Chasing Updike

My one meeting, some years ago, with my hero John Updike involved a very small bit of boldness, which turned out well in its modest way. It took place not long after my first novel Revelation had come out. I wrote about the incident at the time for a Research Triangle newspaper. I'm "the local novelist" of the story. Here it is, in memory of an extraordinary writer who died last week:


Author Mobbed, Politely

The afternoon book signing had been underway for twenty-five minutes, and the line was now stretched, more than two hundred strong, from the deep recesses of Duke's Gothic Bookshop across the wide traffic area inside the Bryan Student Center.

Seated in the back of the store was the focus of this throng, John Updike, signing copies of his books.

As the line moved slowly into the store, a local novelist, proud author of one published book, arrived to take her place in the waiting crowd. Ten minutes passed before the line appeared to move at all.

People waited quietly, many of them reading. The line inched forward as Updike fans continued to arrive, some with big sacks of his books. The local novelist carried in her stack a copy of her own book to give to her longtime hero. She and Updike were inextricably linked, she knew: Her own writing had been compared with his in many of her book's reviews.

An hour passed. People began to check their watches more often. The glass doors of the store were still several feet away.

A store official came out and warned: He probably won't get to you. More than one hundred remained, politely refusing to hear any such thing.

The local novelist did make it through the doors. Updike was in clear view now, his famous beak of a nose and his great pile of silver hair. Then, as those nearest watched, Updike stood up and left, vanished out the back door.

The local novelist turned to find that behind her was an equally disappointed local poet who had brought a volume of his own to offer as a gift.

The crowd broke for dinner, then reassembled later in front of Page Auditorium, to wait an hour to get good seats for the reading.

Updike read and talked to a crowded house. He was witty, hyperintelligent, genuine--everything that the assembled body had come to hear. Then he finished and left the stage. Again the chance to meet him had passed--until one student raced up onto the stage and back into the wings and was quickly followed by dozens more.

Good-humoredly, Updike started signing books again. Again the line moved slowly. Finally the local novelist stood before the long-awaited Updike--just as a student official interrupted, saying, "I'm sorry. We have to clear the stage."

The local novelist, about to miss out the second time, was suddenly wild-eyed. She shoved her book at the surprised Updike with both hands. "Here," she said. "This is a present. I wrote this."

Updike stared for a moment and blinked. "Follow me," he said.

"Keep your place in line," he called out to the whole crowd, "and follow me."

Single file then, Pied Piper-style, he led several dozen people in a circuitous route, out through the wings, down the flight of steps, out of the auditorium, across a stretch of campus, back into the student center. The line followed him faithfully as he searched for a place to sit.

Then the line waited again. Updike signed more books. He accepted the book, finally, from the local novelist, who forgot to mention their intertwined fates. He accepted the volume of verse from the poet. At 10 p.m. the crowd dispersed for the last time, six hours after it had begun to form. Fans of a different sort might have rioted. But for these New Yorker-reading groupies, gathered to honor a novelist of marriage, manners, and morals, a ruckus like that never would have done.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Self-Doubt in the Great

Recently, in discussing the writer's self-doubt in the comments with writer Greta, I speculated that even my hero the recently passed John Updike probably had such moments.

In one of the tributes to Updike in The New Yorker since, I found proof of this. In a letter to novelist E.L. Doctorow, Updike wrote that as a young man he was busily unfolding his own stories with techniques learned from others (which, may I say, he utterly transformed.) But, writing one day in his later years, he said: "now I am almost paralyzed by thinking of the great number of contemporary writers who know things I don’t know and can do things I can’t."

Doctorow's comment: "The self doubt of this prodigious talent moved the hell out of me."

But he wasn't paralyzed. He kept writing and publishing. He kept at it, in spite of any wobbles.

(Tomorrow: a piece I wrote years ago about my one encounter with Updike.)



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Getting Up the Nerve to Be Genuine

I've just come from my friend Laurel's 70th birthday brunch, held by the members of her Thursday afternoon writer's class/group, which I have been a member of for 26 years.

In advance of the day, we put together a small album in which we each had six pages to use as we wish to express our appreciation to her. As I said in this book, these kinds of productions make me nervous. Too much untempered emotion, I suppose. But I got into it. We all did. She was overwhelmed. It was very satisfying for everyone involved.

Regularly and easily expressing emotion of the warm fuzzy kind-- for me that would be truly bold. What takes courage is so different for each of us. I tell myself that when I see someone go bonkers over a spider.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The Importance of Sweating the Small Stuff

Response to my Wednesday's post about dealing with a Blue Cross coverage malfunction leads me to impassionedly say more.

The ideas a couple of people expressed -- which I welcome! -- include the view that others are worse off, I shouldn't sweat the small stuff, and that I think about what Gandhi would do .

Yes, there are people horrifically worse off. My difficulty is minor. I agree.

And that is why it's important for me to speak and act. I do a disservice to many if I take the easier route and become one more person who doesn't go to the trouble of protesting when a big company doesn't do right by an individual.

It's only the well-off who can afford to blow off the loss of $200. And only the well-off can afford to say, "This won't do. It has to stop." If I, with my advantages, look the other way (which is so tempting) I will have failed myself. And failed anyone else whom my taking action might have helped.

About Gandhi. I think of him often. He's the guy who said it's each person's responsibility to refuse to cooperate in his own oppression. Noncooperation was his chief alternative to violence. And he dealt with the little injustices (problems with salt) as well as the large. Little things ignored grow large, particularly as they multiply across a population.

My philosophy for myself is: sweat and don't fret. I write instead of fretting. Gandhi's version of that is to do the work full tilt and don't hang your peace of mind on the results. (And of course: breathe!)

I welcome and encourage your further thoughts here on this.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on get="_blank">Digg. Thanks so much.

My Little Health Insurance Hell: Part Two

So after my first efforts failed, I (boldly) talked with a Blue Cross rep by phone who kindly told me the name of a drugstore where I could get a vaccination that would be covered.

The next day I went to the drugstore. They give the anti-shingles shots, but said my insurance wouldn't cover it. I reported that I'd been told to come there specifically. The pharmacy man said Blue Cross is telling people that they can get the shots there, with coverage, but that BC hadn't yet given the store the infrastructure and info needed to do it.

He said people are coming to that store on a daily basis, expecting to get the vaccine with Blue Cross coverage, and then not being able to get that.

So, fuming in my car in the mall parking lot, I (boldly) called Blue Cross again and was told that all the info I'd received on the previous day about the drugstore was incorrect.

Now seethingly considering my next (bold) action.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Problem Solving

Lately I've been feeling indomitable in the matter of solving the kinds of little problems that often I'm tempted to let sit a few days. Like dealing with getting an acknowledgment of purchase for an order I'd just cancelled. Or finding someone to give me a vaccination in the manner that my insurance company requires. All those paperwork-y, this-is-not-what-we-agreed-on, 800-number type things.

