Getting Ballroom World onto the page
Today I had the opportunity to go to the Commonwealth Classic dance competition in Woburn, Mass. CWC is always a fun time. I competed in Nightclub last night. Today, on Rhythm day, I went and watched my friend Irina Shapeton – the real-life inspiration for Katya in The Steps Between Us. It was fun to observe the comp energy without being caught up with nerves, as I so often am. And Irina/Katya did great, as always. No surprise there.
I was struck again by how well Ballroom World would fit as a limited TV series or movie. The sights, the sounds, the drama – all of it simply demands to be seen. Given that, is there any hope of describing it on the page? To convey a rich and multifaceted environment like Ballroom World, you want to not just describe the sights – the sparkles, the makeup, the medals – but also the sounds (the ubiquitous music is always a treat at comps) and even the smells of being up close and personal (spoiler alert: It’s a very sweaty sport). And you need to include a few “you are there” details (what an old editor of mine used to call the “club sandwich” detail) such as why dance dresses feature the designer tag on the outside and the basics of ballroom judging.
Most important of all, of course, is to describe the overwhelming feelings that come with a ballroom comp. Giddy anticipation followed by full-on nerves, followed by hope, followed by disappointment. Oh, that last one is me. Comps are such a mixed bag for me. I’ve resolved to be more positive and to let positivity propel me to the next level. (Stay tuned on that score: Ava’s dance fortunes will change dramatically in the second Swirl book, which I am working on.)
The very best part about comps is being together with friends you’ve grown close to on your mutual dance journey. In the photo above, I am flanked by two of my besties, the wonderful Eleanor, and the great Irina (Katya), who has been with me since the beginning. We’re in costume for the Halloween nightclub event. Dance sees us at our best and our worst. It means everything to have people around who you know have your back, no matter what. Whether I need my dress zipped up, eyelash help, or to be talked off a ledge, these gals are my ride-or-dies.
Why does ballroom look that way?
When ballroom dance first came on my radar, I remember thinking it just looked so garish and not pretty at all. The exaggerated makeup, hairstyles, and costumes then appeared very weird to me and not beautiful, for the most part. Dresses with wild color combinations (neon yellow trimmed with bright-orange fringe, anyone?). Makeup that could be seen from outer space (especially the false eyelashes that put caterpillars to shame). The deepest spray tans topped off by sparkly oils for a skin texture not found in nature. In fact, nature – and the natural – are entirely irrelevant in this fantasy world.
Newbies as I was then soon finding out there are good reasons for how ballroom competitions look. Everything is by design. The truth is ballroom isn’t just dance. It’s performance art. Every glittering detail — from the darkest bronzer to the abundant feathers — tells a story that judges must read from 50 feet away.
Makeup: The stage is a battlefield
On the competition floor, the lighting is bright enough to interrogate a spy. Under those conditions, subtle makeup disappears. A gentle blush? Gone. A natural lip? Erased. So, dancers don’t go subtle — they go cinematic.
Women: Contour like drag royalty, lashes you can see from orbit, brows carved to perfection. The goal isn’t vanity or catering to the male gaze — it’s visibility. The judges need to read every emotion, every flicker of drama, even mid-spin. Without the exaggerated makeup, your steps don’t really project.
Men: Yes, they wear makeup, too. Foundation, bronzer, sometimes even eyeliner. Foundation, bronzer, sometimes eyeliner — all to even out skin tone and prevent “floating head syndrome,” when a shiny face contrasts too sharply with a tux. It’s not vanity. It’s visual clarity.
This idea of theatrical exaggeration with an assist from cosmetics is far from unique. In Japanese Kabuki, actors use white base makeup and bold lines to exaggerate expression. In Indian Kathakali, dancers transform into gods and demons with elaborate, color-coded paint. Chinese opera performers use red, black, and white to telegraph virtue or villainy. The principle is the same across continents: when movement tells the story, the face must shout.
Hair: The helmet is the message
Ballroom hair doesn’t move, and that’s the point. When your head is snapping through turns, you can’t have bangs staging a rebellion.
