DO OVERS

So I just spent 3 hours on a Friday night writing a blog post--Hours I could have been liming (which in Trinidad speak means socializing with friends aka "partying");

hours I could have spent packing my suitcases for my upcoming trip; doing the ironing--which is piling up; eating; sipping; whining (Trini speak for dancing, what Miley calls "twerking"):

or languidly lounging on the balcony watching pelicans swoop into the glistening Gulf of Paria.

The view from the comfy chair on my patio calls "lounge, lizard! Watch for flying fish! Feel the breeze!

Even with all those things, and more, I could have been doing, I don't begrudge spending one moment writing that post. Because it was brilliant.

It was a post on Do OVERS and how, in the course of doing over our house, I've come to realize the clarity and freedom that comes from throwing in the town and starting over can bring. "I call Do Overs!" The post took me especially long to write because I included lots of photos illustrating problems my contractor George uncovered which led to us having to gut the whole first floor of our house, including maybe rat gnawed wires, leaks, shoddy workmanship, and hidden surprises. (Be glad, maybe, that you don't have to see that...)

The post began like this (I know because I save this bit earlier.):

Hopscotch players have to be able to jump far and accurately--sometimes 4 or 5 squares at a time. But the real secret is in the hopscotch charm. It has to be heavy enough to stick in a square and not roll. Mine was a key chain with a key.

When I was a kid, playing a game with friends--hopscotch, marbles, putt-putt golf and the like. Whenever one of us made a really lousy play—marble shot, we called “do overs.”

“Do Overs is an opportunity to try or perform something a second time.”

— Wikipedia says

So what the heck? Now that we’re adults…..professionals…DO OVERS aren’t permitted?

Is it because we are scared to chuck it all and go back to the beginning? Take another shot at it? Try another approach?

Or is it because we are too lazy, broke, cocky, afraid of what we'll be left with, of losing what we've got--regardless how flawed that might be?

A fresh coat of paint, new throw pillows, the right lighting mask a multitude of mistakes

I concluded with the realization that with houses, as with our lives, and our stories, often we allow, knowingly and not, frippery--paint and frills, holidays and laughs, flowery passages and pithy prose--to mask fundamental flaws. And how, if instead of messing around trying to make it look all right,  we should call out "DO OVER," strip it down to the bare bones. Clear the Slate. Wind up and give it another go. 

                             How calling "Do Over" is like a Get Out Of Jail Card. 

So, this amazing, brilliant, and I am sooooooo convinced, inspiring blog post was finished. I'd clicked to tags, add categories. I'd uploaded a cover picture and even pushed "publish."

I was half out of my seat, ready to get up, walk away, be done. But no, Ms. Clever-McSmarty Pants wouldn't let me quit there, so I decided the post would be even more brilliant if I added a photo of the Do Over game (Because it made me laugh and I was having such fun being clever.)

Oh, yeah, and a pithy little quote about "Rites and Rituals", too.

“The do-over was one of childhood’s most powerful rites, for it exerted our dominion over the laws of space and time. The clock was rolled back, the game was restored to its exact status as before before the contested event and play was resumed.”

— http://www.streetplay.com/stories/hangingout/doover.shtml

But then, the picture wasn't positioned quite right, so I decided to delete it and try again. Instead, I deleted the entire blog post.

And even after searching all over my blog site and the Internet for ways to recover it, I can't. So now as brilliant as it was, you will never ever get to read that post on the deepest truth of DO OVERS. Unless, of course, I get up the energy to redo it. And despite the convictions of my lost post, I'm not sure I can. 

Not even Marilyn could convince me. (And I listened several times.) So, in closing, I'll let Marilyn speak for herself on the subject. Since you can't read it from me, LISTEN TO MARILYN.

Be Strong In Your Warrior

One is not supposed to think during Yoga. You know the bumper sticker slogan "Go with the flow"? I'm thinking some yogi coined it. Yoga is about flowing. I know this because I got to thinking today, during yoga, and when I opened my eyes at the end of practice, I was facing the back wall, while everyone else was facing forward.

But first, before beginning the practice, we take time to focus our intention.