And I've rediscovered (for the millionth time) that solving one such problem, even if the outcome isn't ideal, makes the next little project easier.

So I Googled "solving small problems" to see what others had to say. Some results, which I heartily endorse:


"Get control of the office by solving little problems quickly. Don't let little issues now turn into bigger ones later. Tackle them immediately for a sense of control."

"But avoiding them can leave you feeling like you have little control and that just adds to stress. ... Feeling capable of solving little problems builds the inner confidence to move on to life's bigger ones - and it and can serve you well in times of stress."

"Make it a goal to have at least one new idea everyday; this will get you to be more creative. Create your own mathematical or physical problems and try to solve them. Get in the habit of solving little problems all day, for instance finding the quickest way around town...."

Note: I don't need to create any more mathematical or physical problems. I'll bet you also have enough on hand to open up the creative channels and add muscle to your solving ability.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Dealing Boldly With Blue Cross

Oboy. Health insurance Catch-22,000.

Here's what I emailed to my friend Angela Friday when this happened:

"I ordered the $200 serum for the shingles vaccine after checking to see that it was covered. When I went to get it to take to my doc, the pharm. said they hadn't covered it because it had to be ordered by the doctor from the serum company not by prescription to be picked up by the patient.

So I left it at the drugstore and went to my doc's and they called BCBS and said our patients always get it at the drugstore. (According to the nurse,) BC said, well, that's changed now.

My doc's office continues to work on it.

So irksome. Driving around Cary all afternoon for nought. My mother had her shingles shot scheduled and woke up with shingles on the morning she was to get the shot. Bob pointed out to me that at least I wasn't dealing with insurance at the same time I was terribly sick. (Like Obama's mother. He has talked a lot about her spending her last months upset about insurance.)

Thank you for allowing me to vent."

Update: So this morning my doc called and said she doesn't order serum through her office. She did kindly offer to administer the shot at no charge, once I get the serum.

I have to pay the drugstore, because after having been told by BC that my policy covered it, I agreed to. (I'm not going to claim that my own policy toward paying bills has changed to not paying them, or now includes a disclaimer that says I don't have to if I don't want to.)

And now to discover my appeals possibilities, with BC BS and the Department of Insurance person.

I don't like this. And it's not right. Am all over it. (Meaning "in action," not "recovered.") Will keep you posted.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The Courage to Face the Times' Crossword Puzzle

Major bold move of this weekend so far: I bought a new crossword puzzle book, having done all I could with the last one. The ones I currently go for are the New York Times easy-to-hard collections. I once threw away an unfinished one that was all Sunday Times crosswords. (Times puzzles are easiest on Monday and get harder all week.)

Perhaps you are thinking that this doesn't seem like a bold move. But being a not-so-serious cruciverbalist can be humbling. It's like getting an achievement test score every day, when you took the test on not enough sleep.

I've been dabbling at it on and off for years and I've gotten somewhat better at it--can pretty well whip through Monday through Wednesday. And I remember the time when Monday was a test. Recently I read about a fellow who won't do the Mon-Wed puzzles because they're simply too easy for him to be engaging. I fancy myself fairly clever and well-read and up on cultural references (weak on rivers and athletes) but I may never get to that league.

Still,last night I sharpened my pencil once again. And there's little that's so delicious as a good pencil and a clean puzzle.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Between Semesters

Looks like I'm finished with a large writing project. There may be a few more details, but probably not much more than that.

I like the weightless feeling that getting something done gives me. On the other hand, this was extremely interesting: revising a book on a topic that fascinates me. I'll miss it.

But I haven't arrived at that mood yet: still in the weightless period, making calls I'd put off making, spending a little more time on my novel, doing smaller critiques, not rushing back from lunch, and feeling pleasantly open to surprises.

My horoscope today on Daily Om : "Feelings of boldness and a sense of self-assurance are your likely companions as you walk through life today." Yes, indeed!





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Bold Even in the Details

I was so happy with yesterday's inauguration, in large ways and small. I do feel that we begin fresh again, perhaps as we have never done before.

Here in central North Carolina, we woke up to see new fresh deep snow, as we've not seen here in quite a long while. Everything looked pristine.

And then I saw (on TV) the hundreds of thousands of flags waving on the Mall, and Obama himself, and the line-up of former presidents and defeated contenders gathered to witness the "peaceful transfer of power" and I felt a confidence in us that I haven't felt in a while.

I was also thrilled by one little detail. At the moment of word bumbling in the oath: Obama didn't get flustered! He didn't let a small problem lead to a bigger one. He was graceful and the awkward moment passed.

Hooray for a leader who can smoothly handle an awkward moment in front of a high percentage of the people in the planet -- and who also thinks straight and means well. This is the best combo I can imagine.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

V.S. Naipaul and M.L. King

Here it is MLK Day and I'm not at the march just down the street; instead I'm obsessed with V.S. Naipaul.

Now, Martin Luther King is one of the people I admire most in all of human history. Never has boldness been put to better use than in the creation of the nonviolent civil rights movement.

But this past week I've been obsessively reading The World Is What It Is, the biography of Nobel laureate writer Naipaul by Patrick French. Never have I been more engrossed in a book.

First, Naipaul is the author of one of my two favorite books, Enigma of Arrival, and I'm a devoted admirer of almost all of his work. I agree with the assessment of many that Naipaul is the best living writer of English, and an extremely perceptive observer of the world. From what I've read, I also agree with the assessment of many that he has been a world-class jerk to quite a number of people.

In my view, these two outstanding facets of the man neither excuse nor diminish each other. His work "is what it is," no matter what he has done otherwise. At the same time, the fact that his books are extraordinary, that he exerts a brilliant charm, does not make it okay to mistreat people, to act in a manner that has often seemed mean and petty and prejudiced and fiercely elitist. (When I described some of the incidents to Husband Bob, he summed up his response in an off-the-cuff couplet: "Don't mess/With V.S.")

But, as so many have been, I'm fascinated by the combo. Some would call it bold to be as unapologetically self-centered as his authorized biography shows him. I don't see it that way.

But his work is bold; it fits no categories, which is an enormous risk for a writer who wants to be published. His language and insight are of such quality that he got past that obstacle.

By contrast, Martin Luther King's view of people was bold. He wanted--and brought closer--justice and opportunity for "all of God's children."

(If Naipaul, a Trinidadian Indian, making his way alone and poor in London had not faced so much prejudice himself, he might have emerged more accepting.)

Both people have achieved something extraordinary and enduring. Neither was/is a perfect individual.(King appears to have been a less than ideal husband.) Tremendous achievement doesn't take away the less admirable aspects of a person. But when I'm feeling less than admirable, I find the example of landmark-achievement-by-flawed-human a good one to keep in mind.






If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

New Year's Resolution Update

Okay, it's only two weeks into the year, but anything after the first week can be a wobbly moment.

