Pulitzer for The National Enquirer?

The long-scorned tabloid, The National Enquirer, is reportedly in the running for a Pulitzer prize. The Pulitzer folks have allowed them into the race, submitting the stories that broke the John Edwards story. (This news was broken by the Huffington Post and then reported in The New York Times, and of course The Enquirer.)

The Enquirer deserves to win, and not just because it's thrilling to see an underdog rise to fame. They did an extraordinary job of reporting and I'm glad to see prejudices and outdated images of the publication give way to recognizing this excellent newspaper work.

Bold updated admission of my own: I have a glance at the Enquirer website most every day I'm at a computer.

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"Presto Book-O"

Steve Almond, the guy who wrote Candyfreak (and how could a true candy freak be anything but virtuous and wholesome?), has an interesting piece on The Rumpus about self-publishing a book of one-page pieces that he couldn't rouse a lot of industry interest in.

What he's doing is mainly selling it through his readings,making it a rare and thus-to-be-cherished item.

It's not my ambition to proceed this way, and it's not his only outlet. He has a book coming out through Random House. Nonetheless, I like his innovation and his cheeky style and wish him well with This Won't Take But a Minute, Honey.

Thanks to Mary Moore for the heads-up on this. I welcome stories of inspiring boldness, in small matters and large -- please let me know when you have one to pass on.

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Il Fuoco Nelle Vene

Flipping through an old Allure magazine a few nights ago (I'm into Old Allure), I came across a breakout quote that seized my attention: "...il fuoco nelle vene....) which means "fire in the veins" and refers to living with passion.

The story was about the style of Italian women, at least some of the more flamboyant ones. The writer adopted that style and found it liberating and pretty thrilling to be mistaken as Italian.

I found interesting the responses of a few other online personalities to this quote:

It's Q's World says the phrase is "... an Italian expression for women carrying on in an over the top way (more referring to a Gaudy look, obvious makeup, extra jewelry buxom big hair , and I truly I do feel I'm living like that, well that and my Tits Out, big Heels, lots of gloss and eyebrows and legs out approach to life, with Fire in the Veins, is what the Italos call it, I need more eyeliner in my life to finish pulling the look But I'm almost there!"

Fuck Yeah, Tattoos!: shows the phrase wrapping in elegant cursive around a bare midriff.

Actor-singer Demi Lovato on CelebrityTweet: "So, blood is fire pulsing through our veins.. We're either writers or fools behind the reigns..."

Erin Ashley has posted a painting of hers on the theme: "The Italians have a name for their rapturous approach to life: Fuoco nelle vene."

One blogger admired the philosophy and its "rupturous approach to life."

I have a more subdued approach myself, not so rupturous as some of these. Even so, the fire-in-the-veins image and the very sound of the Italian phrase feels pleasingly intoxicating.

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A Daring Writer Reads in Raleigh

At the admirable Quail Ridge Books at 7:30 tomorrow (Thursday) night, Joe Ashby Porter will read from his new book of short stories, All Aboard.

A Shakespeare scholar and teacher of creative writing at Duke University, Porter has earned many awards for his work, including an Academy Award from the Academy of Arts and Literature, with the commendation: "No writer of his gifted generation has shown greater daring or has earned higher praise."

And from the Quail Ridge description of All Aboard: "Porter ventures into new, sometimes unprecedented territory, from the luxe restraint of 'Merrymount,' through the stops-out eroticism of 'Pending,' to the distilled heebie-jeebies of 'Dream On.' Here, reading, travel, and sexual orientation (and disorientation) loom larger than before in Porter, and the dialogue gives new play for what Harry Mathews has called Porter's 'golden ear.'"

Do come if you're in the neighborhood.

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A Magic Cottage in a Coastal Village

My inventive and creative brother Franc Payne has taken a little old house on Core Sound, behind the North Carolina Outer Banks, and turned it into a magic cottage with big screened porches. He did it himself on weekends over a couple of years.


















It's delightful (I painted a couple of doors myself) and situated in the town of Atlantic, which is a village a lot like Ocracoke was many years ago.

