm Happy - and, yes, answering that very question over and over and over again - but I'm sure it'll feel good.

And I know what my answer will be.

Hello, all! I fell behind a bit this week, so I thought I'd share a little something from my upcoming release, Ask Me if I'm Happy, this week. So, please allow me to present to you:

1) What nerve he has—and where do Italians learn that smirk, anyway? Is it genetic or something? If I never see that look again, it’ll be too soon.

2) “Amazing… I mean, what are the odds of reading an article and having the author sitting right across from you on the train like some average Joe? Or, in this case, like some average Giuseppe?”

3) He shrugged modestly, a faint pinkness shading his cheeks. “We all read the magazines in the doctor’s office, whether we have an interest in fashion and gossip or not.”

4)  “Most of what you see in here isn’t mine. These treasures belonged to my predecessor.”

“Oh, what happened to him?”

“He died.”

Oops.

5)  “It means that I, well… I teach English at a language school in Padova. It’s nothing special, not a very big school. Just me and a few other English teachers, a Chinese teacher, a German teacher, a couple of Spanish and Portuguese teachers… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Sì,” he grinned, “but it’s quite charming.”

6) Pragmatism forced away the thought, yet it returned when his eyes met hers straight-on. The draw of his eyes was almost tactile. She straightened her shoulders until she felt the back of the chair, hard and unyielding against her spine.

7) …When they stepped apart, his hand slipped down to caress her cheek, to encourage her to smile. “Emilia, dai—fammi un sorriso.”

There was no reason to resist, yet she felt the tugging at the corners of her mouth as though it was happening to someone else, somewhere else. The piazza, so bustling and noisy moments ago, seemed to have gone silent, or might have been drowned out by the rhythm of her heartbeat as Davide moved closer to her again.

8) A question lurked between them. It fidgeted behind her eyes, waiting to be spoken aloud. He wasn’t certain whether he dared invite it, no matter how much he hoped it was the same question he wanted to ask.

The waiter arrived to take their orders and Davide was grateful for the chance to focus on something else for a few moments. Still, his eyes were drawn back to hers. Each time he found it harder to breathe, harder to focus on the world around them. Each time, he realized all he wanted was to be able to look into those eyes uninterrupted for an hour, or perhaps for a lifetime.

9) In an instant, he saw it all: the two of them in the elevator, his hand stroking her cheek, then reaching and tugging at the elastic that bound back her hair away from her face. He could feel the silken smoothness of her hair beneath his fingertips as the elastic slid down the length of her ponytail at his urging, until it all fell free and loose against his palm.

He imagined twining his fingers in her hair, then, holding her in place and tilting her head back, her mouth opening to receive his, willing, wanting…

“Davide?”

“Sì, sì…” He shook his head to clear away the images, although he would have liked to see the vision through to the end.

10) “Cazzo!” he snarled, standing up just as Emily emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in faded jeans and a misshapen cable sweater that had once been a pale gray.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, sì, sì; I just, how do you say… ‘stumped’ my toe on the carpet.”

“‘Stubbed’ your toe,” she corrected with a small laugh. “You ‘stubbed’ your toe on the carpet.”

He offered her an embarrassed smile in reply. “Right.”

11) “Okay. Great. I’ll see you then.” Paul stood, pushed his chair back under the table and picked up the tray which had held her drink. “I’d better get back to work.”

Smiling at him, Emily watched him go, turning her eyes back to her computer screen when she realized she was paying more attention to his retreating khakis than was appropriate. A belated blush finally rose in her cheeks and she gulped down some of her cooled-down drink before logging in to her e-mail.

12) “And then,” she continued, “there’s the fact that once I’m here, I’m thrilled to be here again. Almost every time I’ve come back, I’ve had another little ‘honeymoon’ period, you know? Where everything I see just seems so beautiful, I can’t believe I wanted to leave it in the first place.

“I fall in love with this place every time I step out of the airport. Even the people who drive me crazy make me want to grab them and give them a hug. Well, except for the guy peeing under the overpass.”

“Who is that?” Davide laughed harder than ever and Emily did the same.

“Seriously, you haven’t noticed? There’s always a man peeing under the overpass—especially when you leave the airport.”

“Oddio, Emilia. This is too much.”

“It’s true, Davide! Watch the next time you go to the airport—I’m telling you, you’ll see him! It might even be same guy.”

“So you think there’s a serial overpass pisser? Really?”

“Well, okay. I’m not sure it’s him every time. I don’t look that closely, to be honest.” 

13)  “That’s the one?” Michele tilted his head toward the door and Davide nodded. “Wow,” he said, pursing his lips in appraisal. “Che bel tocco di –”

“She speaks Italian, Miki,” Davide interrupted, knowing where the next words were likely to lead.

“–ragazza,” his friend finished. “What a sweet girl she seems to be—that’s what I meant to say.”

“She’s a woman, Miki. Not a girl.”

“And an attractive woman, at that.”

“You thought she wouldn’t be?”

“A volte si fanno trottare anche gli asini,” Michele said, making a gesture as though pulling back on reins.

At times, even donkeys can trot. Davide sighed. There goes Miki with his charming sayings again.

Ciao for now!