My resolution I summed up at the time as To Defuse the Resistance. And my plan of action was to meditate twice a day, ten minutes each. (explanation on earlier post.)
In short, meditation is to help me to get past the obstacles to where I want to be, on all fronts.

So far, I've been doing the meditating. That's big. And I actually got around to buying a kitchen timer last night. (I'd been peeking at the clock up til now.)

And I attribute to the meditating (and getting great feedback) the fact that I've had one significant breakthrough in revising my novel. I'm very happy about that.

On the other hand, I'm still deep into the sugar habit, Mickey D's Sweet Iced Tea and the birthday cakes in my freezer that I'm still methodically polishing off.

If I had to choose, I'd rather things go well with the novel, but the fact is, I could choose to well on both.

How's it going with any resolves or goals of yours?




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Bold Relationships

I have a box of quotes on my desk: the draw-one-a-day kind of collection. Today's card: "Courage opens the heart." I googled the sentence and found the source: Rob Kall, who has apparently given such matters a lot of thought.

Another of his I found particularly interesting is in the form of a question: "How much pleasure can you tolerate before you can't take it anymore?" The conventional wisdom is that we stick with what feels good, but it's not always true. The phrase "too rich for my blood" is often used to describe such situations. Maybe it's fear that comes from having something that we constantly fear losing.

I can remember romances in my single days that inspired that feeling; that it would be easier to be out of it than to feel that it might end any minute. Paradoxical, but that kind of thinking can really be tenacious.

I'm very happily (and intensely) married for 25 years now; it was several years into the marriage before I completely relaxed. Husband Bob kept saying, "Just take me for granted." He finally convinced me, or I finally believed him. I also feel that if he took off now, I'd already have had a bounteous share of happy marriage.

I think fully enjoying something is the antidote to the fear of it all ending, which, for some of us, takes practice.

(A psychologist friend Bryce Kaye has a chapter online from his book The Marital First Aid Kit on what he calls "hedonic inhibition" in relationships, about the inner stuff that gets in the way of having a whole lot of fun.)

(And thanks, Mamie, who is the source of the quote box, and author of the blog Can I Do It?)



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Ideal Self

It would be a bold undertaking indeed, to be one's ideal self for even an hour, much less regularly. The idea keeps coming up in my mind. When I want a behavior change, rewards usually work pretty well. But most rewards that interest me are not ideal, often involving too much sugar or cash. Ideally, being one's best would be its own reward. I've yet to have that work, maybe I haven't held out long enough.

I could start by figuring out exactly what this individual would look like. I know she would be less self-involved and more altruistic. I also know that I'm much more interested in getting into Barbie doll physical condition, which is not likely to happen, and a waste of time to attempt. (But doing it wouldn't rule out altruism; it's not either/or.) Obviously, my first bold step would be for my operating systems to get a clear idea of what my Real Best would be. Or maybe this is just procrastination, and I should go straight to work at a soup kitchen this minute, without much more than a glance in a mirror, or any further nattering over self-improvement.

Do you feel you're living at your potential much or most of the time? What does that mean? How'd you get there?



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Answering E-Mail -- All of It

Just caught up on e-mail completely. Even the ones that were harder to answer, or took time. (There's one pending that requires a piece of info I don't have yet, but that doesn't count.)

I consider this quite bold. Sometimes I'll open and close one a few times before answering it: not bold.

It feels invigorating to do these little things in an unhesitating way. And it's hard to remember that as the little things pile up.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Jury Duty!

We showed up at 9 a.m. at the courthouse, half a courtroom full of varied individuals. The man sitting beside me, Sean, was an art director maybe in his late 30s.

In front of me were two black women who seemed to know each other. A lot of men in shirtsleeves, not a single tie. One 65ish woman in a tres svelte suit and a killer good haircut. A tired-looking blonde girl within days of having a baby. A very tall lanky young fellow with a Dutch name several rows ahead. (I know his name because he was one of the nine mildly stunned when their names were drawn, not for the trial of the day, but for a year-long appointment to the Grand Jury which meets once a month.)

At about 11 a.m. we were dismissed for three hours for the court to do preliminary business. I worked on my novel--minor changes on hard copy in pen--first at the hip, granola-ish General Store Cafe (caramel apple cake and decaf) and then when the Council on Aging started pouring in for their lunch meeting, at Hardee's (medium-sized sweet iced tea, if you must know; could have done worse.)

At 2 p.m., we all returned and filled the pews again. All of us on time, nobody skipping town. The judge Narley Cashwell, who'd done an impressive job of being clear in his explanations without being condescending, then dismissed us. The defendant, charged with assaulting a policeman, possession of drugs, etc., had decided at lunch to plead guilty. The jury pool erupted in applause at the news.

While it was an interesting little adventure in, for me, a different town than usual, none of us really longed to be there, it seemed. We were all taking time away from something else.

My point: we have a bold system of government that relies on people showing up, I do know there'd be trouble for anyone who didn't, but trouble is not always a deterrent. Our system really does rely on any and every person. I know it makes mistakes, but still... It made me kinda proud to see it again, genuinely democratic, in action.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

A Second New Year's or First Day of School

I'm in organizational tying up loose-ends mode today. In a way that I wasn't when the year actually ended. Just finished the major part of a very large project, and have a moment to clear off both my desktops (virtual and physical) and create a little order. It's very satisfying. And I always resolve to keep another pile from forming, or at least keep it from getting this high. But then it happens again, and after a while I take care of all the little items again. That seems to be the natural order. There's a business organization guru I've read, David "Getting Things Done" Allen, who describes the process as ever starting over. That's its nature. It relaxes me to think of it that way, rather than in a once-and-for-all way, followed by oops-I-let-this-pile-up-happen-again.

And tomorrow I have jury duty.


If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Which Would Be the Bold, Brave, Right Decision?

I'm hooked on sweet fast-food iced tea. One large one a day.

It used to be two, and I successfully cut back to one.

The reason for this moderation is that caffeine is for me a bit of a depressant and an anxiety builder.

My remaining one large cup can still muddy my skies a bit. And I keep drinking it anyway.

The obvious wise choice would be to drink only a small one or quit altogether. But a lot of the time I'd rather drink the tall one and risk the 2 or 3 hours of being a little more jumpy and overcast.

That's a lot of time to maybe not be at my best. And I don't seem to care enough to do anything about it. So, Ideal Self, what are you going to do about it???




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Bold Recovery

My husband Bob would like everyone to know that he was very sensitive and thoughtful in his celebration of my recent birthday. This is to counter the few lines of iffy publicity he received here after his BOLD choice of a 25th anniversary present was not well received. (This happens sometimes with bold choices.)

Anyway, he has celebrated my 60th over several days, culminating last night, after I thought the celebration over, with the one-woman little inflatable kayak I'd been longing for. I am thrilled! I'm keeping the big photo on the box in front of me until it's warm enough to launch comfortably. Yay, Bob! Here I come, Jordan Lake!