I’ve had loads of practice thinking, mulling, musing, pondering, "daydreaming" as my grandmother used to call it which sounded so pleasant, positive even, in contrast to other terms letting your mind wander is called: "Procrastinating", "Wasting Time", and when it goes on too long it morphs into "Resisting" as Steven Pressfield discusses in War of Art.

In an interview about her writing process (which I searched for but couldn’t find, as I didn't want to waste any more time looking) Isabel Allende said she "dreams" her stories. She watches the scene play out in her head, then writes it down. (And I seem to recall she actually lies down while "dreaming"--as in on a bed. Maybe with a pillow and blankie . . .

What's the difference?  Focused  Intention.

I've tried "dreaming" my scenes, playing them, working through them in my mind. And it works--but only if I'm walk-dreaming or ironing dreaming or  cooking dreaming. Flat out out on the bed or in a chair turns to "NAP TIME". 

I have the same problem during yoga. At the end of each practice we lie in “corpse pose” (pretty self-explanatory: lay flat on your back on the ground like you’re dead.)

However, even with the instructor’s warning: “Tell yourself you are practicing deep meditation, you will not move, you will not fall asleep…” I’ll find myself jerking to attention or snorting awake. Maybe more than once, my friend Mimi had to give me a nudge. 

"I am practicing deep relaxation. I will not move. I will not fall asleep zzzzzzzzz"

When I think "yoga",  Love-not-War, Flower Power and "Peace, Dude" comes to mind, not battle. Which makes flowing through a series of warrior poses seems oximoronic (if that’s even a word). Today, when Catherine said, as she does every yoga session “Stand strong in your warrior",  this oximoronosity--which self-corrected to monstrosity--came to mind.

As I stood, with my back leg stretched, front knee bent, staring past my quivering fingertips, pushing down through my aching legs in one of my mightiest Warrior 2 ever, I pondered the purpose of these Yoga Warrior poses.

Why would a peaceful practice such as yoga need warrior poses? What do flower power peace dudes have to do with battle?

I must share how, in spite of my pondering--or maybe because of it--2 out of 3 of my Warrior Poses were Stellar. 

Okay, so my Warrior Three was wobbly. In my defense, I was thinking . . .

It was not my best yoga day. (“Thinking, mulling, pondering” and “listen and follow directions” are mutually exclusive.) It was not my best work day, either. This question of why peaceful yogi-types would spend so much time and energy posing as warriors won. I couldn't let it so. So instead of sticking to the tasks I'd set for myself, I searched the internet for answers. 

Validation came when I came across an article in Yoga Journal  which also challenged warrior pose's role in yoga:  

“Given that the ideal of yoga isahimsa, or ‘nonharming,’ isn’t it strange that we would practice a pose celebrating a warrior who killed a bunch of people?”

— Richard Rosen, a contributing editor to Yoga Journal and the director of Piedmont Yoga Studio in Oakland, CA.

Rosen's conclusion is that the yogi is doing battle against her own ignorance. . . trying to "rise up out of your own limitations."  Which is not easy! Battling oneself never is.

Is this why we resist? Why we avoid? Procrastinate? (Which, I'm compelled to restate for the record, is so not the same thing as daydreaming. . . )

Fame is no insulator. Allende, author of 20 highly-acclaimed books, most recently Ripper, battles, too.

Each Jan. 7th, Isabel Allende prepares--focuses her intention. Jan 8th, she begins each new book.

Why Jan. 8th? Allende explains: "My daughter, Paula, died on December 6, 1992. On January 7, 1993, my mother said, ‘Tomorrow is January eighth. If you don’t write, you’re going to die.’"Her mother went to Macy's and when she returned Allende had taken up the gauntlet.

“ The only hard thing about writing is sitting down,” Isabel Allende noted. “The rest is so easy and so wonderful. ”

“If you attempt to stay in it [warrior pose] for any length of time, you’ll confront your own bodily, emotional, or mental weaknesses. Whatever limitations you have, the pose will reveal them so that they can be addressed....When viewed this way, practicing Warrior [pose] can be seen as fighting the good fight. ”

— Tim Miller, director of San Diego's Ashtanga Yoga Center

What tool does Allende take with her to battle. What reminder to keep her focused. To help her stay strong in her warrior? A candle.