Ladies: Hair is architecture — sculpted, sprayed, and often embellished with rhinestones. A smooth, geometric bun piled high on the head elongates the dancer’s neck and suits the classic elegance of the Smooth and Ballroom styles. Dramatic waves and crystals telegraph heat for the Rhythm and Latin styles. Ballroom hair is its own special category and deserves (and will get) a blog post of its own.
Men: Gel is a survival tool. A single stray lock in a quickstep is like cell phone ringing during Swan Lake.
In flamenco, the tight bun and comb evoke tradition and pride; in ballet, every strand is disciplined to emphasize the dancer’s line. Ballroom belongs to that same family of disciplined glamour.
Lately I have seen some young women dancing in the most formal styles of Smooth and Ballroom leave their hair long and untamed. It does look dramatic swirling around with their long skirts. Personally, I leave that to others. My coaches would not dream of letting me do the same. In fact, most ballroom pros cannot abide loose hair on their clients.
Dresses match the dance style
Every ballroom competition gown is a visual essay in motion — designed not just to look good, but to move right. Imi told me early on the jarring color combinations you sometimes see on the floor are to ensure attention as opposed to be the most beautiful. Above all, you want judges to see and remember you. If that means leopard print combined with light blue lace, so be it.
Standard/Smooth: Waltz, foxtrot, and quickstep dresses float and glide. Layers of chiffon and silk ripple like water. Pale hues and crystal gradients whisper elegance. In the most formal style, Standard, the leader and follower stay in closed dance hold for the whole dance. That means the emphasis is on the back of the dress and arms. So Standard dresses feature floats coming off the follower’s arms and exceptionally embellished hems. Feathers are de rigueur.
Latin/Rhythm: Cha-cha, samba, rumba, and jive dresses celebrate fire and flesh. Fringe, mesh, and cutouts emphasize the hips. Every shimmer underscores the rhythm.
Men’s costumes: Standard tuxedos evoke old Hollywood poise; open Latin shirts project athletic sensuality. Both communicate to the follower: watch me, not the floor.
Across the globe, dancers use clothing to amplify movement — from the whirling skirts of ballet folklórico to the feathered regalia of Brazilian samba. The costume isn’t decoration; it’s in aid of and a central feature of the choreography.
The psychology of sparkle
At its core, ballroom is competition as transformation. When the fake tan dries and the rhinestones catch the light, something changes. Dancers step onto the floor not as themselves, but as heightened versions — elegant, fierce, magnetic. For amateurs who find it the over-the-top styles too far of a leap from normal life, ballroom mindset coaches go so far as to recommend they adopt an alter ego who embraces and celebrates the exotic. For people like my protagonist Ava and me, we are in it for the glamour. No alternate persona needed.
The exaggerated styling gives permission to become someone else: the smoldering rumba goddess, the aristocrat of the waltz, the mischievous jive flirt. It’s a kind of storytelling that borrows from the world’s oldest traditions — where artifice reveals emotion, not conceals it.
Because in ballroom, reality is overrated. Under those lights, with the music swelling and the crystals blazing, you don’t just dance. You dazzle. Now, of course, I find the dresses and makeup intoxicating.
What’s your ‘why’?
Think about your most challenging hobby. (I hope you have one of these, everyone should have something they pursue almost hopelessly, fueled by an unfathomable passion.) And then ask yourself why you do it. My husband Steve plays basketball into his 60s despite frequent injuries and chronic difficulties finding other players as maniacal as he is. He just loves it. Says basketball keeps him sane. That’s his “why.”
People have many different “why”s for ballroom dance. It’s great exercise, certainly, and there’s strong evidence learning something very difficult clears out the damaging plaque in one’s brain (always a good thing). Dancers also say they appreciate the community and sense of identity being a dancer brings. I have interviewed several sober dance clients, who learn to dance so they can go to social dance parties, where alcohol is absent. It’s guaranteed fun with no temptation. With a physically, emotionally, and financially challenging hobby like ballroom, we have to have our “why”s firmly in mind. When times get tough and discouragement sets in, coming back to why we are doing it keeps things in perspective.
