Charles Dickens Worries About His Sales

The New York Times City Room blog is carrying a story on Dickens' handwritten revisions of "A Christmas Carol." This post "A Christmas Rewrite" by Alison Leigh Cowan is a companionable reminder that we all have to revise--and Dickens made at least one major after the copy had gone to the printer.

I was mainly struck by the fact that he wrote this lovable classic, about a cold-hearted rich man who turns generous, under financial pressure himself.

"At the time "A Christmas Carol" was written, Dickens feared for his own future. He had six children to feed, a large house in London to maintain and a lavish lifestyle. Christmas was approaching. Yet the work he was then producing, a few chapters at a time, “Martin Chuzzlewit,’’ was not selling as well as earlier installments of “The Pickwick Papers” or “Nicholas Nickleby.” Bitterly, he confided to a friend that his bank account was bare."

He turned out his Christmas story just in time for the season, but in spite of its golden future, it fared dismally financially that year.

Good (emboldening) to remember these stories, especially knowing the happy ending.

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Party Time

My friend Carrie throws more parties in a year than the total number I attend in the same period. (She's the same one who started an international music festival in Raleigh.)

This afternoon I'm popping in at an affair in which she has long been a/the major sponsor: the 17th annual Boylan Heights Arts Walk. It's a neighborhood-wide juried arts fair that draws some quite good artists, including at least one represented in the NC Museum of Art (a very big deal), and a range of fine work in glass-blowing, clothing design, ceramics, photography, cabinetry, basket-making, jewelry, sculpture, weaving. Etc.

Who wouldn't go to this, you say?

Alright, I'm going at least this one more time, even though it's forty minutes from my house and I've been half a dozen years before and my leisure time impulse is usually to stay home and read and weed (or rake). And I'll have a good time and probably pick up a Christmas present or two.

But I'm still an introvert! Even though I talk a lot and spill a great deal! And that's okay!

At least it's not raining.


And welcome to Aysha Nasser, photographer and sometime student of Hindi. Is there anyone I've forgotten to welcome to the regulars club here? Let me know and I'll say a double welcome.

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An Encouraging, Emboldening Movie for Writers and Other Passionate Persisters

I was slow to go to see Julie and Julia. I'm not a cook. And the movie is, as you likely know, about a blogger named Julie who spends a year cooking every recipe in Julia Child's grand-opus cookbook.

But last night it was on at the $1.50 theatre, and Husband Bob (who is a sometime cook)and I went. And I am so glad I saw it.

It's an extraordinary movie. It shows the writing/publishing process as well as I've seen a movie do it. Even though it collapses and summarizes the years and stages involved, it's true to the difficulties and triumphs. When Julia Child finally gets her first copy of her first book in hand, I felt more intense emotion, (seemingly) on her behalf than in comparable moments in my own life.

There's a reason it was purer joy for J. Child. The movie--thank God!--didn't show all the correcting of proofs and bound galleys, etc. that come before that point. So her book seemed to rise full-blown from her manuscript.

Still...the heart of the matter was there. As well as a demonstration of her long struggle and tenacity and passion.

I was dripping tears in the theatre. And, though maybe there's no connection, tripped just outside afterwards and fell to the pavement like a rag doll. Wasn't hurt or troubled by this, and didn't bother to jump right up either. Just let Bob haul me to my feet and went on with whatever I'd been saying.

At any rate, it was all very cathartic and I felt so proud of both Julie and Julia and of all of us.

And that includes new regulars here: Hidup Lenang, annakate, and Mikki Aby. Welcome!

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Getting Rich

I just wrote a perfectly nice post on this subject with lots of links, hit Publish, and the text disappeared totally, nowhere to be found.

Here's roughly what it said. The Dallas Morning News has a story today that says: Wanna feel rich? Give.

The story cited the book I co-authored with Allan Luks: The Healing Power of Doing Good, which says that helping other people feels good and is good for your health. And you don't even have to be super-bold to do it.

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Boldly Took a Break

I didn't even blog during the second half of my week at Rancho La Puerta. That's how engaged I was in what was going on right there.

Now I'm back at my desk in Raleigh, reorienting. Feels a bit strange not to be spending the day in yoga clothes.

More later.

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Wednesday Wisdom

It's midweek here in my term as novelist-in-residence in heaven (Rancho La Puerta spa in Tecate, Mexico)and I've had several bits of personal enlightenment.

*A few months ago I posted about having a contrarian tendency, so often wanting to play the wrong card for a situation, taking some perverse delight in that. Sometime yesterday, I got a sense that that is changing. And, for a change, that would be alright with me.

*I discovered in a yoga class yesterday how little I listen. Maybe I was feeling particularly foggy but I think I heard about a third of the directions. I did a shoulderstand with my shoulders in the wrong place in relation to the blanket and the teacher came over and hoisted me by the legs as if he were pulling a tree out of the ground and moved me (upside down) to a slightly new location. As you can imagine, this experience will probably stay with me.

*I find myself taking in compliments. This is, for me, a really nice change.

*I'm not pushing myself to work out as hard as usual and I'm not troubled by this.

*The thought has come to my mind: stop fighting. This feels like a good thing, not at all a backing down from my ambitions but more of a lighter touch maybe.