Bob demonstrated great gift-boldness-gone-awry behavior. Terrific recovery!




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

A Demonstration of Cheekiness (Boldness)

Do go visit the lovely and wildly flattering piece written about me and Sister India on Mojo's blog.

Here's why (other than because it's so nice about me): There's a five minute clip from a Bollywood movie that shows Varanasi, the holy city where my novel Sister India is set. It's a beautiful trip along the Ganges and the riverbank temples and old maharajah's palaces-- with just the right Hindi music. I'll likely visit the site there regularly, when I need to read an encouraging word and when I want to be taken back to India.

Posting this link was bold, don't you think?




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Achieving Sixty!!

At last: the actual day. As of 2:34 p.m. today, I have lived for sixty action-packed years. And more to go.

When my husband Bob turned sixty, my mother said: "You tell him I've had 20 good years since that age SO FAR." Now she's up to 26.

I'm thinking the same way. My big commemoration will be in October, when (for business purposes) I'm spending a month in New York. Getting a sublet. Being briefly "a New York writer."

I'm also celebrating today and all week. Note Self-portrait with Birthday Card.

I've never liked the term crone. Wise woman isn't much better. Crones and wise women don't read gossip blogs, moisturize, or wear cool shoes.

However, I do see the potential for sixty being pretty cheeky.






If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

High Flying

Yesterday's post was about the gumption of a lawyer-turned-jewelry-designer.

Here are a couple of William Spear enamels from my own permanent collection. Looking at them, I saw a distinct theme emerging: SOARING. Especially when I consider that my next acquisition will be the High Diver pin (blurrily photographed from the catalog.)

Soaring seems the right thing -- since tomorrow I turn sixty.

If it seems the right thing for you too, you might get/make yourself some kind of visual reminder.










If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

"The World's Most Wonderful Enamels" from the "King O' Pins"

Bill Spear got his law degree in Nebraska and moved to Alaska to become an assistant Attorney General.

But then he threw it all over to follow a passion sparked in him when he was four years old and saw some bright enamel pins from a military school.

He'd always liked to draw isolated objects. So, first as a hobby, then as a business: he started making drawings of objects and turning them into bright charming intricate enamel pins.

He has created over 2,000 designs. They include images you might never expect to see as a piece of jewelry: a DNA helix, a bellhop carrying suitcases, a diver in mid-air, a geisha, a crawling baby, bagpipes, or one of many different species of fish and birds and other sea creatures.

Husband Bob and I went to his shop in Juneau when we were there a few years ago. First we noticed that people all over this surprisingly small town were wearing collections of pins, all at once. Both men and women.

We tracked the pins down to their showcases at William Spear Design, and were delighted with these wee bits of wearable art, mostly hand-made. Each one is so particular that it seems like a fragment of a story. I have one of a Prairie-style house, and a dinosaur, and a book with wings, and a tube of artist's paint. I have my eye on the high diver in the red bathing suit.

They're irresistible. (And they range from about $5 to $20 each.) I'm so glad Bill Spear didn't resist the urge to create them. And thanks to the article in Coastal Living magazine for info on his history.







If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Encouragement to Speak Up

"...When I meet visionary teachers who feel isolated on their own campus and ask them what they have done to make their vision known, the answer is often nothing -- which is why they are isolated. The lost will never be found until they send up a flare." from The Courage to Teach by Parker J. Palmer

My added thought: The visionary will only be a daydreamer if she doesn't make her vision accessible to others.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Another Good Courage Quote

From Mamie, the source of many good quotes (and photos):

Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is a quiet voice at the end of the day, saying...I will try again tomorrow.
- Unknown




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Hacked! And Inspired!

Someone sent 2,096 of my friends and colleagues an email Friday trying to sell electronics devices. If the message made it past your spam filter, sorry for the intrusion.

I discovered this state of affairs tonight--didn't pay much attention to my email over the weekend.

But I stayed unusually cool...all on account of an inspiring manuscript I'm reading. A young writer to whom I provided only the slightest bit of help sent me her completed novel asking if I'd consider writing a blurb for her brand-new agent to send out with the manuscript.

First, it was exciting to see what she'd done. Then I spent most of the day reading it: and the book so inspired me. The story put me in the mood to relish the minor difficulties of life as part of the big game.

I'm not always inclined to take that attitude. The last time I played a driveway game of pickup basketball, some decades ago, I got irritated because people kept waving their hands in my face.

Today's delightful reading reminded me that the waving hands and other obstructions are part of what makes the game.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The Boldness Pledge

This is an invitation. At this auspicious time of year, what would you like to promise yourself to boldly and resolutely do? I invite you to make that decision public here in the comments some time before the end of Friday. And I will do the same.

The more specific the goal, the better. Example: to get the whole house organized vs. to spend a minimum of two hours a week cleaning out closets and shelves, until they're in the desired condition. See how a specific might get more done?

What's important about going public? The person who does this is more likely to accomplish the goal. Also, she or he gains allies and resources that way. Things fall into place better when all the world and planets can see how they might help out.

I hope you'll post here your own bold pledge to yourself.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Have Fun!

Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Happy New Year!



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The War of Art

I just started listening in my car to an audio version of the book The War of Art (a clever spin on Sun Tzu's classic Art of War) So far I've only heard the first disc, and I've listened to it twice!! though I just got it yesterday!!

Such good stuff. This is the second great resource I've come upon in recent weeks, the other being The Courage to Teach.

The War of Art is (so far)about resistance-- resisting sitting down to write, or standing up to paint, and more. The author Steven Pressfield views all reluctance to do the best right thing as resistance, a force like gravity that we simply need to acknowledge and persevere in spite of. The way I'm saying it sounds dreadfully pious and unappealing. But hearing it on this audio really has me excited.

The metaphor of one large thing that mindlessly sits on my efforts to get off of the sofa works startlingly well for me. I always knew something was there, Jello-like, trying to stop me. I didn't connect it with the same force that says: I'll check my email instead of working on my novel.

Pressfield says the resistance tends to strike when we approach getting down to work on art, a spiritual practice, any health improvement, or strengthening abdominal muscles.

He says --and, oh, I agree -- that the big R can take a wickedly beguiling variety of forms including lawyerly logic. And whatever form it is: "resistance always lies...is always full of shit."

(Thanks to Thomas Griggs for letting me know about this book/CD.)

BTW, Pressfield writes bestsellers, frequently about warfare (also The Legend of Bagger Vance) I'd say, in his case, resistance doesn't stand a chance.


If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

One Maybe-Stupid Way to Write with Ease

Though I've had a lot to say here about holiday prep, the fact is I've done what prep I've done in about 12 minutes and otherwise have been working like a coal miner on client projects, mainly one very large one.