Why do I do ballroom dance? Anyone who has read The Steps Between Us or knows me personally knows the answer. You need look no further than the picture above. In short, my protagonist Ava Thompson and I are in it for the sparkle, full stop. At one of my first lessons, Imi said to me, “You like the sparkly dress, I am right?” Yes, you were, Imi. All I really want is to put on the swishy, princess dress and twirl around. Competition dresses like the one above are next-level. (I’m not eligible to wear that one, however, as it is for the Standard style, the most demanding form of ballroom, which I don’t do. Yet.) If someday I take up Standard, it will be purely to wear the most formal type of gown, which features long arm floats and often embellishments like feathers and flounces. J’adore.
I’ve written here before about my general love of sparkle. I worry the whole thing is going away. People just don’t dress up anymore. There are few if any formal occasions. No one has fancy parties. Even wedding attire is getting more and more casual. Ballroom is one of the few places where dressing up is totally embraced and encouraged. Alas, there are fewer and fewer ballroom galas. What we’re left with is the competition dress worn to compete. I will have to compete in order to get the injection of glamour I need to live.
One person’s why is not necessarily legible to someone else. When I was writing Steps, my developmental editor just didn’t get it. She kept saying, “But what’s really underneath Ava’s love of glamour?” I kept telling her it did not need to go deeper than that. For Ava and me, the sparkle’s the thing. The editor said that motivation might be authentic to me but would not translate to readers. You tell me, dear ones, if she was right about that. We agreed to split the difference. Ava’s why is glamour, sure, but it’s also the desire to be seen and appreciated heading into older age. When you are decked out in a creation like that lavender vision above, there’s no chance of becoming invisible.
I’d love to hear about your “why.” Drop me a line at laurengibbonspaul@gmail.com. And keep those reviews coming! Thank you so much.
So much help, so little money!
Dear friends,
Once upon a time, back when publishers ruled the earth and dinosaurs roamed the aisles of Barnes & Noble, authors wrote books and publishers did…well, everything else. Editing? Check. Cover design? Check. Marketing? (Okay, sometimes only half a check, but still.) The point is: the writer’s job was to write.
Fast-forward to today. Enter the indie publishing world — a glittery carnival of services that has sprung up around us like mushrooms after rain. Editors, designers, author coaches, book-launch specialists, social media wranglers, newsletter whisperers, marketing “geniuses.” It’s like Yelp for authors, except everybody is trying to sell you TikTok ads. (If anything, the ecosystem surrounding screenwriting is even broader and more confusing as I discovered in my short career as a screenwriter.)
Here’s the funny part: those of us who write novels would really rather just write novels. Not design a website, not manage an email list, and definitely not become part-time marketing executives. But in the indie world, if you want to get your book into readers’ hands (hello, that’s you!), you end up juggling a dozen jobs you never auditioned for.
You may have heard the term “vanity press.” It used to be a put-down — code for “you paid to have your book printed because nobody else would.” But indie publishing has rewritten that story. The power of the printing press is now squarely in the hands of creators. And that’s a very powerful development. But we need help. Paying for editing, cover design, and marketing doesn’t make an author vain; it makes us small-business owners. The catch? It’s hard to know what’s truly worth it until after you’ve spent the money. Sometimes you strike gold. Sometimes you buy snake oil.
And the money flies out the door fast (doesn’t it always?). A website fancier than the New York Times? A $500 Facebook ad campaign that sells exactly one copy (to your aunt)? Been there. Every indie author has a tale like this. Consider it the MFA: Master of Flailing Around.
But here’s the thing: despite the chaos, the overwhelming details, and the frequent credit-card regrets, indie authors wouldn’t keep at it if it weren’t worth it. The one piece of advice that every editor, marketer, and guru agrees on is simple: the best way to reach more readers is to write the next book.
So, I’ll keep writing. And with luck (and maybe the occasional questionable ad campaign), you’ll keep reading.
With rueful affection,
Lauren
Here’s how you can help support us indies
Leave a review. I understand it’s tiresome to keep receiving pleas for reviews. But Amazon, Goodreads, even a quick note on social media — reviews are oxygen to the self-published.
