There are some books that just have to find you at the right moment to be loved. The Sweet Life in Paris is like that, a bit. But I'm pretty sure I would have felt like author David Lebovitz--with his social awkwardness, love for chocolate, and baking passion--was a kindred spirit even if we didn't both live in Paris. Now, though, I have this idea that if we bumped into each other on the streets of Paris, we'd be best buds. Maybe I'll see him some time eating tacos at Candelaria, the one decent Latin-infused spot we've found.

Obviously--for anyone whose been to Lebovitz's awesome website and blog--the recipes are fantastic. They're classy but not snooty or overly complicated. And they all tie into the various stories he shares in some way.

But what I really loved were all the anecdotes about daily life in Paris--complete with all its complications, contradictions, and even annoyances. One cranky reviewer complained that the book is not really about a sweet life at all; Lebovitz makes living in Paris look like hard work. As someone living in Paris, I have to say that it can be hard work--especially at first. Let me add bewildering, too, as you can probably tell from my arrival post and my list of Paris surprises. I found myself giggling and muttering "amens" as Lebovitz described his failures and occasional successes.

Another quick note in response to Lebovitz's few detractors (one called him the updated version of the "Ugly American"). That strikes me as very unfair. One thing I loved about the book is how you could tell that Lebovitz hasn't become a new person living in Paris--he's his old self in a new location. The very idea that it's okay not to be transformed by Paris is a bit of a relief.  Lebovitz left me feeling that it's okay not to blend in 100% and pass for Parisian all the time. That's a relief for me as an adult who will probably never perfect my French accent--or my scarf-tying abilities.

Here's my favorite bit:

The image people have of my life in Paris is that each fabulous day begins with a trip to the bakery for my morning croissant, which I eat while catching up with the current events by reading Le Monde at my corner café. (The beret is optional.) Then I spend the rest of my day discussing Sartre over in the Latin Quarter or strolling the halls of the Louvre with a sketchpad, ending with my sunset ascent of the Eiffel Tower before heading to one of the Michelin three-star restaurants for an extravagant dinner.

Let Arnie and me tell you this together with DL: it is so not like that. Because, really, people, how glamorous do you think our life in Paris is with a toddler? We're having a good time, but it's more sandboxes and baguettes than fancy dishes. Anyway, read The Sweet Life in Paris and imagine things a bit closer to the expat life in the city of lights.

Every time I meet a new group of students, I ask them to tell me about themselves. Where are they from? What have their experiences with English or literature been in the past? And what's something most people don't know about them?

These are questions I answer myself, and I always tell my students on the first day this "secret" about myself: most people don't know that I'm actually very shy.

It's important for me to share this with them for a couple of reasons. For one thing, it's not at all obvious. My classroom persona is actually a bit over the top. I'm very smiley, I crack bad jokes, and I address behaviors that don't meet my expectations mostly through humor. If students avoid the front rows, for example, I make a big show of surprise and then explain that I went to extra trouble to bathe and put on deodorant. 

I also think it's important to bring shyness into the conversation because, in every class, there's usually a solid contingent of students who would rather not speak. Ever. Of course, in a language-learning classroom (right now I teach English as a foreign language in Paris) this won't work. Students have to open their mouths, engage, and interact to make any serious growth in their English. So before I ask students to interact with each other, I let them know that it's a challenge for me, too. 

And I tell them it's okay to fake it.

Because that's really the only way I know of dealing with my shyness, and it's been my strategy ever since I began teaching in 2004. I just pretend I'm not shy. I say to myself, what would an outgoing person do right now? And then I do it. Most of the time, it works fine, and I'm sometimes even able to forget that deep down inside I'd infinitely prefer to be tucked safely away in the stacks of a library. 

Also, faking it has its compensations. I always, always learn something from my students, which wouldn't happen if I let them stay silent. And pushing myself in the classroom stretches me and has made me more able to enter social situations that previously would have terrified me.

A little while back a mom emailed me because she was worried about the topics her teen daughter was choosing to write about (including incest, violence, and other uncomfy topics). Since then, I've gotten a few similar letters, so I thought I would share my thoughts on ways of responding respectfully to teen writing--even when it doesn't look like what parents might prefer.

If the topic of teen writing/reading as a starting place for crucial conversations interests you, check out my post on the whole "YA books are too dark" controversy. 