 In an interview with Bill Moyer she shared how she lights a candle when she begins writing. "It's a real candle, but it's also a metaphysical candle," she told him.

“And if I have a candle, for as long as the candle is burning, I write. And then, when it’s over, when it burns off, I can have dinner and get out, and do things.”

Imagine, each of these candles represents pages, chapters, novels . . .

Today has been a battle. A battle to stay the course in yoga. A battle to stop puttering and sit down to the work I had planned for the day (a battle I lost.) And most frustrating/time consuming of all, a battle to publish this posting. Three times I'd been clicking away and something went wrong. It would have been easy to quit and turn to those many things I had planned to accomplish today. Important things. But working through this notion of what Warrior meant, which had taken hold of me as I  stared down the length of my outstretched arm. And so, I soldered.

How-to Focus Intention:

First: admit it. No matter what differences we are trying to make, what we are trying to create, to change, it is a war we are fighting. A war against taking the easy road, playing it safe. 

Second: Arm yourself with whatever will help you focus your intention, be it yoga mat, walking desk, chocolate bar reward, candle. . . 

Third: Attack!

 If you're reading this, I won! And it feels darn good. 

BE STRONG IN YOUR WARRIOR

It's Might Be Scary Out There . . .

I’m getting “in to” Yoga. I have all the paraphernalia. A groovy pair of yoga pants.

Not this kind . . .

This kind. . .

Nephew-in-law, Jake, gifted me with them last Christmas,

Black ankle-high yoga socks with tiny traction bumps on the bottom, a neon green constriction shirt which holds it all in while I bend.

and I’m thinking about growing my hair out into dreadlocks and cashing in air miles for a ticket to an ashram . . .

Eagle pose is like having to go to the bathroom really bad, and are trying to hold it while not getting your foot dirty. . . not pretty or easy.

One of Catherine’s recent ponder points was from “bestselling author, poet, philosopher” Mark Nepo’s book:

THE BOOK OF AWAKENING: HAVING THE LIFE YOU WANT BY BEING PRESENT TO THE LIFE YOU HAVE.

Nepo tells of a guy “Robert” who dumped his fish into a bathtub of water so he could clean their tank.

When Robert came back to retrieve the fish from the tub, “he was astonished to find that, though they had the entire tub to swim in, they were huddled in a small area the size of their tank. There was nothing containing them, nothing holding them back. Why wouldn’t they dart about freely?”

I AM JUST LIKE THOSE BATHTUB FISH?????!! 

But why?

Do I follow the rules, stay inside the lines, rely on learned behavior, swim the same circles around and around and around and around and around—in life and in my work—because it’s best . . .  Or because it’s easiest?

Because it’s smart . . . or because the alternative is unknown?

Because it’s safe. . .

. . . because I’m lazy?

 . . . scared to make mistakes?

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

— Albert Einstein

How many times, in how many copies of NOT NORMAN have I written “Think Outside the Bowl!” 

"Think outside the bowll" . . . It’s high time I did.

As they say in the song: "Now that my life is so prearrange/I know it's time for a cool change."

Care to join me? Dare YOU! Dare ME!

Potato Chips, Penicillin, Post-It Notes, W-D 40 . . . 2014?

Potato Chips . . . 

Penicillin . . . 

Post-it Notes . . . 

The Slinky . . . 

Goodreads kick-started my 2014 with this quotation from author Neil Gaiman:

“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes...you're Doing Something.”

That quotation haunt-taunted me through these last days of holiday and first days of this new year.

We celebrated the start of 2014 at a New Year’s brunch at friends, Joy & Michael’s new Kentucky home. Curtis and I were newcomers to the group. Lots of “news” at the launch of this year promising much change and challenge. Finding myself alone with one of the guests, I resisted the urge to withdraw into a dice-and-slice frenzy and instead tried to strike up a conversation by asking her if she’d made a resolution. It’s usual to make resolutions on New Year’s, isn’t it?

Big mistake! She doesn’t make resolutions. Doesn’t believe in them. Think’s they are stupid. A waste of time. Did I want to know why? Because we always break them, of course. Resolutions are made-to-be-BROKEN Blah, blah, blah blah-baaaaa. . .

