Finding the right voice
My book The Steps Between Us came out at the beginning of June, and it is offered in ebook (including Kindle Unlimited), paperback, and hard cover. And, soon, it will also be available in audiobook format. There was so much to do to get the book launched I kind of let the audiobook slide. But now I am doing a full court press to get the audiobook launched as soon as possible. I’m having a great time doing it.
Since I am narrating the book, I am recording a couple of times a week. Cautionary note: I am blazing through the narration, but I don’t know all that much about voiceover or audiobook production, so you should not be tempted to take any advice from me on this topic. (If you do need professional advice, I advise going to the wonderful Vince “the Voice” Bailey, who does all types of voiceover and often is an announcer at ballroom comps – he’s a real pro.)
It’s not as difficult as you might expect to get good-enough sound quality. I’ve heard of people recording in their closets. Not me. I just sit at my kitchen table and talk loudly into my iPhone voice memo app. I pause the recording and re-record if the train comes by or someone knocks on the door and the dogs bark. The worst thing to deal with is the need to swallow. Saliva builds up as I’m talking and I don’t want to pause. But I don’t want the “gulp” to be heard. It’s tricky. And it’s demanding physically. I have to sit up very straight – perfect posture is required here, not just in ballroom! And I prepare by drinking lots of water. It’s a whole thing.
The experience has been a lot of fun. My understanding is you’re supposed to mark up the manuscript with spots to emphasize for dramatic effect. It’s also common for top audiobooks to have different narrators for different voices. I don’t have anything like that. I do try to do different voices, which is challenging. Many of my characters, including the male protagonist, Nandi, are Hungarian. It’s tough! I also have a fair amount of Hungarian dialog. I haven’t gotten to recording those spots yet, but that will take some preparation and the help of Google Translate. I just finished recording Chapter 19 out of 23. The end is in sight!
Mostly, I am having a blast giving voice to my female protagonist, Ava, who is very loosely based on me. I am enjoying hamming it up. I don’t read the chapter I am recording in advance, I just wing it. It seems to be working for me (hopefully the book production people will agree!). Since I finished the book quite a while ago, I am often taken by surprise by something in there – a piece of dialog, an observation, a small plot point that I had forgotten. It’s really rewarding to revisit.
One thing that is much less rewarding (and by that I mean not at all rewarding) is all the typos that suddenly appear when one is reading every word of a manuscript out loud. Now, lest you doubt the quality of my self-published tome, I paid large sums for both developmental and copy editing. Theoretically, there shouldn’t be any typos. Practically speaking, as a seven-year copy editor myself, I am only too aware that typos can and do sneak into the text as if of their own volition. I’m getting annoyed by this. I did a second edition that corrected four rather egregious typos. But now, by narrating, I have discovered more. Fodder for the third edition, I promise!
Best of all is finding the right voice for my heroine. She’s me, yet not. My doppelganger, at least. It’s a bit cringey to press play once I record. I’m like everyone else (can’t stand the sound of my own voice). But I do love bringing this next iteration of Steps to life. Thanks for being with me on this journey.
Budapest after dark: The city that inspired Ava’s breakthrough
My book’s heroine, Ava Thompson, struggles with dance and fitting into Ballroom World. But when she steps into the mysterious, glittering world of Budapest nightlife near the end of the book, everything changes. This city — steeped in history, beauty, and shadows — will crack open something long-buried in her. For Ava, Budapest is not just a destination. It’s a transformation. I was lucky to go on a studio trip to Budapest. I’ll never forget it.
And if you’ve ever wandered its lovely yet mysterious cobbled streets after dusk, you’ll understand why.
The ruin bars: chaos, magic, and metaphor
Nestled in the Jewish Quarter’s abandoned pre-war buildings, Budapest’s so-called “ruin” bars are unlike anything else in the world. Szimpla Kert (pictured) is the original — part art installation, part pub, part fever dream. Flickering fairy lights dangle between half-smashed walls, old bicycles are bolted to ceilings, and mismatched furniture spills out onto open courtyards. It’s disorienting. Playful. Decaying and thriving at the same time. I guarantee you’ve never seen anything like it!
