Why I've Embraced Being a "Jewish Author"
I worried the label might limit me. Then, I reconsidered.
My late cat, Kiara, and just a few of the paraphernalia I used for her “Cat Mitzvah.” Yes, that’s how Jewish I am.
One of the first things I told friends about my book was a doozy: “I don’t want to be just a Jewish author.”
Oof.
I wish I could say I meant something nuanced. Like, I want to be an author first, Jewish second, both beloved. If I’m honest, though, when I envisioned my author career, I didn’t think Judaism had to be part of it. That piece of my identity felt incidental: The Jewishness that courses through D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T., my debut novel, could be a coincidence.
Then, I started my second book.
My first draft centered a non-Jewish protagonist. So did my second. Both had more flaws than I can name here: too unfocused, too bracing, too far from times and themes I understood… Most of all, though, these drafts lacked heart. No matter how thoroughly I had plotted, filled character sheets, or researched different settings, I couldn’t find Book Two’s emotional center.
It’s hard to define “heart” in a story. Imagine a scene with me: You see a person midair, but you’re not sure where they jumped from. That means you can’t gauge the jump’s stakes, impact, or meaning. If a person jumped from a cliff? You’d call 9-1-1, clergy, and maybe an ex. (Whoops.) If a person jumped off a swing set? You’d prep your first-aid kit and a finely tuned eyeroll.
In my first versions of Book Two, characters floated with their legs splayed. I couldn’t spot the swing sets or the cliff’s edge. Stumped, squirrelly, I reimagined my protagonist as Jewish. And bam: call it a pacemaker. The heart of my story started to pump one sharp volt at a time.
I couldn’t understand why a schmear of Yiddishkeit had made the difference for my story. Unlike D.J. Rosenblum, Book Two doesn’t require the incorporation of Jewish rituals. There’s not a verse of Torah in the text. Yet the answer is—I think—straightforward: Authors need not stick to the adage of writing solely what they know, but the foundation of any book remains its author. It turns out my heart is Jewish enough, my books will have to be, too.
When I realized this, my first reaction was disappointment. Authors like John Green are able to depict universal themes without a subcategorization drawing scrutiny. That’s the career I’ve envisioned for myself. And—if I must admit, with more than a bit of shame—the Jewish subcategory felt less fashionable than some others. As scholar and novelist Dara Horn wrote in her seminal book People Love Dead Jews:
“Judaism has always been uncool, going back to its origins as the planet’s only monotheism, featuring a bossy and unsexy invisible God. Uncoolness is pretty much Judaism’s brand, which is why cool people find it so threatening.”
I’d proffer a humble asterisk to her wise statement: Uncool people (like myself) may find Judaism’s brand even more threatening. We know firsthand what the consequences of unpopularity can be.
Here’s the thing, though: I love being Jewish. My Jewishness means everything to me. It’s family and food and many of my friends. It’s joy and grief and fury and intelligence. It’s inside jokes and great TV, dim sum and matinees and Christmas songs. It’s the genes in my body and the stories in my brain, my heritage, past, present, and future. It’s a large part of the reason I became a writer. After all, we’re the People of the Book. It’s only fitting that we pen a few more books for our compatriots—goyish or not—to read.
I write for young people, and I want more than anything for them to walk away from my stories thinking, I can be my authentic self. To have a prayer of succeeding (have you met a teen?), I have to practice what I preach.
So, this Jewish American Heritage Month, I want to share a few points of pride: I’m proud to be an author. I’m proud to be Jewish. More than anything, I’m proud to be a Jewish author.
I hope people of all backgrounds will read my books and love them. Not just for the sake of my own career (preorders remain available <3) but for the Jewish authors who will follow me. We shouldn’t feel like we have to choose between the pieces of ourselves because—in reality—we don’t. We can’t. And that’s for the best: the more stories with centered, beating hearts, the more readers who will be able to find their own.
Thank goodness.
Every story I write will be a Jewish one. Just like my life, my love, and the legacy of all who came before me. I can’t wait to share them with you.