I was feeling sorry for having tried starting that conversation when she added something that made me think maybe my resolution conversation starter wasn’t a mistake.

Turns out that morning on one of the “Morning Shows” (she watches several) the featured guest was some author who’d written some book about this very topic and he said (or so I deduced):

Along with making resolutions we need to “sweep away crumbs in our way” by resolving to stop doing whatever it is that is taking up the time during which we will do what we resolve to do.

 A crumb. A take-away that bonded with Gaiman’s salutation the way 2 Hs bond with an O. Refreshing!

Spray W-D 40 on any surface & wipe. It will clear away even rusty crumbs.

W-D 40 will clean mineral build-up off glass shower doors, too. And kill cockroaches, remove gum from hair, keep squirrels from raiding bird feeders (spray W-D 40 on the top of the feeder and “The pesky squirrels will slide right off.”

But, what do W-D 40, Potato Chips, Penicillin, Post-it Notes or The Slinky have to do with New Years? Resolutions? Or Neil Gaiman’s quote? Why should we even give a crumb?

All of these things along with The Pacemaker, Chocolate Chip Cookies, plastic and who know what other inventions were created by MISTAKE. Failed tries. Miss takes

Take One! Take Two! 

"I'm Ready for my Close-up!"    Take 40 . . . 

In W-D 40’s case, 39 failed tries by chemist Norm Larsen to prevent corrosion by displacing water.

What sets W-D 40 apart from these others is that rather than the end invention being something different or unexpected or accidental, Norm Larsen did what he set out to do: prevent corrosion by displacing water. The name W-D 40 is a testament to his efforts; it stands for “Water-Displacement 40th Attempt.”

Maybe Norm and the folks at W-D 40 Company have mistake envy, because they can’t seem to stop trying to find more uses for their spray. Along the way they’ve made mistakes, and discoveries.

Some bad: W-D 40 is not edible.

Some questionable: Is a python coiled around the undercarriage of your bus?

SPRAY IT WITH W-D 40!

Is a naked burglar trapped in your air conditioning vent? Dislodge him with WD-40.

2000+ dang useful! W-D 40 Company maintains a list of remarkable things this “corrosion prevention” in a can can do.

I went back to see if the squirrel repellant tip included a video (call me “cruel”, but I kinda wanted to watch slip-sliding squirrels) and was sucked into the 2000+ vortex. It took some time but I finally pulled myself free—But not before finding a helpful hint I’m itching to try: Last Christmas Curtis was gifted with blue ice cubes to cool spirits without diluting them. Sometime, someone tried using one. I don’t know who. Or when. All I know of the experiment is that one of my adorable, favorite juice glasses now has a blue glass ice cube lodged inside it.

Glass ice cubes look like this, but they don't melt and this one is lodged in an adorable cherry juice glass--one of a matching set, now relegated to the back of the cupboard

I’ve tried to remove the cube. Yes, I've tried knives. Scotch. Running cold water on it, hoping to chill the cube enough to shrink it so it would slide free. No such luck.

According to a Reader’s Digest article,  “Stuck glasses will separate with ease if you squirt some WD-40 on them, wait a few seconds for it to work its way between the glasses, and then gently pull the glasses apart.”

When next I’m in WHB, I could give it a try . . .  

Uh oh. . . hang on. That’s how mistakes happen. Breakage. Damage. Possible injury. 

Do I really want to try?

Try, doesn’t mean succeed. . .

Try could lead to fail. . . .

Try could turn out to be a MISTAKE. . .

Consider son Max, then college student’s, attempt to concoct a high-test frat bathroom cleaning product. He tried mixing bleach with ammonia. That experiment ended in a trip to the hospital emergency room and destruction of who knows how many brain cells. Max counts it as a “partial success” as his potentially fatal mistake did save him from more bathroom cleaning. . .

Mistakes. Misses. “F-2” “Missed my Battle Ship” 

Frustrating, embarrassing, harmful, sometimes lethal “miss takes.” 

Safer to stick with the known. If life is good, why rock the boat? Why tempt fate?

“ . . . if you’re making mistakes . . . you’re Doing Something.”