For Ava, the ruin bars become a kind of mirror — revealing the beauty in brokenness, and the possibility of new life from old wreckage. You don’t go to Szimpla to blend in. You go to wake up.
Midnight on the Danube
Of course, there’s more than ruin bars. A nighttime stroll along the Danube Promenade, with Parliament lit up like a fairy-tale castle and the Chain Bridge sparkling over the water, is a kind of romance in itself. For Ava, the quiet power of the river at night becomes a balm, a space for reflection — and a counterpoint to the chaos of the dance floor and the studio.
Thermal baths after dark
Yes, you read that right. Some of Budapest’s famous thermal baths, like Széchenyi, host night bath parties with music, lights, and floating laughter. These moments are ripe to become metaphors for shedding old skins — sinking into centuries-old waters, emerging changed.
Budapest gave Ava the night — and brought her back to herself.
Ready to follow in her footsteps? Read The Steps Between Us on Amazon
Ready to see Budapest for yourself? Here's Rick Steves’ guide to this great city.
Why learning ballroom dance is the ultimate midlife power move
If you had told me 10 years ago I’d be slipping on a pair of rhinestone-studded heels to learn the cha-cha — rather than curling up in slippers with a cup of tea and a novel—I would’ve laughed. (And if you added that I would be reporting for dance competition hair and makeup appointments at 5AM, I would really have called you crazy.) But here I am, well into midlife if not beyond, waltzing (sometimes literally) into a new chapter of life. And honestly? I feel more alive than I did at 35.
Ballroom dancing isn’t just a hobby. It’s a transformation.
In my debut novel, The Steps Between Us, my heroine Ava walks into a ballroom studio looking for a little sparkle to break up the monotony of her days. She’s a new empty-nester, restlessly married, and afraid of the creeping invisibility that seemed to descend on her mother at the same age. She thinks she’s signing up for some social dancing and maybe a touch of glamour. What she gets instead is a full-on jolt to the heart—and a mystery that could kill her.
And while Ava’s story takes some turns that (thankfully) mine hasn’t, we have this in common: We both found something unexpected in the mirrored walls of a ballroom studio. Something life-changing.
Ballroom dancing offers something rare for women in midlife: structure and sparkle. There’s discipline—learning how to hold your frame, how to gain control of your body, how to let yourself be led without giving up who you are. But there’s also joy. Music. Flirtation. Rhinestones. There’s the simple thrill of doing something new that is unapologetically feminine and unashamedly fun.
It’s not about becoming a “great dancer.” (Spoiler: Ava never quite gets there, not in this book, anyway, and I still have plenty of challenges.) It’s about becoming more you than you’ve felt in years.
It’s about feeling beautiful again—not because someone tells you so, but because you know you are when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, standing taller, moving freely, smiling like a woman who remembers what she’s made of.
Midlife can feel like a narrowing of options. But ballroom? Ballroom cracks things wide open. It gives you permission to take up space. To feel seen. To flirt. To fail and laugh about it. To feel desire. To reinvent yourself—not by escaping who you were, but by dancing your way closer to who you’ve always been.
And the very best thing about ballroom? The community that comes with it. Ava and I have made so many close friends here. That’s my good friend Irina on the left in the picture with me.
So, if you’ve ever thought, “Isn’t it too late to try something new?”—take it from Ava. Take it from me. This stage of life? It’s not an ending. It’s a spotlight. Step into it.
Ready to waltz into your next chapter? Grab The Steps Between Us on Amazon—available in ebook, paperback, and hardcover – audiobook soon to come!
The quiet thrill of ballroom manners
One of the most surprising things I’ve discovered about ballroom dance—beyond the glitter, the footwork, and the flirtation—is how deeply it's rooted in manners. Not the kind of vague “be nice” etiquette we try to remember in everyday life, but a specific, choreographed set of social rituals that feels, to me, thrilling.