Should you be in the market for a magic cottage in a coastal village, this one's for sale at $189,000. Contact: Franc.Payne@ForTheBestRate.com





Even the facilities are charmant.

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Behind the Refrigerator

An event high on my scale of domestic boldness: this afternoon Husband Bob and I moved our fridge and cleaned the coils in the back in the hopes that this will take care of a popsicle crisis.

I am devoted to consuming coconut popsicles (up to three a day) of the Whole Foods house brand called 365. Lately these personally important items have been getting melty in our freezer.

Before tackling the fridge coils, I tried a different experiment. Two weeks ago, when there was snow here, I buried a popsicle in snow. My fallacious logic was that the snow was frozen and would therefore refreeze the popsicle into a solid item.

Not so. What I dug up was a sack of unappetizing milky liquid.

So I did some Internet research and learned that the problem might be dusty coils. For a person who doesn't dust things that are in easy reach, this is large.

Also, we live in a semi-old log house with two mastiffs. The layers of dust on the floor behind the fridge had to be scraped loose with a sharp object.

I'm eager to see if this cleaning thing works. Will report. If it does, it could encourage further domestic boldness.

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The Bad News, The Good News

A radically mixed day: two pieces of bad news and one piece of good news. All coming from different directions and none of them my story to tell. The bad news is about friends' very difficult situations.

So I have today the challenge of holding hot and cold in my hand at the same time. Dealing with each requires different strategies.

In practice, this adds up to flicking back and forth, back and forth, in my attention.

It also adds up to: very preoccupied. Tried to drive to the Post Office and passed it twice before I remembered to turn in. Keep staring at my laptop and waiting for it to do things I haven't told it to do.

I have to say that sadness is getting a whole lot more time. That and a feel of dislocation: shiftings just beneath the earth's crust.

I guess my plan is to keep on with the back-and-forth -- let it have its way -- and drive carefully.

--and then, of course, I googled and found an idea worth considering. I didn't agree with everything in this health blog post, but I did like the idea of focusing on feelings of love for all concerned.



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Wisdom from Mystic Pizza

As I've often mentioned here, I have a K&W cafeteria lunch once a month with half a dozen people with metaphysical interests: Mystic Pizza.

Today was the day and here's the report from the lunchtime mystics (three of whom are pictured below.)
*Instead of flight or fight in a moment of confrontation, try gently shifting your weight from side to side. One could consider this dodging. But in fact it's just giving yourself a bit of room and activity other than darting away or getting in someone's face.
*Things work out better if you let people do you favors and you pick up some of their slack. (Some of the assembled have a hard time with this in practice.)
*Tiny little barely-conscious thoughts can cause our intended actions to get hung up. Invite the thoughts to show themselves.
*Stay fluid.

Sounds more like a self-improvement, how-to-live group, I know. But the discussions included much about the mysteries of energy.

Mystics here with me at this shot at the K&W. Thomas Griggs, a leadership consultant, and Rolfer Marsha Presnell-Jennette. Photo by author, shaman, and computer person, Kelley Harrell.

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All Us Chickens

Just came from the final celebration of my 61st Jubilee. It was the winter-quarter birthday brunch of six buddies who have been celebrating our aging since most of us were in our twenties.

One gift I received was particularly bold and imaginative: fresh eggs from Stephanie's chickens. She keeps them in her mid-town backyard, as pets. I like that.

After all, where is it written that we should be limited to cats and dogs and ferrets and iguanas as animal companions?

She did have to re-home a rooster after it took to waking central Raleigh far too early. But otherwise, she's found them very good company, clucking and burbling and strutting around.

I learned this morning a few things about chicken care: mainly that it's important this time of year to make sure that they're combs don't get cold; they're prone to frostbite.

I'm tempted to knit a few hen hats for the next round of birthdays. But that might be sliding past bold to eccentric. Can't have that.

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The Fine Example of Lord Keillor of Wobegon

Last night Husband Bob and I went to see a live TV showing of Prairie Home Companion at a local movie theatre: a perfect celebration of Bob's 68th birthday yesterday.