Tell a friend. Word of mouth beats any ad campaign. Bonus points if you gush in person.
Ask your library. Most will happily order a copy if you request it. (And nothing thrills an author more than seeing their book with a shiny library barcode.)
Thank you for helping spread the word in your own simple, generous way. I really appreciate it.
Why Steps so often reads like non-fiction
The Steps Between Us is a work of fiction, specifically a thriller. You knew that. But quite often, there are passages that read almost like a non-fiction article you might read online or in a magazine (if any of those still exist these days…). Some sections read like memoir. In the ordinary course, this sort of switching-up of categories is frowned upon. People like to know at a basic level what they are reading, and they like to know the work adheres to the norms of its type.
Controversies of this sort flare up from time to time. Oprah-backed author James Frey found his life torn apart when he admitted to fabricating parts of his memoir, which is supposed to be true (though what scientists say about the failings of human memory calls into doubt the veracity of all memoirs). And just about all fictional works are based in a loose sense on lived experience. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be anything to write about.
My situation is a little different. When I started writing, I found myself putting in things that are more like little tutorials related to ballroom dance – the character of the different dance styles, for example, or the basics of how lead-and-follow partner dance works. After 30 years of being a non-fiction writer – a business journalist at that – I just could not resist injecting in some content that has a rather — shall we say? — educational tone.
This hybrid approach was pretty risky. Readers not only like to feel confident about what they are reading, they don’t like to be preached at. We all read to escape normal life, where we might be expected to learn something, in favor of a totally escapist world. In Steps, there are times when Ava the narrator sort of steps out of the plotline and shares what she has learned about the broader world of dance, as if to teach her friends, the readers. Several reviewers noticed this. Not surprisingly, the ones who mentioned it were not particularly fans. I get it.
This tendency is a hangover from my non-fiction background. I had been taking notes at my ballroom dance lessons for years before I ever started writing and, as with all writers, I hated to see my learnings end up on the cutting-room floor. (“Recycle and reuse” is the writer’s mantra.) The recommended approach, I believe, is to blend in “educational” bits with the narrative so seamlessly and subtly no one feels it is a departure. Think of how the great Geraldine Brooks sensitively teaches about horse racing in her wonderful book Horse. I think I missed the mark on that. I’m no Brooks, and I never will be. But I do hope to do better in the next book. And I’ll write a memoir one day. But I’m not done with Ava and Nandi. Not yet. I hope you’ll stick with me, my friends, as their journey continues.
Go to the new audio snippets page to hear a little more from about why I wrote the book this way.
Fear less
Psst -- mid life is having a moment. Or let’s say, mid-life women, in particular, are having a moment. It’s not just the youngest of the boomers who are asserting their right to see and be seen in middle age and beyond. Women over the age of 40 are demanding to remain vibrant players in life, to have opinions, to make bold choices if they wish and never to be sorry for standing out or even – gasp! – actively seeking the spotlight. You can see the zeitgeist all over TV, movies, and books. And lots of other places, if you know where to look.
Case in point. On a floridly humid Saturday I joined about 70 women (mid-life and up) celebrating the opening of Trinny London’s canary-yellow Boston pop-up makeup and skin care store on Newbury Street. Conservatively dressed in the main (it was Boston, after all!) but by no means meek, the crowd was primed and ready when icon Trinny Woodhall arrived. In fact, everyone went wild. Trinny was exceptionally genuine and gracious, taking selfies with every attendee and offering quick words of advice and appreciation to each. (In our selfie, above, you can see I am wearing my Isabella Stewart Gardner antennae to welcome Trinny to Boston.)
It is very easy to understand how she gained such a devoted following. The vibe at the gathering was more “best cocktail party ever with your besties” than “listen to a sales pitch.” Everyone talked to everyone else, no need for introductions. If we were in New Orleans, where I spend three months a year, that would not have been particularly noteworthy. But in buttoned-up Boston, it was striking. I loved every minute and hope to meet up with these ladies again soon.