Gaiman went on to add a note to the quote:

"Happy New Year! What kind of mistakes are you looking forward to making in 2014?"

Gaiman’s writing is so varied: CORALINE, THE GRAVEYARD BOOK, CHU'S DAY, THE DANGEROUS ALPHABET, ANANSI WARS. . . It seems he’ll try anything.  

Was Coraline a mistake? If it was a mistake, it’s one that went horribly right for readers and reviewers. Reading it certainly was one of mine. It creeped me right out, then held me spellbound until I finished…

Paul Fleischman is another writer who likes to try new literary forms. He's recently adapted SEEDFOLK for the stage. 

SEEDFOLKS, a collection of linked short stories--one of my favorites for any age, read aloud to adults!

At an SCBWI conference Fleischman admitted to attendees how his “tries” don’t always work. Mistakes maybe, but never a waste of time. For him, trying new things is what keeps writing interesting.

. . . INTERESTING . . .

In words from one of my fav songwriters, Mary Chapin Carpenter, from I Take My Chances:

Now some people say that you shouldn't tempt fate/And for them I would not disagree/But I never learned nothing from playing it safe/I say fate should not tempt me.

Today, soon after I click “post”, I’ll play that song again, for inspiration. Make that my battle cry of 2014. 

Then, I’ll get to work sweeping out some crumbs of my “play-safe days” to make room in this brand new shining year with New! New! New Attitude.  (And give a shout to the Patti LaBelle while I'm at it.)

I take my chances, I don't mind working without a net/
I take my chances, I take my chances every chance I get . . . 

Take one. Take Two. ACTION!                         

 . . . YES, IT MIGHT BE A MISTAKE . . .  

It's a New Year!  

 "What kind of mistakes are you looking forward to making in 2014?"

(I’ll let you know if the blue glass cube rescue operation works, AND MORE!)

Count Down to Christmas with Not-Your-Ordinary Christmas Books

Radios are counting-down to Christmas by playing 30 days of Christmas-ish Songs (In Trinidad make that 100 days...who knew there were sooooooo many).

TV stations are playing 25 days of Christmas-ish Movies.  

I'm joining the festivities with a count-down of my own: 12 Days of Christmas-ish Children's Books, with a twist! I'm listing all 12 now so you can:

• Read one a Day . . . 12 in one day . . . or all 12 every day!
• Buy one--or all 12--for tots on your list!
• Use my list to bring to inspire you to pull your favs off the shelves!

Co-written by Cynthia and Greg Leitich Smith, art by Steve Borkman
 

#12: NAUGHTY!  Alfie F. Snorklepuss doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, and he’s being a real pest about it. Cranky Alfie is everywhere—on TV, in the newspapers, over the radio—telling boys and girls what he thinks is the truth. Then, one Christmas Eve, the man in red himself packs up Alfie and brings him to the North Pole for an attitude adjustment, Santa-style.

Brand new from Anne Broyles, art by KE Lewis

#11: FOLKTALE-LY: It's time for Arturo and his Central American grandmother, Abue Rosa, to decorate their Christmas tree. Abue Rosa shares with him the family history of each ornament as it is hung. But what happens when Arturo plays with-and breaks-a glass bird?

by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel, art by HB Lewis

#10 FRIENDLY: Each year at Christmas, Joe writes a letter to Santa. But they've had a few misunderstandings in the past. Last year, for example, Joe wanted a fire-engine-red racecar with retracting headlights, and he did get one — but it was only three inches long. So this year Joe is really, really careful. He describes exactly what he wants — and on Christmas morning, guess what's waiting for him under the tree!

By Laura Leuck, art by Gris Grimly

#9 MONSTERLY: Mack and Zack are getting ready for Christmas, hanging up their smelly socks and blistertoe, decorating their dead pine tree, making poisonberry pies. Here in the rollicking rhyme of Laura Leuck and the gruesomely silly illustrations of Gris Grimly, is a truly memorable Christmas tale.

by Kandy Radzinsky
 

The 1st was so popular, Kandy followed up with the collection of Cat letters to Santa.