Saturday I took the first full day off from any writing/editing for quite a while. Sunday I had a little trouble getting cranked up again. And I realized that I'd forgotten what the initial crank-up felt like: a bit of resistance, easily overcome, but still I felt it....Once again a demonstration that touching "the work" every day, if only for a few minutes, can solve one kind of problem (though, I admit, it may cause others. For one thing,it's the 22nd of December, and I don't seem to have gotten all my Christmas cards out.)



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Hit the Ball, You-All

Mamie, who contributed yesterday's Goethe quote, has found us another bit of get-up-and-go inspiration:

"Be bold. If you're going to make an error, make a doozey, and don't be afraid to hit the ball."
Billie Jean King

As matter of fact, Goethe said something similar: "A clever man commits no minor blunders." (from Brainyquote.com)

It's the "sin boldly" principle, an idea that has always stuck in my head. It has a refreshing clarity.

And "hit the ball?" Well, that brings back my days as head junior varsity cheerleader at Wilmington, NC's New Hanover High School, the home of the Wildcats. One of our ever-useful cheers was: "Hit the ball, you-all! Hit the ball!" Clap. Clap. Clap. Which is pretty much what Billie Jean King, Goethe, Mamie, and I are saying.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Nervous Goethe?

Mamie, a most-welcome regular bold participant here, has sent us a quote: "Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it."
- Goethe

I've read this before, but as I told her, am always glad to be reminded. I also had the thought: Wonder if Goethe was actually a nervous procrastinator.

It's universally known that we all teach (or rattle on about) what we personally need to learn.

I'll bet Goethe was trying to convince himself. I'm going to check around and find out. Thoughts of any Goethe-ists on this would be most welcome.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Be the Gift

I once heard a woman say in the flurry of "doing" Christmas that she'd decided one afternoon to "be the gift." Often a phrase like this means giving a gift of time: changing someone's lightbulbs or hanging out with them or some such.

But this woman was thinking of it differently. And she was on her way to the mall at the time. So she proceeded to be especially nice to every clerk or cashier she met, every shopper she bumped against. The whole experience was lighter, easier; and she had a wonderful time. Don't you love that? I thought it quite bold.

Another way of thinking about this approach, which I ran across in a sermon: "A Quaker friend of mine used to say to me, 'I will hold you in the light.'”

Of course the whole busy business also applies to Hannukah celebrations and others at this time of year. I've also seen the experience referred to as "doing December." Whatever the occasion, "being the gift" can work.

I watch people like my office partner who celebrates both Christmas and Hannukah (interfaith marriage) and once did a symbolic candle-lighting ceremony on the fold-down tray table on a flight to France (where they were to spend a year) with her family including brand-new baby. Now that's multi-tasking. Or multi-enjoying. She's one who is good at being the gift.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The Twelve -- or Maybe Two -- Stages of Christmas

Got past the day of holiday agitation. Now it just feels like I'm happily and confidently in the process of landing a small plane, for maybe the second or third time, never mind that this is my 59th Christmas.

I take things too damn seriously. And I doubt if that's going to change a lot. Or if it does it won't be through my straining to make it so. So for the moment I guess I'll just taxi in as is, and then fly off again somewhere else, no doubt to the quiet complexity and soothing pleasures of January.

Bold doesn't have to be simple and slapdash. I'm sure of that.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

More on Teaching Courage

A few days back, I was excited at finding out about a book called The Courage to Teach, by Parker Palmer. Reason: though my classes seem to go well, I always feel a fear of teaching return afterwards. That's so weirdly specific: like being scared of heights only three or seven stories high. And I don't understand the fear's ability to grow back every time I get rid of it.

But anyway, I got hold of the book, started reading and it's everything I'd hope it would be. What it did for me, essentially, is to encourage my teaching in my own way and not worrying about what's supposed to work best. You'd think that would be perfectly obvious, especially for an artist-type. And, in fact, I've pretty much always done it my way, but then worried that people weren't getting what they needed. Apparntly I needed encouragement to keep on doing what I've been doing and simply relax about it.

Here are two quotes I especially like: "External tools of power have occasional utility in teaching, but they are no substitute for authority, the authority that comes from the teacher's inner life....Authority is granted to people who are perceived as authoring their own words, their own actions, their own lives, rather than playing a scripted role at great remove from their own hearts."

And: "Behind their fearful silence, our students want to find their voices, speak their voices, have their voices heard. A good teacher is one who can listen to those voices even before they are spoken--so that someday they can speak with truth and confidence."



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Write Fast

I'M A BIG BELIEVER IN WORKING QUICKLY, BECAUSE I THINK IT'S HARDER-THOUGH NOT IMPOSSIBLE-TO BE PRETENTIOUS WHEN YOU'RE MOVING REALLY FAST.
—Moviemaker Steven Soderbergh

From Interview magazine website

I once got bogged down in the middle of my first novel Revelation. I decided that on the following day, if I could get 7 pages of any quality cranked out, I would then take the rest of the day off for nothing but leisure. No more work, no errands. I figured I might get it done in 7 hours.

The following day I wrote 7 pages in an hour and 45 minutes and they were better than anything I'd written in weeks. The book really came to life again.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

What Roy Blount Wants for Christmas

Roy Blount, Jr., that jolly old elf, is current King Pen of the Authors Guild, and just sent this out to the membership. I think it's a great idea.


"We don't want bookstores to die. Authors need them, and so do neighborhoods. So let's mount a book-buying splurge. Get your friends together, go to your local bookstore and have a book-buying party. Buy the rest of your Christmas presents, but that's just for starters.

Clear out the mysteries,
wrap up the histories,
beam up the science fiction!

Round up the westerns,
go crazy for self-help,
say yes to the university press books!

Get a load of those coffee-table books,
fatten up on slim volumes of verse,
and take a chance on romance!

There will be birthdays in the next twelve months; books keep well; they're easy to wrap: buy those books now. Buy replacements for any books looking raggedy on your shelves. Stockpile children's books as gifts for friends who look like they may eventually give birth. Hold off on the flat-screen TV and the GPS (they'll be cheaper after Christmas) and buy many, many books. Then tell the grateful booksellers, who by this time will be hanging onto your legs begging you to stay and live with their cat in the stockroom: 'Got to move on, folks. Got some books to write now.'"

(Okay, you're not an old elf, Roy, but jolly good funny.)

If you happen to be a Durhamite, you might choose to party at The Regulator, or in Raleigh at Quail Ridge Books & Music.

(Note: the line breaks and boldfacing are all mine.)





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Santa Claus Hat, Artcar, Goat Meat

In the oatmeal-and-Internet cafe where I am taking my breakfast this morning, a man sits one table ahead of me in a rather elegant serious-looking Santa Claus hat.

He's about thirty, lean, dark and grizzled. The pile of napkins and tea detritus in front of him indicate he has been here for a while, by himself. He is otherwise dressed in a hiply outdoorsy way: layered T-shirts and a down vest.