In the ballroom, appearances matter. Dance is, after all, a visual art. You dress up—yes, even for practice. You smooth your hair, press your dress, and present yourself with care. There’s a certain unspoken reverence for the act of being seen—and for seeing others in their best light. It’s not about vanity; it’s about respect for the space and each other.
And chivalry? Still alive and well. In this world, a gentleman might kiss a lady’s hand with absolute sincerity—no irony, no wink. Leaders always offer an arm to escort their partners to and from the dance floor. Leaders pay solicitous attention to the experience of their partners: Are they comfortable? Are they enjoying the music? Are you protecting their space and timing as much as your own? It can come down to something as simple and thoughtful as a breath mint.
You don’t say no to a dance unless you sit out the number. You don’t leave your partner in the middle of a song. You acknowledge each other with eye contact, a smile, a thank-you. These little gestures speak volumes.
What fascinates me most is how these customs are codified—many of them established more than 100 years ago—and yet they still hold sway. For someone like me, who has always been a bit in love with the idea of a more gracious, mannered time, ballroom is a portal, a living throwback to an era where social niceties reigned, where grace mattered, and where everyone knew the rules—even if some of them are hard to parse at first.
In the ballroom, the world is not only more beautiful—it’s more civilized. And I love it for that.
What ballroom custom do you secretly love—or find the most mystifying? Drop me a line and tell me—I’d love to hear.
And if you haven’t yet read my ballroom thriller, The Steps Between Us, you can find it here. Come for the waltz, stay for the secrets...
The long shadow of the ‘Natural Athlete’
We all know someone who seems to have been born with physical talents beyond the ordinary. These are the baseball stars, the swimmers who always win, the lanky runners who run barefoot, the guy who’s been skiing black diamond slopes with no poles since he was four, the high school volleyball player with the mean spike who goes pro. My mother called these specimens “Natural Athletes” (capitalized because that’s how I imagined them when I was a kid, they were truly set apart from the rest of us mortals). Any sport, of course, requires training and discipline in order to become very good. But Natural Athletes start way ahead of the pack.
My mother especially admired anyone who excelled at the patrician sports of her childhood – tennis and horseback riding. She put our whole family through endless summers of tennis lessons (we were all quite bad). I finally realized I could quit tennis when I was about 13. I couldn’t face another summer of Tennis 1 with little boys, some of whom were Natural Athletes.
I wasn’t sophisticated enough at the time to understand my mother was lamenting the fact that there were no Natural Athletes in our family – herself included. It always seemed she believed that if we just worked hard enough, we could ascend to the ranks of the naturally gifted, which is not how talent works. Later, my sister and I were in ballet, where my mother pronounced my sister a Natural Dancer and I was encouraged to drop out. My experience of being fired from ballet at age 6 exactly mirrors that of my character Ava’s in The Steps Between Us. Being told she is less-than at an early age propels Ava’s unshakeable commitment to learn ballroom dance, even though she suffers more bumps than most people.
That “Natural Dancer” has haunted my years of ballroom lessons. All around me are people who are exceptional dancers. It’s hard to imagine they did not begin with that secret sauce that made learning effortless. There is a young girl in our studio right now who is absolutely a Natural Dancer. Make no mistake, she’s a fiercely hard worker who has already logged hours and hours of lessons. But her body just seems to know. It’s a treat to watch her. If she wants to, she’ll be pro before she’s out of high school. I hope she keeps many other things in her life, too.
In my experience, few people will cop to being natural dancers or athletes. I guess it’s the modesty of not wanting to admit to possessing God-given talent. Most impressive dancers say it’s just a matter of putting in the time. And, of course, as the levels get higher, the distinctions are harder to see. It’s in the early years of learning you can clearly see the presence (or absence!) of real talent.