#8 CATISHLY: A cat-happy twist on the traditional English Christmas song for hard-core feline fanciers of any age. . . . they'll appreciate Radzinski's solemn, admiring paintings of her subjects, each whisker heroically articulated, and her settings (the sleeping twosome curl up prettily in a basket with a Christmas quilt, six cats a-playing are decorously entangled with ribbon and gift wrap).

Leave it to Bob Shea!

#7 PREHISTORICALLY: Dinosaur is getting ready for Santa! He tackles many challenges--decorating, making presents for Mom and Dad, trying not to be naughty--and defeats each one with his trademark ROAR! But on Christmas Eve, when he hears some rustling downstairs, he can't resist a peek. Will our feisty red friend meet his match in the man in the red suit?

Richard Paul Evans originally wrote this as a gift for his family members. After sharing it with your family, try creating a story of your own? Maybe your young artists can illustrate it?

#6 WARMHEARTEDLY: Rick, Keri, and their 4-year-old daughter, Jenna, are hired as caretakers and are welcomed into the home of Mary, an ailing widow, just in time for the holidays. Before long, it becomes apparent that Mary cherishes their companionship, and this young family begins to understand that their relationship to Mary is more special than any one of them could have realized. These tender relationships, fraught with real-life struggles, are the backdrop for unraveling a mysterious secret that gently propels the reader through this short story.

Eve Bunting and David Diaz are an incredible author-illustrator duo. Warning: this story will make all y'all think differently about homeless people. CAUTION: could prompt spontaneous giving . . .

#5 THOUGHTFULLY: Simon and his mom don't have much--the cardboard house they built for themselves, a tiny Christmas tree, and a picture of an angel pinned to one wall. On Christmas Eve they take in a frail stranger who needs a place to keep warm, and the next morning Simon wakes early to find that the woman has vanished. Instead, he sees December, the angel from the picture, with her wings fanned out over their cardboard house. Could she be real?

Story and Art by Chris Van Allsberg

Watch the movie, too! Tom Hanks is the conductor/dad!

#4 MAGICALLY: The tale of a young boy lying awake on Christmas Eve only to have Santa Claus sweep by and take him on a trip with other children to the North Pole

By Eve Bunting, art by David Diaz. These two make an amazing team!

#3 POINGNANTLY: Christmas is coming and Carlos and his family are going home-driving south across the border to Mexico. But Mexico doesn't seem like home to Carlos, even though he and his sisters were born there. Can home be a place you don't really remember?

I love you, Little Cindy Lu Who!

#2 Susically: "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch" and oh how we love you! Gotta read it every year. Gotta watch the movie, too--two times, maybe more, sing all the songs, feel that heart grow three sizes . . .

Leave it to Chronicle Books to sell personalized versions! Here's the link:http://www.chroniclebooks.com/mynightbeforexmas/?utm_source=PPC101G-MCB&gclid=CPm3kPW8ursCFUcaOgodrX0Abg

Robert Sabuda's Pop-Up version

#1: TRADITIONALLY: Thanks to Clement Moore for T'was The Night Before Christmas . . . or Henry Livingston, whichever actually wrote the story of Santa's stop one Christmas eve. poem. (A mock trail was even held to determine the true author.) Once a season, at least, this book needs to be read. Which version? You're choice. This classic Christmas poem has been retold in scads of different versions: Cajun, Golden Book, Cowboy, Cat, Thomas the Tank, even Pop Up . . . Call in "Henry's revenge" that royalties for all these go not to Clement Moore's heirs, but to the retellers.

We've come to the end of my counting down to Christmas: 12 Days of Christmas-ish Children's Books List. I hope you'll have as much fun reading through the season as I have!

• Please add to the list by sharing your favorites. Help build the list to 25 days of Christmas-ish reads, and onto 100!  (Post suggestions in the "comments" section! Curious minds want to know.)

Finding My Way Back

The reality of what I was doing didn’t dawn on me until I was winding my way down the California Coast, in pitch black, with no wireless connection, hence no Google map on my phone to guide me.

A book about a girl who’d returned to her home in Carmel by the Sea after her father’s death, inspired me to try being a writer in the first place. I’d read it while, like the heroine, I was back home at my grandparent's house in Watsonville, facing major life changes/decisions.