I have been a fan of Trinny’s for nearly 25 years. She and her sister posh fashionista Susannah Constantine hosted the British TV show What Not to Wear, which ran from 2001 to 2007. It spawned a U.S. version, as well, of which I was a loyal fan, but it wasn’t as good as Trinny and Susannah’s. Nowadays, both shows have come under fire for being – let’s say – quite pointed in their advice (the name of the show was fair warning) and not inclusive enough. I don’t see the shows that way at all. For me, the concept of wearing what suits your coloring and shape is more relevant than ever.
From T&S, I learned that dressing well means dressing in things that suit you in color and silhouette. At the time, I was obsessed with the color charcoal gray, which could not have been less flattering on me as I am a light bright spring. I thought the dark gray looked so elegant. But on me, it didn't. I also learned those with a large bust need to have a bit of skin showing at the neckline to balance things out. Those two small revelations changed everything about the way I dress. The message, essentially, is it doesn’t matter what you love or what is in fashion. What matters is what is most flattering on you. (That’s if you want to dress well, of course. Not everyone does.)
Now, Trinny has reinvented herself as a makeup and skincare guru – a very successful one at that. Check her out at https://trinnylondon.com/. Although the attendees at the pop-up – dedicated members of the Trinny Tribe, all – were busily shopping and buying, the underlying culture of the group went far beyond lipstick and neck cream. What Trinny sells, in a nutshell, is empowerment. As Trinny wrote in her latest book, Fear Less, “Putting on clothes that make you feel great, caring for your skin, and wearing makeup that enhances your natural beauty are not frivolous extras – they are outward projections of energy and confidence.” Learning to be fearless, Trinny says, brings joy, even when the path to get there is winding.
A slogan seen on the Trinny Tribe Facebook page: “Be too much. Be extra.” My Ava Thompson of The Steps Between Us, would certainly approve.
My devastatingly short (but undeniably brilliant) career as a screenwriter
I knew from my earliest days of ballroom dance lessons I wanted to write about Ballroom World and its denizens. At that time, eight years ago, I envisioned creating a limited TV series to run on Hulu or Apple TV or something like that. (Never let it be said I lack ambition!) After all, the sparkly dresses, fancy hotels, sexual heat between dancers, and menacing Russian mobsters -– doesn’t it all just demand to be seen?
And so, despite 30 years as a freelance business journalist, I set my sights on TV. I wrote the pilot episode for a series called Swirl, doing screenwriting courses in parallel – never the best approach -- and plunged into the insane world of trying to break into Hollywood. At an advanced age. From Boston. With no contacts or experience. Yes, friends, I can tell you, the pandemic-sparked golden age of TV was well finished by the time I got into it. Timing has never been my strong suit.
I soon learned there is a massive ecosystem of service providers who make great livings selling to the woefully uninitiated like me. I bought a myriad of services, ranging from pitch deck design (that one is expensive) to help with recasting the pilot to setting up meetings with alleged movers and shakers of Hollywood (more like people who were between jobs and would not be going back to producing anytime soon). I spent a lot of money and time. I rewrote the pilot four or five times, understanding full well it would need to be rewritten again and again. There’s a saying in Hollywood: the script ain’t done till the film is in the can.
Over 60 producers (no big fish, mind you) asked to read my pilot. Affirmatively asked to read it. There are sites where you post your logline and information about your project and they ask to read it if they are interested. Naturally, I believed fortune was just around the corner. Equally naturally, it was not. I did phone calls ranging from six-minute pitch slams – I got really good at those – to hour-long sessions with producers and the producer-adjacent. The golden ticket was to get a literary manager, not an agent, as I had first thought. Once signed on, this is someone who brings you around to meetings with the studios. With a manager of any savoir faire, you have a chance. Without one, it’s probably a million to one odds.
But still I persevered.
The tantalizing thing was every single one of those 60 producers and all the TV types I talked to really loved my concept and felt it was original and fresh – a rarity in that town, I was told. A minority really liked my script. The consensus, however, was without any backer or star or showrunner, I would not be able to sell my project. This was just after the devastating writers’ strike as well as the advent of large language models like ChatGPT upending the world of writing and Wall Street types finally insisting on some kind of return for the heaps of money they had lavished upon streamers. It wasn’t great.