But, as with Ava, the concept is always hovering in my mind – that I am not a Natural Dancer. Unfortunately, that means I often spend my mental bandwidth on feeling inferior rather than getting myself into an open-minded state where I can learn. Like Ava, I’m here to prove I’m good enough, that I deserve to be part of Ballroom World. I’m learning to ignore the specter of the Natural Dancer. Who cares if you’re a natural or not? Every kind of dancing is its own reward and a truly human joy.
Here’s my starter ballroom playlist. Dancers, what are your favorite ballroom songs?
Moon River – Henry Mancini / Audrey Hepburn (Foxtrot / American Rumba)
Captures Ava’s first dreamy glimpse into the studio—graceful, wistful, transformative. \
Buona Sera, Signorina – Dean Martin (Louis Prima cover) (Foxtrot / Swing)
The playful Italian number Nandi picks for their showcase—sly charm and flirtatious flair.
Dream a Little Dream of Me – Henry Mancini / Mama Cass (Rumba)
Ava’s Budapest moment of triumph—soft, courageous, intimate.
Sway – Michael Bublé (Cha Cha)
A modern cha cha staple—smoky, seductive, perfect for a cheeky rhythm.
Cheek to Cheek – Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong (Foxtrot)
Joyful classic with a vintage big-band swing—ideal for light-footed elegance.
Dance Me to the End of Love – Leonard Cohen (Tango)
Intense and emotional—fits the story’s deeper, more dramatic turns.
Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps – Doris Day (Rumba)
Soft, playful, and teasing—great for lyrical sways and subtle storytelling.
Let’s Face the Music and Dance – Nat King Cole (Foxtrot / Quickstep)
A smooth classic that says, “Bring it on,” perfect for confident stepping.
Besame Mucho – Diana Krall (Bolero / Rumba)
Rich romantic flavor—warm and bittersweet, ideal for emotional lifts.
Blue Tango – Leroy Anderson (American Tango)
Bright and structured—great for showcasing technical precision.
It Had to Be You – Harry Connick Jr. (Foxtrot)
A heartfelt ode—emotive yet danceable, with a nostalgic shimmer.
Libertango – Astor Piazzolla (Argentine Tango)
Passionate and dramatic—strong character moments in the choreography.
The songs that made this book dance
A behind-the-scenes playlist from The Steps Between Us
If you’ve ever taken a ballroom lesson, you know music is more than just background — it’s the infrastructure of every step. We dancers live by the beat. The rhythm tells us when to move, when to pause and stretch out the movement as in waltz, and – maybe most important -- how to feel. At DanceFreak Studio in The Steps Between Us, the music never stops, and it creates a tapestry of moods — romantic, playful, mysterious, and heart-wrenching.
As I was writing the book, certain songs became emotional anchors for the characters and scenes. Some of them even found their way directly into the story. I thought it would be fun to share a few — click to listen and maybe you’ll hear the story come alive in a new way.
“Moon River” – Andy Williams
This dreamy classic plays the first time Ava wanders into DanceFreak Studio and catches a glimpse of a showcase in progress. The haunting sweetness of the melody — and the effortless grace of the dancers — stops her in her tracks. It's the moment something shifts inside her. A sense of longing. A whisper: What if I let myself want something again?
“Buona Sera, Signorina” – Louis Prima
Nandi chooses this jazzy Italian number for Ava’s first showcase — partly to charm Ava, who once lived in Florence and still speaks Italian. It’s cheeky, seductive, and a little over the top… much like Nandi himself. The perfect soundtrack to a partnership that starts with sparks and secrets. Spoiler alert: This was the song for my first showcase with Imi.
“Dream a Little Dream of Me” – Mama Cass
Ava sings this in a surprising moment of triumph during the Budapest trip. It’s not about dance, but about courage — using her voice, stepping into the spotlight, and taking up space she never thought she deserved. The lyrics are bittersweet and dreamy, just like Ava’s arc. Another spoiler: We did this showcase, with singing. Picture to the left, with me in my 1960s Mama-approved pink peignoir set. (She didn’t really approve, but I think she would. And by the way, she did NOT die choking on a chicken bone but rather of a heart attack, poor girl.)
