Jane Green
The Official Home of New York Times Bestselling Author

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New Hobby Means New Gifts to Give

February 7th, 2018

I have started a pottery class. This seems to be de rigeur for women of a certain age. Every time I log on to Instagram or Facebook I see that yet another of my school friends has taken up pottery. My mother has taken up pottery. Seventy percent of the women I know have taken up pottery. For a very long time I fought the urge, but the pull became too strong, and now I have succumbed.

I am very well known for my obsessions, not least because they tend to make their way into my novels. Every time my characters suddenly become jewelers, or candle-makers, or chicken-keepers, you can bet your life it’s because their creator was doing the same thing at the time of writing the novel.

My obsessions do not last long, but they are all-consuming, and I usually produce an astonishing body of work during the brief time they last. When I completed a silversmith course at our local art school, I set up a jewelry studio in the basement of our house, complete with professional work table, soldering equipment, every tool and machine you can think of, used it for one month, then never went in there again.

My candle-making occurred in our kitchen. For around six weeks, it became a candle-making factory, with trays of candles cooling on every surface, and the delicious smell of fig and gardenia filling the air. A few local shops sold the candles, and then I got bored, and moved on to something else. Someone recently told me how upset they were that I stopped, because the scent had become her favorite smell for her house.

And now it is pottery. I have fallen in love with lace-embossed and stamped platters, and as much fun as it is to source them online or visit pottery shops, I would always much rather try my hand at making them myself. The last few weeks have been spent scouring eBay for interesting remnants of lace, and buying authentic Indian stamps that arrive from India wrapped in canvas, the edges sealed with a stocking stitch, then sealed every inch with a proper embossed wax seal. The packaging itself is so gorgeous, it pains me every time to have to unwrap them.

Past experience has taught me that my obsessions are finite, and they are never too long for this world, which means I have to get as much done as possible while I am still interested.

The first lesson was last week. Everyone in the class stood around making a pinch pot. I took the teacher aside and explained I was there to make something specific, and would she mind if I did my own thing. She didn’t mind at all, and so, by the end of the class, everyone else had made one pinch pot, and I had made three platters and a rather nice bowl. I whirled around the studio as if I had taken amphetamines, while my friend, The Scientist, stood there and laughed, for she knows me very well.

This week I continued with three plates, and a mug. I attempted throwing a pot on the wheel, but I decided it would take me too long to become halfway decent, plus it hurt my back.

If you are a friend of mine, there is a massive spoiler in this piece, because I am highly likely to end up with a hundred or so platters and bowls, and you will all be getting them as gifts for the next couple of years. They will be the perfect present to hold all that jewelry I’ve been giving you for the past three…

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A Bestselling Chick Lit Author Drives What?

November 28th, 2017

bestselling-chick-lit-author-Jane-Green-DrivesJust how swanky is the world of bestselling chick lit author, Jane Green?

This bestselling chick lit author has been driving a big old truck for over ten years, and it wasn’t new when I bought it. It is a Land Cruiser, which is the truck the Peace Corps drive all over Africa, because they are insanely reliable, and good for around four or five hundred thousand miles (by the way, I don’t really write chick lit anymore, but I am credited with originating a genre, so there it is…).
My car never lets me down, but recently, when I have been a passenger in new cars that friends have bought, I find myself ever so slightly pining for something a little fancier. Every now and then I think, hey, I’m a bestselling chick lit author! I want something swanky and posh! I want a car that has Bluetooth rather than a cassette deck! I want a car that connects to my iphone! I want a car that has auto pilot (I realize on some level I want Knight Rider)!

Would a Jaguar suit a bestselling chick lit author?

I decided it was time to treat myself, so I spent last Saturday at all the local car dealerships, thinking I deserved a luxury car. I started with a Porsche Macan (it felt like a cockpit). I moved on to an Audi, then a Range Rover. I threw in the Jaguar because it was right there, and corrected the salesman who kept calling it “JagWAR.” I said it wasn’t a “JagWAR”, it was a “JAG-ewe-er”, to which he said, essentially, when in America…
 
I decided not to argue, but frankly, it is not a JagWAR, and probably isn’t much of a JAG-ewe-er, it’s more of a Jag, but things were getting complicated, and I knew he wouldn’t understand about 80’s wide boys driving XJS’s in England, so I left it.
We spent the day driving these spectacular cars up and down the highway. They were fast! And light! And they connected with my iphone! They did things like flash lights if another car was coming too close to the side, and self-correct if you were distracted and veering off to one side.
They were all gorgeous, and I couldn’t decide what would suit me best. My favorite was the Range Rover, although I just kept feeling it was a bit too much of a status car for me. I am not one for flashy designer labels, and it felt a bit like the ultimate designer label.
At the end of the day, I climbed back in my trusty Land Cruiser. I rested my elbow on the rest in the middle, which is exactly the right height for me, and I plugged the cord that runs from the cassette into my iphone so I could play my music in the car. I drove home, and it was comfortable, and cozy, and the nicest drive of the day.
I’m not ready. I may think I deserve a new car, but I realize that not only do I not need one, I don’t even want one. I have at least two hundred and fifty thousand miles to go.
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