What worries me is that it took me about ten minutes to notice that the guy has on a Claus cap. I wonder if I'm in a fog and not noticing much and how much of the time this is the case.

And I wonder why he decided to throw on red velvet and faux ermine this morning.
*Is it just the sort of thing he naturally does: it's who he is.
*Is he a late-blooming sociology grad student monitoring reactions (don't think so, he blinks a little too much)
*Did he do it as one of his personal experiments with overthrowing convention
*Or because he is full of the Christmas spirit
*Or because he feels rakish and daring with that fur band around his ears, showercap style
*Did he do it to meet people (an older man in a knit cap, chatty and opinionated, has just sat down at the next table and engaged him in conversation. They shake hands. They both look happy and relieved.
*Is it a signal I haven't heard about?

I suppose someone might have asked the same questions about why I painted morning glories on my car. Answer: I'd always had an irrational craving that way and didn't examine it too closely. And, it didn't feel eccentric, it felt normal, with a twist of delight.

The two guys across from me are both visual artists, I now hear. The older one, black, garrulous, is articulate. The younger white stubble-faced one listens and says, "Holy crap, man!"

What I'm searching for, I think, is what distinguishes an odd gesture that's a natural extension of oneself in a particular moment, from a what-was-I-thinking move.

Did I mention that my beloved husband surprised me with 80 pounds of goat meat for our 25th anniversary on Monday? (I don't cook, don't eat much meat, tried goat once in 1978 and found it so-so.)






If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Oprah and Her Weight (and mine)

Oprah has been open about her weight for years. Hard not to be when you're as visible as she is.

But yesterday's bold admission included the actual number of pounds she now weighs. There's something about giving the number that takes more courage, I think. It's not like rescuing children from a burning building, of course; on the other hand, at the level of risk where most of us operate most of the time, I think it's a gut move.

I wonder if she has ever tried Overeaters Anonymous. Back in my twenties, I found them very helpful. I was a bit underweight and doing binge-then-Tab-and-cabbage. Not real healthy. That was before the days when anybody had heard of an eating disorder outside of a medical book or an occasional story of anorexia. I saw one line in a column in a Cosmo that told me about OA. That was all it took. Just a few meetings and the 12-step system taught me some key pieces of good self-management for the weight-wacky.

Maybe Oprah shaved a few pounds off the number she mentioned. I would find that forgivable.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The Prickly Pain of Uncertainty

One of the gutsiest things I know of is to be able to tolerate uncertainty or ambiguity: do I go or stay? is the biopsy going to show trouble? will I win the Nobel? is he going nuts or just being mean? am I on next week's layoff list? And on and on like that.

A good deal of life is made up of that stuff. And a lot of the time it's important to be able to stay in an uncertain state long enough to make good decisions. By contrast: I remember once in my single years when I felt I'd be relieved for a romance to be over so I could stop fearing the end of it. So I hurried that process along.

Some things that help me in these fretful wobbly periods:
*meditating and exercising
*getting deep into work or some other trance-inducing activity
*telling myself I'll stop thinking about possible outcomes or choices until Tuesday of next week and then I'll get back to it
*doing some research on the question
*check items off a to-do list, whether or not they're relevant
*take any relevant action that might help
*whining to friend
*blog!

Things that don't help:
*overeating
*not eating
*scraping at my skin and other twitchy habits
*making big decisions that could wait
*websurfing
*getting into arguments that could wait

It doesn't take a big issue like a biopsy to trigger the limbo state. I remember my need to decide at the start of ninth grade about whether to sign up for French III. Mon Dieu! People have married and produced children with less obsessing.

I assume that when some little uncertainty goes big as French III did, that there's often a larger one underneath. Something like fear of death, fear of failure, fear of being a ninth grade dork, simply looking for a place to land. Could be the best thing is just to let it land and then sit it out.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

A Necessary Step for Holiday Prep?

The holidays are getting to me today -- in a not-good way. Decisions must be made! And preparations! I just did a web search of seafood restaurants serving on Christmas Day. Don't know that that's the solution, but maybe.

I could view it as a holiday tradition to have one sinking spell. Just expect it and allow time for it. Then back to jingle bells.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Chocolate With Tam at the Umstead

An unexpectedly uplifting experience yesterday:

I went to "tea" with five friends, as the guest of one of us, photographer Karen Tam. We were celebrating a combo of birthdays and Christmas. Tam took us to the Umstead, a still-newish hotel at Research Triangle Park that has been years in the making. It's extremely well-appointed and it's expensive.

So we dressed up. That alone can feel ennobling, if you spend a fair amount of times in jeans and Uggs before a computer screen.

And then, here's what really got me. Every detail there was so well done that it made me feel like doing everything better. It's a remarkable experience to be somewhere, however briefly, where everything is done as well as humanly possible.

The armchairs, the proximity to the fireplace, the pastries, the hot chocolate, the way we were treated -- wow! And the thing is, it wasn't even all perfect at first crack. The first round of hot chocolate wasn't hot. Ardis, who is bolder than I, mentioned this. The lukewarm chocolate was whisked away and a woman in an elegant black suit came out and apologized and we were then elevated to the rank of visiting queens. (It's always inspiring to see someone turn a glitch into an opportunity for an even better performance.)

I came away feeling more full of purpose, more capable, and (amazing in combo with the other two) more relaxed.

This is the way outings and vacations are supposed to work, and this one was only three hours.

Me and the buds had good time talking too. We do this three times a year; some of us have been friends for 39 years, others only about 35. We shrieked less than usual and were very grown-up in keeping with the fancy setting. Though we did each wear one of Jan's 1940s hats with feathers and veils.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Dressing Up, Costume, and Being Eccentric

Being a self-employed writer isn't conducive to what used to be called dressing for success.

Even though I have an office away from home, I could get away with going to work in my purple fleece Couch Sack if I were sufficiently what-used-to-be-called laid back.

Today, however, I went hog-wild in the other direction and put on a pencil skirt and heels and a semi-fancy shirt. Mon Dieu! It changes my view of myself and the world. I feel much more grownup (this is important at 59) and to-be-taken-seriously.

What may have inspired me to do this: last night I watched the first half hour of Grey Gardens, the documentary on Jackie O's poor relations, when they were revealed in the mid-70s to be living weird reclusive past-obsessed lives in their wretchedly decaying old house full of cats in the Hamptons. These two women, Big Edie and Little Edie, mother and daughter, both born beautiful and still wildly theatrical, brought back to me my childhood mantra: I will not be eccentric.

Having that running through my head regularly as a wee kid should have been a sign.

In recent years, however, I've mostly abandoned that resolve, and pretty much do and dress as I please. And I haven't gotten too weird.

Last night, though, I was sobered. Seeing the state of their house -- when I'm a so-so-minus housekeeper and spend much time alone with husband and king-size dogs in our very messy house in deep mossy shade-- made me think about my old childhood resolve.