But I wanted to tell the story. I wanted to bring people the world of gorgeous young foreign-born dance professionals lured to the States by rapacious dance studios to teach dance to affluent clients, with flirting as an expected part of the transaction. I wanted to give life to Ava, the character based on me, so spectacularly unsuited to dance but so determined to belong and be seen. I knew I could not be stopped by the gatekeepers if I wrote and published my book myself. So, I wrote The Steps Between Us and had a hell of a time doing it.
Now, as with my screenwriting adventure, I am mired in the “joys” of marketing it (spending lots and lots more time and money…) I’m still hoping to get back to Swirl. But first I need a quorum of readers who appreciate the book. Thank you for being part of this journey. I appreciate all of you tremendously.
The reviews are in
(Not all of them! I still need yours!)
It is a feature of our big data age that anyone who publishes a book, whether via traditional publisher or self-publication, has to do a lot of promotion and outreach to readers. I read the other day there were just 2 million books published in the U.S. in the 20th century vs. 2 million per year now. That’s what happens when you give people the power of the printing press. This democratization of publishing is surely a good thing (at least before the tidal wave of AI slop books coming any minute). But the competition for eyeballs and time is brutal.
Positive reviews, those in the know say, are one of the best ways for a new/unknown/self-published author like me to get noticed by readers. So, like the plethora of other authors, I am always begging and wheedling for reviews. Blame the algorithm!
Just now, I have a modest number of reviews on Amazon (26) and Goodreads (42). (I’m told I need at least 100 on Amazon to get any traction.) Most of my reviews are four or five stars, which makes me very happy. It is particularly interesting, however, when what the reviewer says does not exactly track with the numerical rating. And, of course, I’m very interested in what people say in general. I’m finding tidbits here and there I can use in book two of this series, which is under way.
From a five-star reviewer on Amazon: “Such a page turner. Not my usual genre, but this book had me fully engaged. It took me to a world I never even knew existed, and I loved every minute of it. Paul invited me in, and I happily obliged. Every chapter left me wanting more.” So nice! Many reviewers mentioned they had no previous interest in ballroom dance but said they found the book absorbing.
Many reviewers were especially struck by the heroine of The Steps Between Us, 52-year-old Ava Thompson, who starts taking ballroom dance in a bid to fend off the cloak of invisibility that descends on women of a certain age. Reviewers appreciated Ava’s funny and self-deprecating voice – despite being a generally confident person, she has no confidence in dance whatsoever. A few readers were frustrated by some of the decisions Ava makes. Why, they wanted to know, does she keep up with ballroom when she’s not a natural dancer and the hobby is so unaffordable? Why does she keep investigating when she clearly strays into dark shadows? Why does she fail to appreciate her long-suffering husband Jack until it’s (almost) too late?
I can say Ava is a rich, flawed character as any interesting protagonist should be. I won’t try to justify her choices here. But I love to hear what people are thinking. It’s a great honor that they – you – take my book seriously. Thank you.
By far my favorite review so far is this four-star one, from JessicaTurner96, which I share in full (emphasis mine):
“The Steps Between Us was a great read! Occasionally there were slow points, but overall, the book was really well written. It left me guessing for most of the book. There were a few things written that made me cringe, but I enjoyed the story so much that I tried to overlook them. One line in particular is still bugging me after finishing the book, but overall it was a great read and I would recommend it to others! I think if the book was reviewed by an editor very closely and one sentence changed, it would easily earn 5 stars.”
Please, Jessica, get in touch! I’ve got to know what line that was!! I’m up nights wondering what it could be! Drop me a line at laurengibbonspaul@gmail.com.
Thanks again, friends, and – well, you know what to do.
Lauren
12 things no one tells you about your first ballroom lesson (and what to bring!)
You walk in thinking you’re here to learn a few steps. You’ll leave realizing you just enrolled your body, brain, and self-worth in a group project called “Being Seen.” Here’s what no one tells you about that very first ballroom lesson — so you can enjoy it and maybe even laugh at the awkward bits.