It was sublimely good and completely heart-warming: a winning combo that Garrison Keillor produces weekly without fail.

Here's why I mention him again on a blog broadly devoted to boldness and marching to your own drummer, artistic and otherwise. GK has made an immense success and ongoing contribution based on an idea that at first probably didn't sound like a sure-fire national hit. Think about it: a two hour radio show about an imaginary Minnesota town, two cowboys, a lovelorn private eye, ketchup, duct tape, and hopeful gospel music. A show based on one sorta odd guy being relentlessly himself. I'd hate to have to pitch it in a meeting.

And I'm continuously inspired as well as delighted by both the show and the example.

Encore performance of the HDTV showing: Feb. 9 at a theatre reasonably near you.

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Dabbling in Retail

Recently I decided to sell some clothes on consignment. In the past I've taken my physically or emotionally outgrown items to the Goodwill. This new possibility felt to me a small enticing adventure. I grew up in the midst of the clothing business. My parents owned stores in Wilmington, NC. And I feel I know a tiny bit about merchandising.

Well, dammit. Neither consignment store I tried wanted a single piece. One place said that my items were "too matoo-ah." The girl there pointed out that their target audience is high school girls. It is true that I'm 61, but my husband thinks I dress like a high school girl.

So I went to a consignment store for classic clothes, thinking surely they'd like my tastefully mature collection. There, I was given no reason for the total rejection, and didn't ask for one. Apparently I'm neither a high school girl nor a classic.

Next stop is either the back door loading dock of the Goodwill-- or Sotheby's. I'll show 'em.

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The Driving Decision

Still snowy here in the unaccustomed South, and we each have to make the decision about when it's safe to drive. It varies, of course, with the vehicle and the address.

To get from my house to a paved and cleared road, requires covering the long downhill curving driveway with woods on either side, followed by a hard right onto a second dirt road. Should one slide straight across this fork while trying to turn, one enters the woods airborne and enjoys a three to four foot drop when a tree finally intervenes.

The second dirt road leads across a curving dam with a pond on one side and drop-with-creek-and-woods-at-the-bottom on the other.

Next is the winding uphill for another half mile, followed by a turn onto a paved-but-not-scraped lane, and then a three mile paved-but-not-scraped country highway.

I've never gotten around to getting a four-wheel drive -- it freezes here so rarely -- so it's just me and the dainty floral Carmella Camry making this trip. I take a fairly conservative approach. Not what anyone would call bold.

As usual, I consider this minor matter a metaphor for larger decisions. At what point, does cabin fever trump risk? When do the risks outweigh the gains? Well, it's almost never clear. So we just decide and act and, ideally, don't look back.

It's the hidden boldness of daily life, these little decisions.

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My Snow Experiment

We have the rare pleasure here of snow these last few days. It was two and a half days before I could get from our house on a hilly dirt road through woods to the main road. So I've had a cosy few days, with a little cross-country skiing, up until the bindings broke on one of my 20 year old skis.

Seeking other ways to play in the snow, I hit upon my experiment. I decided to do the garden fertilizing I'd neglected to do in October, figuring that the slow melt of the snow would remove any need to water.

This isn't the right time of year, and some of this fertilizer is the weekly type, some the acid type, and some is the kind that burns if it isn't watered enough.

We'll see how it goes in the spring, if I remember what I put where. This is what I mean when I say in my website bio that I'm a slapdash gardener. Given my approach, I think it's bold of me to keep at it at all.

But I've always felt that anything worth doing was worth doing badly. Otherwise, how would we ever get started at anything new?

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The Kaizen Way

This afternoon I heard for the first time about how a Japanese business management technique can be usefully adapted to making positive changes in one's life.

Like lightning, I rushed to Google this new word: kaizen.

The basic idea, as explained in One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way by Robert Maurer, is to make improvements in such tiny increments that resistance doesn't bother to kick in.

I love this idea. It could explain the ancient puzzle described by Paul in Romans 7:19 "the good I would do, I do not." I've never understood why it was often difficult and sometimes apparently impossible for me to do the "good I would do."