But the truth is that, having relaxed, I haven't turned into a camp icon. The truth hasn't turned out to be so bad. Even so, I'm turned out like a hip CEO today. The old fears seem to always leave their traces.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

The Courage to Teach

How did I not know about this guy: Parker J. Palmer?

I've just discovered his book The Courage to Teach--only now after all the wrestles I've had with this very matter. Where was he my first day of teaching at Duke when, as I later learned, the students and I had received different starting times for the class and I thought for the first fifteen minutes that all but two early birds had dropped out already?

This book has been out for 11 years, and going by Amazon ranking, appears to be quite in demand still. Well, Parker Palmer, Peggy Payne is on her way (to read you.)

For others: Palmer is located at his Center for Courage & Renewal. Or see his 3 minute video about getting over the feeling of powerlessness and seizing your "Rosa Parks moment in life."

His other books include:

To Know As We Are Known: A Spirituality of Education

Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation

A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life

And more...

Note of interest: he spent 11 years living in a Quaker community.

Where I finally ran across his work was an old O magazine.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Pink Courage

The magazine Pink has a highly specialized set of blogs on its website. Aimed at women, but there's wisdom here for anyone. Note: Wake Up Inspired, and The Courage Expert. Also blogs on such subjects as Romance, Style, PR and Copywriting.

Manage Yourself is currently exploring a particularly interesting question: "How do I know when I'm limiting myself?" I think I am. And I think it has to do with the vestiges of a sort of rebelliousness: writing just a tiny bit "difficult," as a sort of playing hard to get.

Anyway, Pink has some good resources for the courage and boldness and creativity seeker.

If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Terrorism in India

What has happened in Mumbai -- the attacks at hotels, train station, other sites -- disturbs me in one way that I'm not hearing mentioned in the interviews I've seen.

This dreadful assault is getting worldwide attention, apparently because there have been foreign victims and because the site is a world financial center.

But there have been many other outbreaks of communal violence, in India and elsewhere, that did not register more than a flicker on the world media screen.

I wrote about one of those rounds, which occurred in the Indian city Varanasi where I was living to research my novel Sister India.

Those events became part of the novel. Taking notes and writing are probably my major coping mechanism.

The street fighting broke out about a week and a half after I arrived, and the city of a million people was then shut down in curfew for 24 hours a day for most of the next two weeks. All businesses closed. Everyone to stay inside.

A bomb blew up an apartment building about a kilometer away from my flat. I could hear gunfire from my rooftop patio.

I had flashbacks for two years after my return about a grisly incident in a nearby street that I hadn't even witnessed, but only read about. A rickshaw full of Hindu women was hacked to death. I couldn't stop myself from re-imagining it.

But no foreigners were involved. I was in almost no danger, because being neither Hindu nor Muslim, I wasn't a target. And the news was barely a flicker back in the USA.

I can only imagine what it was like to be holed up in the Taj (where I once spent a few days) while terrorists were hunting people to shoot, with a special interest in those who looked like me.

Even so, it feels wrong to me that events of similar magnitude stir so little outrage when the targets aren't American. I do understand press coverage that focuses on a local angle; but I don't like that an event becomes a global outrage more often when well-heeled foreigners are involved.

(An aside: the most elegant party I have ever attended was a night-time torchlit reception in the gardens of one of the homes of the Oberoi family of the Oberoi hotel that was a target of these attacks. It was on my first visit to India in the late 70s with the Society of American Travel Writers.)

I am grieved by what has happened, hated seeing the grand old waterfront Taj ablaze.
And want, for whatever good it does, for every random violent death to get the same indignation.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Family Cooking Adventures

I believe I mentioned that I, a non-cook, was venturing to make the turkey dressing for the family gathering this year (rather than buying my assignment.)

Here's how the project shook down. I stirred stuff up and cooked it and it was bad: no taste, weird texture. So I tore it up and added milk and some spices and whizzed it all up with a mix-master and cooked it again. Then packed it up for the trip to the coast.

The final product was better. Edible. Would have been good except for the fake bacon bits I threw in, which sort of dominated. Well, no one complained.

However, my ten year old nephew Tucker produced a triumph. His assignment was corn pudding (he likes to cook.) I didn't know who'd made what or that any of the kids had cooked anything, and said at dinner: "Who brought this?" It was phenomenal...inspired. The kid has a talent.

Talent or not --and both of those situations were represented-- I think Tucker and I were both pretty bold. For a ten year-old boy to produce a work of art in the form of a casserole...or for me to take a shot at something non-store-bought for the occasion both strike me as venturing outside the ordinary. And we all had a good time.

Hope your Turkey Days were good.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Charming Persistence

Having trouble getting yourself moving? Have a look at this wee newborn elephant's first efforts to stand.

Also, note to writers of books: novelist Bill Henderson has a good three-part post on getting an agent.

And Happy Thanksgiving!


If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

"Fear Less. Live More."

What caught my attention was an ad for a Lincoln in an old New Yorker. Standing beside the car in the picture was a twentyish woman, radiantly beautiful, an athlete, doing her stretches. Then I noticed her legs: one was metal.

Sarah Reinertsen is the first woman to complete the Hawaii Ironman triathlon with an artificial leg. This race involves 112 miles on a bike, as well as long stretches of swimming and running.

In the sky of that stirring picture was a quote: "Don't ever give up...Not once. Not ever. My dream is to do extraordinary things every day."

Sort-a puts any holiday pressures into perspective, doesn't it? (Of course she may at this moment be totally wrecked over trying to deal with a turkey.)


If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Thanksgiving Stuffing

Usually for potlucks, I choose the lucky pot at Whole Foods on the way to the event.

This week, for unknown reaons, I'm going to cook my own Thanksgiving pot. My assignment is stuffing for twelve. I found a recipe that is perfect for those who have issues with authority (or simply crave creative latitude): one third of any combo of the items on list A, with two-thirds of any combo of items on list B. Stir. Bake.

I actually have some curiosity about how this will turn out. Will report.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Boldly Generous

Two friends yesterday offered to give me professional feedback on my 394-page novel manuscript and get back to me in a couple of weeks--never mind that the holiday frenzy is cranking up. And they both refused my earnest offers of cash or kayaks. (They could get a couple of good kayaks for the going rate on what they're doing.) I am wowed and overcome. And feeling grateful (see gratitude dance) to the several folks who have been generous with their support of this book.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Older and Bolder

Went to a surprise party last night for a friend turning fifty. As I am six weeks from sixty, I was marveling at her youth, at the wealth of time ahead of her.

A few years ago, when husband Bob turned sixty, my mother, then eighty, said, "You tell him I've had twenty good years after sixty so far. I love the "so far." Now she's eighty-six and still a party animal.