What song reminds you of Ava and Nandi? Or of your own “first dance” moment? I’d love to hear it. Drop me a line to lauren@laurengibbonspaul.com
Dreams do come true
This past week I experienced one of the most gratifying things that can happen to an author, especially a first-timer like me. My good friend, Dee Dee Whitehead, hosted me -- and my book! -- at her book club. It was a delightful evening with a great group of women and pure pleasure for me. (There’s Dee Dee over my left shoulder.)
To talk about The Steps Between Us with an engaged group of readers felt a bit surreal on many levels. It felt like they were conversing directly with my brain – as if the characters and plot points that have lived in my head for so long broke out and interacted with real people. To hear readers ask questions, to see them argue a bit with each other about things – How about that Georgie character?? – made them come alive for me and did make me see things differently. I drove home full of ideas for the book number two in this series. What a gift!! Thank you so much, Dee Dee! Plus, you always host the best events and this one featured a magnum of Veuve Clicquot! Can’t imagine how it could be better.
I hope I will have the opportunity to do more book clubs. If you’re in the Massachusetts/Southern NH area and would like me to come to your book club, drop me a line.
A mixed bag on proficiency
So last week I told you Imi and I were going to try proficiency judging for me at the Yankee Classic this weekend. Proficiency judging means the amateur is judged out of 100 as opposed to competing with others. The advantage is if you go to pieces over the results (as I do), you can avoid the whole lining-up-in-order-of-results/sweating everyone’s medals situation. As an additional plus, we thought it would be true that Imi could essentially drop me into any level at any time. Whereas it would likely be disconcerting to see me on the floor with a Silver group (I am Bronze, after all), it wouldn’t really matter, and I would get to sleep late. The more advanced levels go later.
This time around, there was some confusion on how things should work. So, the organizers put me in the normal Bronze heats, which started at 9AM, meaning I had hair and makeup at 6:30. That did not make me happy. They also did not judge me against 100, I just got 15 firsts as if I was uncontested in those heats (that’s me wearing my new Rhythm dress looking a little confused with the results on the right there). So we can’t say it really was proficiency.
I wasn’t feeling well when I did my Rhythm heats and my condition quickly got worse. I had to go home sick and miss the rest of my dances, including Nightclub and Smooth. I was sad to miss everything – the Queens and Jokers nightclub event was sure to be a blast. And we can’t yet say whether proficiency is the right choice for me since it did not really work this time. Imi did say I seemed a lot calmer this time but that could just have been me concentrating on not getting sick on the dance floor. (That’s definitely something that would happen to my protagonist, Ava, who is the queen of dance disasters. Maybe it will show up in book two!)
I’ve put some more photos and video from Yankee on my Gallery page. So check those out, too.
Challenges yet to face
I’m ransacking my closet and throwing everything in a huge bag – dresses, shoes, fishnets, scads of jewelry. I’m practicing more than ever, trying to polish my routines and make them better. I’m making plans with my ballroom buddies, dinners and logistics.
What time is it? It’s ballroom competition time!
Like a lot of amateur dancers, and very much like my protagonist Ava from the Steps Between Us, I have a love-hate relationship with comps. On one hand, it’s really what we prepare for all year long. Comps are the ultimate progress meter. They are THE see-and-be-seen events. “Anyone who is anyone will be there.” Students who can see steady improvement will naturally be motivated to come back for more. They will win rightful kudos for their discipline. They win the medals, trophies, and scholarship checks. For those whose progress has gone steadily up, comps are validation, along with a lot of fun. Sometimes there’s even a gala.
For those of us who struggle with comps, on the other hand, the picture is mixed. What I love about comps: the excitement of preparation, having hair and makeup done, swishing around the hotel wearing my ballgowns, hanging out with my friends. Especially the last item!