The steps aren’t the point (connection is).
Most first-timers fixate on moves: “What if I can’t remember the underarm turn?” Your instructor is thinking about connection—how you stand, breathe, hold your frame, and listen.
The secret: a decent step with good connection looks better than a fancy step without it.
Translation: soft elbows, lifted posture, gentle tone in your arms. You’re not gripping; you’re communicating.
Try this: Imagine your ribcage floating up and forward like a helium balloon. Suddenly you look 20% more dancer and 80% less “I lost my car in the mall parking lot.”
2. Counting is essential.
It is likely on that very first lesson your teacher will say “Quick-quick-slow” or “1-2-3” and your brain will go, “Huh?” Totally normal. Ballroom rhythm is a new language, and your feet are still waiting for the subtitles. Whisper the count out loud (quietly): it links breath to motion.
3. Your left arm will get tired (and other frame surprises).
Holding a frame is like smiling with your skeleton. It’s polite, present, and remarkably athletic. Your left arm (or right, depending on role) will say hello in muscles you forgot you own.
Micro-fix: Relax your traps (the tense bits by your neck), widen the collarbones, and think of your elbows as buoyant. You’re carrying tone, not weight.
4. Dance shoes are a whole thing.
No one tells you your sneaker sole will stick to the floor like a toddler to a lollipop.
Best first-lesson footwear: something that slides a bit (leather or suede soles are ideal; smooth-bottom flats are fine). Avoid rubber-soled running shoes—they grip and trip.
Heels? Optional. If you wear them, choose a smaller heel and an ankle strap for stability. When you’re ready to buy your first pair of “real” dance shoes, be sure to ask your instructor. He or she is sure to have an opinion and guidance.
5. Let your body be bigger than your brain.
Ballroom asks for small, specific coordination: where your weight is, how your knee tracks, which foot is free, what your hand is saying to your partner. Your body will offer opinions: tight hips, stiff shoulders, clenching jaw. They’re just stage fright in disguise.
Soothing strategy: Exhale on the first step of the pattern. We hold our breath when we feel exposed.
6. Mirrors are honest.
You will look up and think your arm is a perfect swan wing. The mirror will disagree. Remember: mirrors are feedback, not judgment. They show you progress faster than a compliment ever will.
Mirror mantra: “Neutral observer.” Scan posture, feet, face. Adjust one thing at a time. (Videos are honest, too, but you’re not ready for that yet.)
7. Etiquette is part of the lesson.
Ballroom is polite by design. It’s consent-forward and whisper-quiet about it.
Hygiene matters: deodorant, light fragrance at most, mint in the pocket.
Ask, don’t assume: “May I lead/follow you?” is elegant. “I’ll just grab you” is not.
Release gently: when the music stops, so does the hold.
Small courtesies make beginners look instantly more seasoned.
8. The teacher-student dynamic is intimate (and professional).
You’ll be standing close. You’ll be guided by a hand on your shoulder blade or at your hip. This closeness is a technique, not a romance novel. Professional pros are trained to keep the experience safe, clear, and kind.
If something feels off: say so. Good instructors appreciate clarity and will adjust without missing a beat.
9. You’ll learn a lot about power and trust.
Lead and follow are not boss/assistant roles. They’re offer and reply. A great lead invites; a great follow interprets and beautifies. Both think. Both choose.
When you follow, you’re not passive; you’re listening and composing in real time. When you lead, you’re not commanding; you’re proposing with clarity and care.
10. Expect the upsell.
Studios are businesses. After your first lesson — especially if you glow — they might offer a package. Here’s the quiet part no one says aloud: you’re allowed to love dancing and still think about your budget.
Smart script: “I’m excited. I’d like to try three more lessons before deciding on a larger package.” You get continuity without pressure.
11. You’ll feel seen (which is thrilling and terrifying).
Ballroom returns you to the center of your own stage. Whether you’re nineteen or 60, your body becomes a conversation piece — in a good way. You’re not invisible. You’re in motion.