If I make too large a resolution, fight or flight kicks in and wins. Nothing changes.

Here's the story of a man who tried this approach and found it gradually and easily quite successful: How to Overcome Hesitation, Fear, and Laziness to Achieve Your Goals.

I have had an idea that the minimal approach works with writing: I'm ever suggesting to clients and workshop participants that they make a commitment of, say, 5 minutes a day. Nobody fights writing for 5 minutes, and once you've begun you tend to keep going on a lot of days. And even doing things 5 minutes at a time, they eventually get done.

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Before There Was AVATAR

If you're needing an inspiring role model, read the Wired Magazine career history of Avatar director James Cameron. What a combo of persistence, courage, and inventiveness! But to make that feel real and encouraging, I always need to know the details.

Thirty-three years ago, he was a young truck driver who went to see Star Wars and came out angry that he hadn't made the movie. So he raised $20,000 from some dentists to make a sci-fi short, that then led him to the next step...and some of the steps from there to Terminator to Titanic to Avatar have not been so easy.

I'm impressed that he didn't let his imagination shut down when immense amounts of money were riding on a project and things weren't going well. That's some grace under pressure.

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Self-Defeating Thoughts 4

Okay, it's Monday at the office, time: 7:36 p.m. I haven't had a self-defeating thought all day. Not one.

Maybe it's not just work that keeps them at bay. Maybe it's concentration, a strong focus.

But I can't be this focused all the time. Obviously I need a leisure time strategy as well. Will ponder this. Am open to ideas that might be of use to me and other readers.

I do know that substituting a positive thought works some of the time. Maybe that practice could take hold and start to happen automatically.

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How to Save the World

Turning through an old issue of Metropolis magazine -- "Architecture*Culture*Design-- last night, I came across an interview with a wise furniture designer, Bertjan Pot. He said this:

"I think the best thing you can give to the world is the thing you do best. And if that is making pretty tables, then let it be pretty tables."


And welcome to new regular here, Ketchup.

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Self Defeating Thoughts 3

It's the first weekend since I've been writing down self-defeating thoughts--as a way to get rid of them. This process of "therapeutic homework" continues to be an education.

Obviously, I don't have a big enough sample to claim I've discovered a pattern. But I do notice that I've written down many more of them today Saturday --and it's only 4 o'clock--than in several weekdays combined. What's different: I'm not at work today. I'm guessing that without the tight focus of work my mind can stir up more trouble. (And I just recently ran across the term "leisure illness," referring to getting headaches, colds, etc., on taking time off.)

What also interests me is the fact that I'm having a good day. If I weren't keeping tabs, I'd barely have registered most of the bits of self-sabotage. But I suspect that they have a cumulative effect anyway.

Another finding that surprises me: these thoughts are very diverse. Ranging from telling myself that I won't get a grant I've applied for, to remembering saying the wrong thing to someone about 15 years ago, to grandiose expectations of myself and what I should be doing. Also, a couple of times I've imagined someone doing something to make me mad, and then had an imaginary argument about it, the entire scenario a fabrication. I have to ask myself why I would take the trouble to manufacture that last one.

Just had another S.D. Thought--"What am I doing blogging about my mental health when I should be helping Haitians?"

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Self-Defeating Thoughts 2

Yesterday I mentioned that I had begun writing down my self-defeating thoughts and finding that the process of watching for them seemed to make them occur a great deal less-- in fact, hardly at all.

Important addendum: this morning I worked steadily through my forty-some e-mails with no procrastinating at all about the more complicated ones. This is seriously unusual. I think there's a connection.

My psychologist husband suggested to me a while back that I write down my obsessive thoughts. My reaction: omigod, I'd be doing nothing but writing repeating thoughts. I didn't even try it. Clearly, I should have.

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Self-Defeating Thoughts

Tuesday morning my shrink suggested I write down any self-defeating thoughts I have in the course of the day. I can't honestly say that I've had any since then. That's three days without. I'm impressed. Who knew a cure could be so easy? Try it. And, if you will, share how it works for you.

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