Nanny & Poppy's house now, Dec 2013, looks pretty much the same as it did back then. Except that the fountain stands where my loquat tree once did

That life-changing book isn't  in any literary cannon.  It was an inexpensive, paperback Harlequin Romance with a man & woman embracing on the cover.

Young, broke, plain but interesting girl moves somewhere exotic for a job, meets older, rich, handsome arrogant hottie and--in spite of a gorgeous, sophisticated, worldly heiress set on snagging the hottie--wins his heart. What's not to love about that kind of romance?

My friend Theresa's mom (with her hair set in pin-curls, which she'd take out just before five when her husband return home from work) would drive us to the library where "checking out" Harlequin Romance's meant filling a grocery sack with all the titles we didn't think we'd read before, taking them home and reading one in an afternoon while Elton, Rod or Bread played in the background.

To admit I have forgotten the title, is not to say I have, or will ever forget that book. It made me who I. . . was.

And now, some 28 years later I’m retracing my steps so to speak. And this time, I’ve traveled even farther distance-wise, if not time-wise. My last trip back to find myself had been via car, with 2 small children in tow—a much weightier journey on so many levels.

To get to where I am now, on the eve of the Big Sur Writing Workshop, I flew from Port of Spain to Houston to San Francisco and drove the 137, 3-hour trip down. I could have flown into Monterey Airport instead. That drive would have been less than an hour. And—or is it “but”—

 . . . I would have skipped the drive down highway 101 through San Jose to Gilroy and up and over Hecker Pass to Watsonville.

View of Watsonville and the Pacific from the top of Hecker Pass

When I was a kid, the twisty-turney, bumpy, hot drive over Hecker Pass made me queasy. Subconciously, is that what drove me to drive it this time? Is this part of my Hero’s Journey?  Is making the drive without urping one of my quests?

If I had flown into Monterey instead of San Francisco, I wouldn't have had an opportunity to stop in Watsonville to check out the town, drive past my grandparent's house on Oregon Street and peek over the fence, past my Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Joe's house in the next block, or The Miramar--my mom's favorite place to eat back in the day (best garlic bread and mastaccioli in the whole world)--or drive through the old shopping center, with The Coffee Shop, where we’d go for lunch at least once a week, and Bud’s Barber Shop, where my brother Joe, and later my boy Max, got the “traditional boy cut” and a sucker. Or the Elks Lodge where we’d go for the Friday Night Fish Fry, and to the cemetery to visit my grandparents.

It took me way too long to find my grandparent's graves. I said hello and spent some time wondering and feeling grateful that someone had left Nanny flowers. But what about Poppy? Where were his?

 . . . Or have dinner with my cousins Jodi and Amy until Sunday night after the Workshop.

Last Saturday, rain and more rain, kept Curtis and I from our regular walk. Instead we watched movies. One was Music and Lyrics with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore.

Through the course of the movie, Grant & Barrymore's characters try to write a song entitled “Way Back Into Love” which Grant hopes, will be his way back into a music career.

Pressfield suggests that’s what many of us "Artist Types" do when we are near our goal. We screw up.

In WAR of ART, Steven Pressfield draws attention to THE ODYSSEY how, when Homer was within sight of the shore—of home—rather than remaining vigilant, got lazy, cocky, and went to sleep. While he slept, his crew, believing his bag was full of treasure, untied it and released the unfavorable winds.

. . . If I hadn't stopped for dinner I wouldn't have been driving south on Highway One at close to 9pm, even though the instructions to the Workshop and Big Sur Lodge clearly stated the park closed at 9pm. 

 . . . I would not have been driving in the pitch black of night on that narrow, windy, empty highway winding down the coast, not sure where I was going or how much longer it would take me to get there.

“



We’re always attracted to the edges of what we are, out by the edges where it’s a little raw and nervy.”

— E.L. Doctrow

“





Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you’re doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
”

— for this and more Doctorow-isms go to http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/e_l_doctorow.html

I signed up for the Big Sur Workshop quite a while back. Back when I thought I was staying the course.

Did I subconsciously know  I had strayed far, super far, and finding my way back wouldn’t be so easy?