If that wobbles the heart a little? Welcome. Visibility is a muscle, too.
12. Progress is not linear.
You’ll nail a basic today, fumble it next time, and then — one quiet day — your feet and music will suddenly be best friends. You didn’t go backward. You were wiring skill deeper.
Keep a tiny log: After each lesson, jot three wins and one question. The brain loves receipts.
What to bring to lesson one:
Shoes that slide
Water + mint
Band-aids
A hair tie (if needed) and minimal jewelry
Curiosity (the only must-have)
Five micro-wins to aim for (instead of “being good”):
Straighten your spine for more balance and confidence.
Clear weight changes — finish one step before starting the next.
Quiet hands — no squeezing.
Breath on the first step — calms nerves and smooths timing.
One dance “basic” you can repeat without help.
That’s a successful first lesson. Congratulations, you did it! See you on the floor.
What ballroom studios are really like — and what they hide
From the outside, a ballroom dance studio can seem like a portal to a glamorous underworld -- a place of elegance, featuring the romance of movement against a captivating musical backdrop. It’s a place where you see people working hard, learning from their instructors, but always with a lot of joking around. The air is undeniably full of potential. It’s no wonder so many walk in hoping to find a new hobby… or a new self.
I know I did.
When I first stepped into a ballroom studio, I didn’t even know I was craving something, but I didn’t know what. Adventure, maybe. A new social life? Certainly a second chance at learning dance (my character Ava and I were fired from ballet at age 6). What I found was unexpected: a subculture with its own rituals, hierarchies, and secrets. Like any tight-knit community, the world of ballroom can be intoxicating — and, at times, inscrutable.
Let’s just say: The sparkle doesn’t tell the whole story.
The fantasy: glamour, grace, and escape
Let’s start with the dream. For many students — especially women like me who are stepping into this world in midlife — ballroom is a fantasy come true. Where else can you waltz across a polished floor in heels, guided by a charming pro, feeling like the star of your own movie?
Studios are designed to make you feel special. The lighting is soft. The music is immersive. The instructors are attentive. And if you're lucky, your confidence grows with just about every step.
It’s transformative. Empowering. Addictive.
But then there’s the part no one talks about.
The reality: competition, control, and unspoken rules
Behind the sequins lies a world that runs on more than just rhythm. Most ballroom studios operate as private businesses, and success quite naturally depends not just on dancing, but on client loyalty and money. A lot of money.
Lessons are expensive. Competition packages cost thousands. And once you’re hooked, it’s easy to feel like you have to keep spending or risk losing your progress, your pro, or your place in the studio “family.” No one wants to miss the trips to big competitions “everyone” is going to.
Add to that the often-blurry boundaries between instructors and students. These are relationships built on physical connection, emotional support, and intense time spent together. Is it any wonder some students fall a little in love with their pros? Or that pros — many of them young and ambitious — might learn to use that attention to their advantage?
It’s not sinister, not really. It’s just ballroom. But it can be manipulative.
What’s hidden: power, entanglements, and stories no one tells
In writing my novel The Steps Between Us, I explored what might happen when the ballroom mask slips — when someone digs too deep or steps out of line. While the book is fiction, it raises some real questions.
What happens when a student gets too close?
What if a pro crosses the line?
What do you do when a tight-lipped culture discourages speaking up?
Ballroom studios are full of beautiful moments. But they can also hide unhealthy dynamics: exploitation, jealousy, rivalries. And because the community is so insular, so based on reputation, many people — students and instructors alike — stay silent.
Why I still dance
So why stay in this world at all?
Because for all its shadows, ballroom can also be a space of immense joy, growth, and transformation. I've met lifelong friends. I’ve reclaimed parts of myself I thought were lost. And like Ava, I haven’t yet conquered my dance demons. But I have learned how to move through the world — literally and metaphorically — with a little more grace.
Ballroom World holds both glitter and grit. To love it fully, we need to see it clearly. To step in with both eyes open. Curious? Take a lesson at your local studio. You will make someone’s day, and you just might change your own life forever.
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.
