~~~Lara Zielin~~~

Welcome to the second installment of the “six writers, six weeks, until August sixth” series. The lovely and talented Sarah Quigley, author of TMI, has stopped by to talk to us about redefining the exotic. Think you need to live in New York or Paris or London to pen something fabulous? Think again. After reading, be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a $10 Dunkin’ Donuts gift card! Take it away, Sarah!

Litchfield, Minnesota, population 5,904, is my hometown. It’s about seventy miles directly west of the Twin Cities, or, as Susan Sarandon said in Thelma and Louise, “Not in the middle of nowhere, but we can see it from here.” It’s safe and quiet and a nice enough place to grow up, but I often dreamed of living somewhere more glamorous. Exciting. Exotic.

Like the Twin Cities.

I got my chance for a life of exotic, exciting glamour after college when I moved to Minneapolis. “Look at the little girl from Litchfield,” I thought as I rode the city bus. I felt incredibly cosmopolitan the first time I ordered a cosmopolitan at the Loring Bar. I smiled with smug satisfaction I sat on the patio of Uncommon Grounds sipping a cappuccino discussing Shakespeare with my boyfriend.

I couldn’t believe how cool I was.

After four years in Minneapolis, my boyfriend (who had since become my husband) and I decided it was time for a new adventure, so we moved to San Francisco. The bar for what I considered glamorous, exciting, and exotic was raised significantly. My “mild salsa only” Minnesotan taste buds developed a tolerance for spicy Burmese curries. I lost 35 pounds climbing the hills and bought a pair of leather pants to wear to my favorite gay bar in the Castro. My husband and I bought fancy local cheeses and ate them atop the hills of the Marin Headlands.

Oh, I was living the life.

Two years later, my husband was accepted to a graduate program at Columbia University, so we moved to New York City. I had many more “Hey! It’s small-town me in the big, bad city!” moments. I learned to navigate the subway system like a pro. I jogged through Central Park on crisp autumn mornings feeling very much like Charlotte from Sex and the City. My friends and I became regulars on burlesque nights at the Slipper Room in the East Village. And even though money was tight now that my husband was a student, we occasionally went out for cocktails at the Flatiron Lounge, whose art deco interior and gin flights were decidedly glamorous.

This little girl from Litchfield had finally arrived.

But there were problems. For one, New York stressed me out. People were abrasive and direct, which didn’t sit well with my sensitive, midwestern temperament. And despite its glamorous culture of museums, stores, and restaurants, New York is unbelievably dirty and smelly. I was shocked by how often I felt physically uncomfortable there. Most of the time, I longed to be curled up on the couch in my pajamas. I did that a lot, partly because I wanted to but also because I got sick a lot. Despite religious applications of Purell, New York infected me with more colds and stomach bugs than I’d ever had before in my life.

For the first time since I went away to college, I missed Litchfield.

I missed its slow pace, its friendly faces, and its clean air. It was refreshing to walk down the street and not get a big whiff of stale human urine or garbage rotting in the summer sun. I knew there was no chance I’d ever move back to Litchfield, but I finally began to enjoy going home. I stopped resenting the fact that I was at least fifty miles from Indian takeout. I looked forward to receiving my hometown newspaper in the mail every week, offering me a sliver of rural escape.

It was while I was in New York that I was approached by an editor at Dutton Children’s Books about writing a young adult novel. This was at the height of my homesickness for Minnesota, and I didn’t consider setting my story anywhere else. After all of my years in so-called exotic cities, I recognized that Minnesota is exotic in its own right.

I just needed to redefine exotic.

Sure, San Francisco has the Golden Gate Bridge, but Darwin, Minnesota, has the largest ball of twine made by one person. New York may have Broadway shows, but if you want to see a good tractor pull or demolition derby, you’ll have to book a flight to the Midwest. And yes, I can get about fifty world cuisines delivered to my door here in the Richmond district, but I have to go to the Minnesota State Fair for deep-fried Twinkies and chocolate-covered bacon.

It wasn’t until I wrote TMI that I truly recognized what a rich, interesting culture I come from. The book is set in Pine Prairie, a little town that bears a striking resemblance to Litchfield. Becca, the heroine, spends a lot of time wishing she could escape her boring life there. However, I predict that someday, after Becca has been out in the world for a while, she’ll come to the same conclusion that I have: every place has culture, and all cultures have value.

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