E.L. Doctrow's words about being a write came to me as I wound my way down PCH: "It's like driving a car at night in the fog. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

I Made It!!!!

An Anthor's Fear . . .

If a tree falls in the forest and noone is near, does it make a sound?

The question was first posed by Philosopher  George Berkeley, in A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (pub. 1710). Here's the passage "But, say you, surely there is nothing easier than for me to imagine trees, for instance, in a park [...] and nobody by to perceive them. [...] 

Help! I'm falling and I can't get up . . . 

In June 1883, in the magazineThe Chautauquan, the question was posed, "If a tree were to fall on an island where there were no human beings would there be any sound?"

The question was answered with an emphatic NO!

 "Sound is the sensation excited in the ear when the air or other medium is set in motion."[3] . In other words, if there is no ear near to hear it, there is no sound. 

If a book is published and nobody reads it? Then it is no book. 

Spoken or not, this is every author's fear. And we are a fearful lot: 

         First,  we fear we won't be able to tell our story . . . 

         Then,  we fear our story will never be published . . . 

         After, we fear no one will want to read our book. . .  

And in-between, before and after there are a byzillion other smaller fears... (Is it any wonder so many notable authors, as Mr. Bojangles put it,  "drinks a bit"?)

They make housecalls . . . 

That's why I did it--4 am wake-ups, 3 flights, 6 hours drive--Why I went to Fenton, MO, where, thanks to Deborah, the Barnes and Noble Community Relation's Rep, and Rebecca Grose, my publicist, visited 6 schools, gave 6 school and 2 store presentations, to read. Read it I did. I read VAMPIRE BABY at least a dozen times, and NOT NORMAN, A Goldfish Story, too! 

What ohhhh, what a joyful time it was! 

Gretchen, the brand new Guffey Elem librarian, came by the store after work just to scoop up copies for her library!

Angie and "Granny from Philly" brought the triplets, Jacob, Ryan & Kevin, by for Storytime (and Granny asked where I got my hair cut, but didn't think it was worth the trip to my Trini hairdresser, Helen...)

Mrs. O, the Trautwein Elem librarian broadcast the program and answers to their most excellent questions throughout the school. I've met David Shannon...does that count??? And yes, it really did take me 2 years to write that book with just those many words...

B&N Children's Section welcome

What these pictures don't show is a couple hundred K-2nd graders, in all manner of costume and hair-do, eyes bright, shaking their fingers and shouting out "NO BITE!"

Music to my fearful author's ears!

The "I VANT MY VAMPIRE BABY" Contest begins Oct. 15. Enter to win!

Link: http://kellybennett.com/blog/2013/10/i-vant-my-vampire-baby-contest-details

Battling the Buts

When my friend Teri was in Paris, a few years back,  I went to visit her. One day she came home all a-twitter. She had been invited to a party by a guy she had seen, often, at an internet cafe. (A handsome, Frenchman).

Later, she and I, her brother Anthony and a guy friend of his, discussed whether she should go to the party or not:

"But . . . do you think he really meant to invite me?" she said. "Maybe he was just being nice . . . "

"Did he look at you?" Anthony and friend asked.

"Yes."

"Then he's interested."

"But . . .

"Did he smile at you?" Anthony and friend asked.

"Yes."

"Then he's interested."

"But . . .

"Did he talk to you you?" Anthony and friend asked.

"Yes."

"Then he's interested. . . . GO TO THE PARTY!!!!"

It's the same with writing, or any creative, non time-card activity. When it comes to our definition of "working" or not, we go all middle-grade and dismiss all that goes into the process with that 3-letter word: "But . .. that doesn't count... "But . .. I'm not really...

To counteract those insecure boogies, I've created this litmus test. (I've used "writing" as my creative endeavor. Substitute yours for it.) Then print it out and post it prominently. The next time buts get the better of you, give yourself the test.

Am I Writing?

Are you thinking about your story?

You're writing!

Are you doing research for your story?

You're writing!

Are you reading words written by other writers, especially those you admire...or not?

You're writing!

Have you written words today? A grocery list? An email? Notes for your story? ...any at all?

YOU ARE A WORKING WRITER!!!!!!! 

--Read. Respond. When in doubt, repeat. Repeat as needed.