First things first: I owe Fay Jacobs an apology. I was so excited to receive from her a copy of her new collection of essays that I blurted out the first thought that popped into my head. Within the confines of my brain, which was making rapid-fire connections to places far, far away, it sounded something like, "Oh! How wonderful, a sequel to the first collection As I Lay Frying, which I enjoyed so much I shared with my mother who lives in the Midwest who I don’t get to see much and therefore love it when we can share our favorite pastime with each other which doesn’t happen often because we don’t always like the same books but Fay Jacobs’s nonfiction book brought us together because it had the whole lesbian connection which is me and the Rehoboth connection which bridges the distance—my mother loves Rehoboth—but also the transition to what Fay Jacobs calls the "AARP years" which my mother just went through so the book as a whole was something everyone could talk and laugh about which is always good."**

Instead, what came out of my mouth was, "Thanks! I can’t wait to send this to my mom." Ugh.

That being said, Fried & True is currently neatly sealed in a book mailer and rapidly approaching Hudson, Wisconsin as I write. Those of you who missed the first book should really pick up a set of the two—CAMP Rehoboth and our own Lambda Rising bookstore in Rehoboth and D.C., as well as Browseabout and Amazon.com, have copies. Fried & True in some ways picks up chronologically where the first collection left off, with Jacobs settling into Shnauzerhaven, her Rehoboth Beach home. However, this newer group of essays taps into a deeper vein of reflection. Jacobs lets the reader into her personal life outside of the essays. Most significantly, she writes about her fears as a writer meeting up with two women who had few fears left to conquer.

I first heard of the legendary couple, Muriel and Anyda, and their afternoon porch salons about seven years ago. The couple would have been in their eighties then, I guess. I never got a chance to tag along with friends who were invited to the happy hours, but I marveled at the stories they learned from the two women. Together for more than half a century, the pair were pioneers in lesbian fiction publishing. Anyda was the real writer behind the pen name of Sarah Aldridge, under which she published thirteen lesbian novels over several decades. When they failed to find a mainstream company to publish the books, the two took it upon themselves to create their own publishing company, Naiad Press. The business grew into one of the most important lesbian publishing companies, launching the careers of several lesbian/feminist writers across the nation. One of their last projects? Convincing Fay Jacobs to allow their most recent publishing venture, A&M Books, to publish a collection of her columns from Letters. Sadly, both women passed away within months of each other last year, but thankfully they left behind an impressive legacy, including the inspiration of one more writer, Fay Jacobs.

The talent that A&M—among others, such as The Advocate—saw in Jacobs’s writing is clear—she has an impressive sense of voice. Her wry sense of humor is wrapped snugly around self-deprecation and keen observation. Her dramatic interpretation of the most mundane events left me laughing aloud. Jacobs on seeking help from a live person on a computer help line: "I crouched under my desk, peered at the tiny [serial] numbers and started reporting them to the farmer in the Dell. Suddenly, I leaned too far with the phone cord, dragging my martini [made during the twenty minutes on hold] off the desk, followed by the phone, both of which hit me in the head. At this point, I was laughing. I mean, what’s a day without laughter, right Oprah???? Even the guy from Dell started to laugh when he heard the splash followed by the crash, followed by a loud word for a bodily function."

What I like best, however, is Jacobs’s scrutiny of life in a remarkably small town. Having been a part of Rehoboth both full-time and part-time, I can remember what it’s like to have your every move relayed through the gay grapevine. From Bonnie’s unfortunate highway lawn tractor incident to the borrowed fancy car story, the exploits of Jacobs and her spouse always seem to end up broadcast up and down Route One.

Even when Jacobs is tackling weightier issues, she manages to inject her own personality into her reflections. She unselfishly and a bit masochistically shares how she came to arrive at ay conclusion, whether it is the rebuilding of New Orleans, defending of gay marriage, or analyzing of the mass media. It’s hard to maintain that sense of style when moving so freely between the personal and the political, but Jacobs does it.

I think this voice is what attracts my mother to Jacobs’s writing as well. It frames my life and my politics within a context she can relate to. I just imagine her chuckling in her one-woman chemotherapy room at the hospital, thinking of me and her time in Rehoboth, thinking back to when she grew up in the 1960s, watching the same movies and singing the same songs Jacobs brings to life. Her well-thumbed and ever-circulated copy of As I Lay Frying is about to get a companion; Fried and True needs to make it into your beach bag this summer, too.

**Please do not tell my high school English students that I speak in run-on sentences inside my own head as they will never, ever let me live it down.