Dear parents,

Thanks for your confidence that I might have some wisdom to offer. Here's my take as a writer, teacher, and also a mom.

I get why you're concerned about your teens' writing. Still, I think the best thing to do is to keep the lines of communication open and not try to control what they explore in writing. Ditto for their reading. The reality is that teens will read what they want--either with our knowledge or (if we try to limit their access) without it. But when we know what they're reading (and even read the same things), we can use that material as a starting point for important discussions.

To be honest, it's my experience that by age 12-13, many young people are either involved in or intrigued by what we parents consider "adult" behaviors. Helping our teens navigate these adult waters--that's the privilege (and burden!) of parenting and mentoring.

One thought: talk with your teen about why the situations they've  written about intrigue them. See if you can't also help them see the blessing of a "boring" life as well as the depth of the scars that those "interesting" experiences might leave on those who have suffered them. I hear from young people with "boring" lives who say that reading my first novel, WHAT CAN'T WAIT, made them appreciate their parents' support and involvement--even those aspects that they might previously have resented.

Hope this helps!

Ashley Hope Pérez

In Paris, there's a bakery on every corner offering buttery croissants, but residents are still slim enough to fit into elevators the size of coffins. What do the French know? This is the second of several posts on food and lifestyle in the city of lights. Read the first here.

Paris has supermarkets, and you can buy produce in them as in any U.S. store. But most people get their fruits and veggies from neighborhood open-air markets one or two days during the week year round.

These are not a few stalls of local farmers; we have our choice of hundreds of vendors. The variety far outstrips what you see in the local Monoprix or Franprix, and unlike most outdoor markets in the U.S., the prices are actually lower than the supermarkets.

Of course, just because it looks like a farmer's market doesn't mean it is; most of the produce comes from central distribution centers. (For a peek at these, check out the lovely movie, Paris, with Juliette Binoche.) Unless produce is labeled "AB" (for "agriculture bíologique" the equivalent to our "organic"), it is almost certainly raised with "traditional" methods.

But there's much to be said for how these markets put produce--traditional or not--within easy reach of people in all of Paris's neighborhoods. Whereas fruits and veggies are some of the priciest items on our grocery lists in the States, here we can fill our large sack for less than 13 Euros. Snack food items are much more expensive in France relative to these healthy options. (For a point of comparison, watch Food, Inc, which gets inside the U.S. diet.)

So there it is: veggies cheaper than sweets. One more Paris secret.

U.S. cities (especially the NYs and Chicagos), what would it take to get an affordable outdoor market for your residents?

Here's today crazy idea for creativity in a nutshell: deprive yourself of everything interesting and stimulating to force your brain to generate something interesting of its own.

Before you get too amazed or weirded out on me, let me announce that I cannot take credit for this plan: it comes from Twyla Tharp's book, The Creative Habit. Tharp is a hugely creative person (dancer and choreographer), but she chalks most of that success up to discipline. Here's a bit from Chapter 1 to show you what I mean:

After so many years, I've learned that being creative is a full-time job with its own daily patterns. That's why writers, for example, like to establish routines for themselves. The most productive ones get started early in the morning, when the world is quiet, the phones aren't ringing, and their minds are rested, alert, and not yet polluted by other people's words. They might set a goal for themselves -- write fifteen hundred words, or stay at their desk until noon -- but the real secret is that they do this every day. In other words, they are disciplined. Over time, as the daily routines become second nature, discipline morphs into habit... More than anything, this book is about preparation: In order to be creative you have to know how to prepare to be creative.

For starters, Tharp is not saying that writers should stop reading and learning from great books. Tharp will be the first to tell us that we should attend with great care to works we admire (should like to stop people everywhere from listening to music while they work, for example. We ought to be single-mindedly listening to really honor the music).

But when it's time to create, Tharp advocates an absolute fast, no goodies for the brain. Bore yourself so that you will make something up out of desperation.

Tharp describes not even letting herself read the label on the cereal box, but even if you don't want to go that far, consider scaling back your multi-tasking and entertainment fillers. Instead of texting or playing fruit ninja (guilty, guilty), try using time waiting in line, on the metro, driving, or whatever to cook the project you're working on. What small problem can you turn over in your mind? What small advance can you make?

Especially when I'm in the revision phase of a project, I have to scale my audiobook listening way back to make sure that my brain stays on the job of my book.

So there, go forth and get bored. And then get creative.