I'm trying to figure out what to make of aging. For a while, it was just dry skin. Then it became really dry skin, etc. Emphasis on etcetera. But the age of sixty has connotations.

It gives me the impulses to speed up and to slow down. I think I probably alternate.

Maybe it's possible to age without a strategy, just by keeping on pedaling as usual and noting what does or does not change.

This morning I was considering the awfully expensive skin cream Stryvectin. I've already decided to celebrate by taking a one-month sublet in Manhattan next October, which will likely also be good for business. (New York has always been my Plan B life, so I'm going to fit a collapsed version into one month.) I may have other lives I need to fit in soon. Interesting to think about. Aging both stirs and requires an extra dollop of boldness.

(I googled "turning sixty" and turned up 352,000 sites. Many highly verbal people have thoughts on their experience at this moment. Here's another writer's..)



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

He Does It His Way

Turning through an old Utne Reader last night, I came across a stunningly bold artist: Wolfgang Laib.

One site I checked him out on called him a Post-Minimalist. Never heard of that before, but I'm in favor.

What Laib does is take materials like milk or pollen or rice and use that organic life-generating stuff to create an imagethat's as simple as a rectangle or a cone.

The picture I saw last night was a large rectangle on a stone courtyard floor made of yellow-gold pollen that looked like a block of sunshine. I couldn't believe how radiant it was, and that it wasn't electrified. It glowed against the gray. (He collected every grain of that pollen himself, and that's an important part of his process.

He also makes glossy white surfaces out of milk on marble. Eerie-looking. Moon-ish.

Imagine telling your father that's what you're going to do when you get out of college. Or your spouse. Or your art dealer.

But it's astonishing work. Painter like the Luminists specialized in representing light. This guy seems to be working with the actual substance of light.

(I told husband Bob about him artist this morning. He murmured, "Jackson Pollen.")



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Customer Courage

Just this morning I felt a stupid three-second waver while trying to find someone to sell me a used power supply for my not-new laptop. I was 40 minutes away from the one I'd forgotten and left at my office

I was browsing the Yellow Pages, and thinking: But what if I call the wrong place? Suppose I call a company that sells only giant networks for global corporations?

Well, so what if I do? As a British bus ticket vendor once said when I made a preposterous physically-impossible request out of geographic ignorance: "Oy loyk a giggle."

That's the worst that can happen. No need for three-second wavers.

This is a variation on retail therapy, when you go shopping to feel good. This is personal growth through shopping.


If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

A Spiritual Approach to Being Bold

For moments when a bit of originality, creativity, authenticity, or daring are needed, try this experiment. Try saying a genuine prayer--even if you're a nonbeliever.

I don't just mean a reflexive: Oh, God! Get me outta here!

I mean: Hello, God, could you join me in this endeavour? Here's what I need....(then be as specific as possible)

If you're a nonbeliever, you could substitute Higher Power or Best Self. Hello, Best Self, could you join me in this endeavor? (Note: Best Self is available at all times. Does not require weight loss to achieve.)

At the very least the meditative moment helps.

At best, the results are startlingly good.

Here's one to try out, if you doubt that. Next time you're about to enjoy an intimate moment with your partner, say a silent quarter-second prayer: Make me a more generous lover. The results could turn Bill Maher (Religulous) into a believer.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Amy Poehler's Girl Power Adventure

Amy Poehler -- the Saturday Night Live star who played Hillary and Katie Couric to Tina Fey's Sarah Palin -- has launched a bold new venture. A web show called Smart Girls at the Party. It features young girls and aims to inspire young girls and is entertaining even if you, like myself, are not a young girl.

Poehler says the show is about "extraordinary individuals who are changing the world by being themselves."

The opening interview is with a ten-year old writer and "scooter enthusiast" named Cameron. A video clip shows Cameron doing her writing in a tiara.

I have seriously had in mind to get some sparkling headgear to wear while working on my fiction and once put a jewelled crown on my Christmas list of ideas for my husband; he said, "You'll have to get your own crown." I hadn't gotten around to it.

Amy and Cameron are encouraging me to get on with it.





If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

$500 House

It's on Hawaii-- in a town lyrically named Haiku--built by 22 year-old Chelsea Kohl with her partner Chelsea Heller. The story is in the November issue of Dwell magazine. (The story isn't yet archived online.)

The house is made of found objects including surf boards, a disassembled truck, phone poles, stairs from a sugar mill. One lovely mosaic-like wall is made of wine bottles and what appears to be cement. The bed of the truck with mattress and quilt forms a combination loft/double bed.

Awful as it sounds, it's delightful. A cottage from fantasyland.

It takes some gumption to build your own house from scratch. It's particularly so for twenty-something women. Even more so, when you're using bits of this and that and sticking with a $500 budget (the land belongs to Kohl's father Bill, who Google research suggests is a cottage architect.)

Kudos to all the creators of the Haiku House.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Using Facebook, Etc.

I just got a notice from MySpace that I must "use it or lose it."

They're referring to the MySpace page I acquired in a fit of connectedness a year or so ago. The result of that is being officially located in five social networks. (I paid someone to set me up.) I haven't done anything with any of them except to somehow double my presence on Facebook by accidentally creating a second version of myself, with separate sets of friends. And to get offers of friendship that I don't know how to confirm. And be reminded that I might know this other Peggy Payne who was at Duke the same time I was.

Eventually, I will hire a teenager to explain some of this.

In the meantime, I'm apparently out there snubbing people with unconfirmed friendships. I felt so bold when I signed up for all these networks.

Now I'm starting to feel the way I did the one time I set off on a jetski. Careening, and likely to aground any moment. (That's not me doing the triple axl in the video.)


If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Blog Free

The tune that's running through my head is "Born Free," which is probably from my Peter, Paul & Mary days.

Blog Free, however, is my current set of lyrics. As I was just saying to one of my brothers on the phone, the cool thing about this kind of writing is that it's almost unlimited.

No editors. No revisions. No meeting market requirements. No deadlines. No need to stick to the subject.

Plus a conversation results.

It's like a pulpit without all the complications of a church. Or other similar comparisons. Free swim--I think I may like that one the best. (Note the chihuahua in the orange bikini.)

After more than 35 years of freelancing, to be able to just maunder around in language. Say things any which way. Well, it does good things for my lungs. I can feel the freedom physically.

Wow, what a pleasure this is.



If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.

Puppy Cam

Who wants to be bold all the time? It would lose its zing.

Here's a nice break: a webcam watching a litter of puppies who are at the perfect age to be the ultimate in delightful. They were all asleep when I just peeked in, but stretching and shifting around and propping their heads on each other in a winsome manner. I'm not a huge fan of cute; I tend to prefer gorgeous and majestic and mysterious, etc. But these little guys are a don't-miss.

Note: I was tipped off to their location by the blog wowOwow, The Women on the Web. However, dog-people of any gender will enjoy this, I think.




If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.