Abby’s Pop Culture Pop-Up
Everybody’s Live with John Mulaney, Netflix’s new talk show, is weird. Fans of the comedian have long known his brain works differently from us mere mortals. Everybody’s Live takes that strangeness to another level, with topics like “Are Dinosaurs Put Together Correctly?” and guests ranging from Andy Samberg to the food delivery robot Saymo. I’ve watched each episode out of loyalty to Mulaney—the last 13 minutes of his second comedy special, “Comeback Kid,” is my personal dopamine drip—but most minutes of Everybody’s Live have made me squint more than laugh.
Until Episode 7.
Maybe it’s because Mulaney’s guests were a comedy trifecta—Conan O’Brien, Ayo Edebiri, and Tina Fey. Maybe it’s because the topic was, yes, dinosaurs, which are so random it amplified the “what?!” factor. Or maybe it’s because Mulaney was happy as a pup announcing the one-night-reunion of METZ, a Canadian punk rock band and clear favorite of his.
My preferred theory: after seven episodes, Mulaney’s strange sensibilities and pitch-perfect comedy chops kicked into place. I laughed almost the entire time, even through an odd Santa Claus gag. And I’ve laughed through each of the two episodes Netflix has released since then.
Far be it from me to do a corporate behemoth’s promotional work. But I’m hoping Everybody’s Live survives and thrives. In a time of IP supremacy, it’s refreshing to watch something truly original. My eye doctor will just have to forgive me if I occasionally squint.
D.J.’s Digest
Pitting the Indiana Pacers against the Cleveland Cavaliers puts me in a weird position. On the one hand, I grew up in Indianapolis. It’s my hometown. On the other, I’ve embraced my new life in northeast Ohio. Every person I know here wants the Cavs to win—and let me tell you, they care fiercely. I don’t know how much longer I can hide my true division from them...
So, I’ll just have to pull out my third hand. (I know. Magic. Who would’ve thunk?) Truth is, I don’t care much about basketball—even when “my” teams are playing. I’ll have to hope that ignorance saves me here. Use my non-sportsball preference for (my) good.
Wish me luck.
Miri’s Music
“Little Green” – Joni Mitchell
Child with a child pretending
Weary of lies you are sending home
So you sign all the papers in the family name
You're sad and you're sorry, but you're not ashamed
Little Green, have a happy ending . . .
My favorite Joni Mitchell song. (Which is really saying something.) It’s also my favorite song about heartbreak, and a top candidate for my favorite song, period. If you listen to it, do your best to tune yourself to every word. And then listen again.
This Month’s Favorites
Some paintings at Coffee Republic in the Metro Center neighborhood of Washington, DC.
Coziest Coffee Shop goes to… Coffee Republic, an indie gem in a sea of downtown big-box stores.
My Kind of Kidlit goes to… Serwa Boateng’s Guide to Saving the World by Roseanne A. Brown. I attended her launch event at Loyalty Bookstore’s beautiful pop-up. What a joyful night, seeing so many kids celebrate reading their favorite series. (Also, I met Rick Riordan. NBD.) (JK. BFD!)
The Most Excellent Elephant goes to… the “nannies” featured in this National Geographic story. Happy, happy Mother’s Day to every person—human or animal—who cares for the kids they love.
Announcements
Still plodding along now that we’re less than three months from D.J. Rosenblum’s release!!! (AHHHHHH!) In the meantime, please allow me to reiterate a few key points:
Digital editions of D.J. Rosenblum Becomes the G.O.A.T. are available on NetGalley and Edelweiss for book industry professionals and reviewers.
If you’ve read D.J., you can leave reviews on Goodreads or Storygraph—which would help raise the book’s profile for prospective readers.
I’m still considering adding a paid level to this newsletter—small fee, more writing. Let me know if you’d be interested in a paid subscription, and if so, what kinds of content you’d like to see more. Thanks, y’all!
I'm Kvelling