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Publication Day! 2 X RBG

Today is publication day for my graphic novel-style biography, Becoming RBG: Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s Journey to Justice. Yes, my second book about RBG!

Becoming RBG tells the story of how Ruth Bader Ginsburg evolved to become the pathbreaker that she is. Step by step, a quiet little girl–“Kiki” Bader–became a child who questioned unfairness, who became a student who persisted despite obstacles, who became an advocate who resisted injustice, who became a jurist who reveres the rule of law, who became . . . RBG.

I’m so excited to share this remarkable woman’s story with more readers. Maybe some of them will be graduates of my picture book, I Dissent. Maybe some will be new to RBG, drawn to her story by Whitney Gardner‘s crisp and snazzy art. Maybe some will never have heard of a “graphic novel” (these would be adult readers; the kids all know)–and will be surprised to encounter a 208-page *comic book*!

I’d love to flip through all those pages with you now, but my talent as a videographer is limited. So, instead, I hope you’ll enjoy these excerpted pages. And please check my “Happenings” page to see where I’ll be going with Becoming RBG in the coming months. I do love talking about my RBG books!

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‘So If You Worried About My Age’

Next Tuesday is publication day for my graphic novel-style biography, Becoming RBG: Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s Journey to Justice. I’ve written two books about Justice Ginsburg in four years, which means I’ve read, watched, listened to, discussed, and thought about her — a lot. But I never get tired of it, and felt lucky to be able to attend a stimulating event at Georgetown University Law Center last night, where Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Bill Clinton, and Hillary Rodham Clinton chatted for an hour about all manner of things. Among the subjects covered was President Clinton’s 1993 nomination to the Supreme Court of then-Judge Ginsburg.

The former president said he knew within ten minutes of interviewing RBG for the job that he would choose her. Secretary Clinton, too, talked warmly about her impressions back then of RBG. President Clinton talked about some of RBG’s decisions that he admired. All this went on for a while. RBG was fairly quiet. My friend, Georgetown law professor and RBG biographer Mary Hartnett, who was one of the moderators for last night’s event, was bringing this part of the conversation to a close when Justice Ginsburg piped up. “One thing I hope would please the president,” she said, and you could hear, yes, hear, the twinkle in her eye:

“I was age 60 when I was nominated, and some people thought I was too old for the job. and now I’m . . . starting my twenty-seventh year on the Court, so I’m one of the longest tenured justices.

“So if you worried about my age, it was unnecessary.”

She brought the house down.

And here’s an excerpt from the book about that time in RBG’s life:



























Ladies, Feel Yourselves!

It’s been more years than I care to admit since I received my breast cancer diagnosis. I’ll also admit that I don’t much like to think about things like Breast Cancer Awareness Month, or read articles about breast cancer science, or even think about this subject. I’ve done my time there.

And yet, as October–which is awareness month–closes out, my thoughts are on my own experience. I’d had an annual physical, with the doctor’s routine breast exam. Nothing detected. I had a mammogram. Nothing detected. And then, a month later: self-detection. There was a little lump, barely palpable, but real. I caught it very early, and here I am. No one knows your body like you do.

Ladies, feel yourselves!

And now, on to the second part of this Public Service Announcement. After my diagnosis and treatment, I took up fishing. And then I wrote an article about that for Discovery.com. I don’t think it lives online anymore, but I have my manuscript of the piece, and I’d like to share it here.

A few years ago, around my thirty-ninth birthday, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  It wasn’t a terrible case, as these things go, but it undeniably introduced a new dimension of stress into my life.  Judging from the notices for support groups and yoga and meditation classes posted in the waiting room where I went for treatments, I was not alone in my newfound disquietude.

I didn’t enroll in any groups or classes.  I did, however, take up fishing.

I’d never fished before, but it suddenly seemed a very good idea.  I craved a river,  a rod, pretty lures to dangle from the end of my line—and the time to cast and retrieve, cast and retrieve.

As I’ve since learned, my compulsion to fish in the face of adversity was not as strange as it might first appear. 

“The definition of fishing,” says Richie Gaines, who leads guided trips on the  Chesapeake Bay, “is a perpetual series of opportunities for hope.”  Which would be exactly what a freshly minted cancer patient—as well as pretty much anybody—is after on any given day of the week. 

 If you think Gaines’ definition sounds awfully high-minded for a blood sport, you are correct, I suppose.  But something about this ancient activity moves people to wax philosophical, and to embrace it to satisfy a deep, unnamable yearning. 

Many have described fishing as a way to reach for a world beyond our own.  As Michael Checchio put it in A Clean, Well-Lighted Stream (Soho $23), having a fish hit your line feels “like taking the pulse of the planet.”  Scores of writers have explained that fishing touches, calms, and even heals the human soul.  “When the going gets rough,” Ted Kerasote advised in his 1997 book, Heart of Home (Villard $23), “you can take Prozac or buy a fly rod.”

 You may think this is all just so much hooey.  As a former non-fisherman, I counsel you:  Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.

“There’s something about fishing,” muses Louisiana-bayou-bred Gary Marx, now of Chevy Chase, Maryland, “that has inspired so many books comparing it to great art.  So when [NBA basketball coach] Phil Jackson talks about Zen and basketball, people laugh at him, and maybe there’s a reason for that, but with fishing—there really is a Zen to it.  You’re not meditating, because you’re doing something, but to me there is a rhythm to it that connects you to nature in a very special way.”

Perhaps not all 47 million Americans who fish have a Zen experience when they throw a line in the water, but many come close.  According to the American Sportfishing Association, the most common reason people fish is to relax.  Thirty-five percent of anglers cite this explanation, compared to only three percent who say they fish “to catch many fish.”

Dr. Peggy Stock, president of Westminster College in Salt Lake City, Utah, goes fishing to relax, spend time with her husband, and have fun.  But there is something more. 

“Fishing is like life,” Stock suggests.  “You never know what you’re going to catch.  I think it teaches you lessons in persistence and tenaciousness.  You’re not always going to get what you want when you want it, in fishing or in life.”

Wise words—but if, like me, you’re after the fishing as much as the fish, you’ll triumph nearly every time.  When I go fishing on my home waters—the Wye River on Maryland’s Eastern Shore—I am likely to see blue crabs swimming by in their comical, side-stepping way; spy a great blue heron patiently stalking its underwater prey; or bask in the sun alongside mallards, the male ducks gorgeous with their iridescent green heads, the females beautiful in their practical brown way. 

I’ve also seen sea turtles locked in a vise-like mating grasp, female carp lying exhausted in the mud from the effort of expelling eggs, snowy egrets snatching snacks of tiny fish—perhaps the carp’s babies?  The cycle of life and death captivates me every time, reminding me how small and insignificant I am in the greater scheme of this Earth.  The feeling is oddly comforting.  It renders my own mortality much more natural and necessary, and less scary, than I ever could have imagined. 

And the fish?  Oh, yes, them.  Sometimes I’ll keep a fish, bring it home and clean it, and my family will enjoy an incomparable meal.  More often, I’ll carefully remove the hook from the critter’s mouth and set it free.  “You’re okay now,” I’ll whisper, not putting too fine a point on whether I’m talking to the fish, or to myself.

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