What I hate about comps? The nerves, the egotism. The pointless fights with my teacher. The judges with their clipboards. Not the judges personally. They are always very nice. In fact, they are absolutely serene with nothing to prove and are therefore cheerful and kind, despite presumably sore feet from standing in one spot for hours on end.
What I don’t love is the judging. It’s why they call it a competition, of course, but being judged in this venue sends me to pieces. I’ve struggled with my results, just as Ava does in the book. No amateur performs to their highest ability at a comp – adrenaline poisoning is real. But I’ve struggled particularly to keep my concentration where it should be – in my body as opposed to focusing on the outcome I’m trying desperately to achieve.
Years of ballroom mindset coaching have taught me I am the only person who can make me feel bad about my results, that I alone decide what my results mean. That sounds right intellectually but in practice, I can’t make myself believe the results don’t matter, or don’t matter for me. And that puts into place just the kind of downward spiral that would make someone quit comps if not ballroom altogether. It really is hard to line up in the last-place spot, which is the custom for scholarship events. (Everyone also shakes hands and offers congratulations, which is jarring to say the least if you come in last.) I’ve been in that spot many times. I think you’d have to be a Buddhist not to mind that one. My old dance demons – in this case, identical to Ava’s – rear up and prevent me from doing my best. Comps inevitably make me feel separate and apart from my friends, like winning is a nut I just can’t crack where everyone else can.
But I don’t want to quit. So, Imi and I trying something different this time. I like to think of it as beating the system. I am signed up this time for “proficiency” judging only. That means I really am competing only against myself and will receive marks based on a percentage of how well I executed the step vs. the benchmark. No standing around for the awards ceremony. No lining up in last place. No medals or checks, either. I’m not sure at this point if proficiency judging will make me feel worse or better. Maybe it’s a mistake. My mindset coach feels the universe continues to challenge you until you affirmatively conquer your demons. We’ll see about that.
I’m going to try proficiency. I’ll report back on how it goes. In the meantime, I can’t wait to spend time with my friends.
We live for sparkle
Check out Ms. Kim Mulkey, coach of the LSU Tigers women’s basketball team. Is she great or what? I’ve never been much of a sports fan, and I don’t watch the games, but I love to watch Kim. She is 63, blond, and she is not going gently into that good night of “aging appropriately.” The colorful, sparkly, and often feathered outfits Kim wears are designed to get attention, “appropriateness” be damned. She’s my spirit animal. Whereas others accept the invisibility that comes with age, we double down on glamour. Where the whole world is getting more and more informal, we dress up, because we like to, because it makes us feel good. “Look, we're from Louisiana. We like sparkles, we like diamonds, we like Mardi Gras, we like to eat and we like to party,” Kim was quoted as saying, and that seems just about right to me.
My protagonist in The Steps Between Us, Ava Thompson, is magnetically drawn to ballroom dance by the glamour of the scene — the beautiful dances, the shimmering dresses, the over-the-top makeup, the jewelry that can be seen from outer space, the flirting with handsome instructors. In that sense, Ava and I are the same. We were both fearful of dance, but we are more afraid of being invisible and sidelined as the years go by. Dance — especially competition — is a way of saying, “I deserve to be seen, I belong here.”
I’m not ready to give up my hair dye, my baubles, my high heels, my party outfits. Like Kim, I am going hard in the opposite direction. Every woman calibrates this equation for herself over time, making adjustments as they feel right. It’s possible I might voluntarily dial down the glitz one of these days. But I doubt it. Kim, drop me a line and let me know where you got that awesome suit! I have a feeling it would be great in Ballroom World.
Finding your story
I was one of those little girls who was always writing. When I was about 10, I wrote a series of plays for my neighborhood friends about princesses and their dog. (My sister always played the dog, happily.) We put on these shows for our parents in our backyards, wearing nightgowns and headbands as tiaras. (The royal dog did not wear a tiara or gown.) I believed in my bones I would be a novelist or a playwright.
But life got in the way. I majored in Journalism and English and then went to law school and embarked on a career as a business journalist. I was busy all day writing, but not on particularly creative projects. On weekends and nights, I would work on little bits of writing – a start to a story here, a few character sketches there. But these did not come to much of anything. When journalism in general (and business journalism in particular) failed, I turned to “content marketing,” which was far from creative. The years went by.
Soon after I turned 50, I went to a Friday night dance party at my local ballroom studio. That night played out just about exactly as did The Steps Between Us protagonist Ava’s introduction to ballroom. Like Ava, I was scarred by traumatic early dance experiences (I, too, was fired from ballet.) But I was utterly transfixed by the dance scene I saw at the studio that night. So many people who knew how to dance, so many different dances. It was a revelation, a shimmering realm I wanted to join more than I have wanted just about anything.
But I might have left that evening with nothing more than a feeling of longing except for the fact that Hungarian dance pro Imre Gombkötő – Imi – seized upon me (as he did all potential new clients) and insisted I dance with him and then take a free lesson the next week. It was terrifying but exhilarating. And that’s how it has been, ever since. Fear plus excitement. Frustration and suffering, embarrassment and shame, always. But so much joy. I fell deeply in love with everything ballroom. I made the most magnificent friends in this community, and we have had the best times. My attention to the lessons has always taken a backseat to me observing the environment.
That’s because, almost immediately after starting my lessons, I realized I wanted to write about Ballroom World. I wasn’t sure then what form it would take – maybe non-fiction, maybe a screenplay, maybe a novel. I took notes, did interviews with clients and pros, tried out different things. I wrote the pilot episode of a TV series called Swirl I still hope to come back to. (I didn’t pick a great time to try to break into Hollywood! A young producer told me I would never make it because “you live in Boston, you’re a nobody, and you’re old.”) I decided to recast the material as a novel, The Steps Between Us.
As a first-time novelist of a certain age, I guess I’d have to call myself a late bloomer. I don’t know why for all those decades I still believed I would write a novel, but I did. At this point, I’m just delighted to have found my subject, an absorbing world I hope to keep writing about. It has glamour on a scale I could only have dreamt about in my backyard-princess days. And so many compelling human stories.
Before that first night at the studio, I could not dance a step. And I had no story to tell. Imi gave me both. I am forever grateful. Thank you, Imi, for introducing me to dance, for bringing me your world. I owe you so much. As you like to tease, I will still need lessons from you when I’m 90 and you are merely 70. I hope so.
Imre Gombkötő
Taking a chance in mid-life
I’m a lot like Ava Thompson, the protagonist of my forthcoming book, The Steps Between Us, now in pre-order on Amazon. After her sons leave for college, Ava is at a loose end. Casting about for something to do, she discovers a secret world full of people who love ballroom dance – and who show off their skills at Friday night social dance parties. Ava is entranced and desperately wants to be a member of this club.
But she’s torn. Bad experiences with dance as a child left her nervous, even phobic, about trying to learn dance. And that’s how it was with me, too. The book is fiction, but the anecdote about Ava being fired from ballet lessons as a young girl comes straight out of my experience. We both started ballroom with scars. But we both had (still have!) a burning desire to learn and take their place among the elite: People Who Can Dance.
Unfortunately, those scars interfered with our ability to learn dance. Once a panicked, fight-or-flight response takes hold, the brain is focused only on survival. That situation does not lend itself well to learning anything, especially something as difficult as ballroom! Thinking back, now in my eighth year as a ballroom student, I can say I spent years in fight-or-flight mode – during my lessons, at showcases, at competitions, even at social dance parties (I don’t think I will ever be able to do waltz at a social dance – amateur leaders with a modicum of skill simply refuse to stick to the basics.)
The Steps Between Us is, on one level, the story of one dancer’s journey – the self-doubt, embarrassment, and false starts. Ava learns how to make her way in Ballroom World. So have I. And we both still love it.
One thing I have learned in my time here: Everyone wants to dance, and everyone is terrified at the beginning.
Are you contemplating taking a chance of your own? Drop me a line and let me know your plans.