*I'm older than I was in 2007 when I last was here (at 58). I'm more wiped out from a morning with a mountain hike and two exercise classes than I was then--and more wrinkled in the unsparing light of this Mexican sun on my bathroom mirror. (But I can still do the intense morning! and there's a 91 year old woman in my writing classes who is lively and vital and setting me a good example here)

It has been an excellent first half of the week.

Also, I have shot some photos, as requested, but I forgot my camera and am struggling to figure out sending from a borrowed camera phone. I hope to get them here eventually. In the meantime, the link to Rancho above goes directly to a photo-tour of the place.

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Spa Teaching

This morning I went to three exercise classes: one working out with a heavy bar, next circuit training, then an hour and a half of Iyengar yoga.

This afternooon,as novelist-in-residence for the week at Rancho La Puerta spa in Tecate, Mexico, I taught my writing class. Teaching the class took more out of me than all the hopping and hoisting and yog-ing.

Teaching is the most demanding thing I ever do that I can do. I once tried to learn how to sell mortgages and that was simply beyond me. Almost no one wanted to rely on my wisdom on the subject of mortgages.

My brand of bold is teaching. It's the thing that feels scariest of the things I actually am capable of. Which is my definition of bold.

What activity takes you to the place where possible meets demanding? Or do you have lots of them?

(Other good adventures in the last 24 hours included a concert of Tibetan sacred music which the audience of about 100 listened to lying down.

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Adventure Is What We're Not Used To

First full day at Rancho La Puerta in Mexico, the spa where I'm teaching writing this week.

Yesterday after leaving leafy North Carolina in the morning, I was on a bus by early afternoon from the San Diego airport to the Mexican town of Tecate (yes, they make Tecate beer here) Suddenly in sun and mountains and TV Western country. At least that's what it looks like to me, because I'm not accustomed to this kind of boulder-strewn brown mountain land. As I hiked this morning the mountain tops looked like Nutty Buddys rising out of the clouds. Nothing could be more exotic.

Catching sight from the road yesterday of a coyote standing out in a field was thrilling.

What I'm also not used to is how much exercise I get here. It's precisely 10 a.m. and I've already taken a 3.5 mile hike,half of it going up, and a level 2 Sculpt and Strengthen class. I'm skipping a Nia class to rest and post, mainly rest.

I love this adventure. And the feeling of pushing my usual limits a bit.

This afternoon the group I lead is Wordplay.



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Bold Benares #11

A Hindu holy man, or sadhu, is usually identifiable by orange robes. Generally such people have left home to pursue an ascetic religious life, owning only what they carry. On the Ganges bank in Varanasi (setting of my novel Sister India), a holy man or two is sometimes available, for a few rupees, to look after your sandals and belongings while you bathe in the river. Some of these holy men are considerably holier than others but it doesn't appear to be an easy life for any.


Tomorrow I head to Tecate, Mexico to teach writing for a week (and do yoga)at the idyllic Rancho La Puerta spa. I'll be there over Thanksgiving and I'm indeed thankful: Conde Nast Traveler readers have voted it one of the best three spas in the world. I'll be popping in here to report.

And a welcome to this blog to Padma Pillai. I hope you'll visit often.

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Bold Benares #10

This rickshaw in Benares, or Varanasi, India, represents a variation on "Bloom Where You're Planted." The idea is: "Splash Color Wherever You Roll."

I like to go places where decoration shows up unexpectedly, where the ordinary objects and the unsung corners are turned into something wonderful.

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Bold Benares #9

This is the mosquito net on my bed in Benares, or Varanasi (where--did I mention?--I was doing research for my novel Sister India.) My first few nights there I didn't have one of these, and so many tiny moths were darting around my room in the dark that I pulled the sheet over my head to sleep.

Then the little creatures batted against my pulled-tight sheet in large enough numbers that they sounded like steady soft rain patting just overhead. I was very damn glad to get this spooky-looking rig. Once inside I felt safe from not only moths but wall lizards and any other trials in life.

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Bold Benares #8

What, you might ask, is bold about the Indian city of Benares or Varanasi--(other than being the setting for my novel Sister India)?

It sits by a holy river, the Ganges, which purifies the sins of sunrise bathers, draws millions of devout visitors, and floods regularly high up the city walls. It is the city of Shiva, Hindu god of both creation and destruction. Since it is the auspicious place for a Hindu to die, dead bodies carried on stretchers are a steady traffic. It is believed to be a microcosm of "sacred India"and the first created bit of land, the Hindu Eden. It's the world's oldest continually inhabited city. The gods themselves bathe in the water here. That's a lot to live up to.

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Bold Benares #7

Another of my favorites from Varanasi (or Benares) where I spent a winter doing research for my novel Sister India. I like it because of the angle of the light, the feeling of motion, and again the sisterhood image of the two women. And the red.

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Bold Benares #6

Some culvert pipes are left on the street for construction and quickly turn into a market, a little strip shopping center. I love the enterprise and ingenuity of this.

This is at the market area called Dashashvamedh in Varanasi. This central site turns up in my novel Sister India. It's the point of reference for most explorations of this city. The marigold garlands are for celebration of a Hindu holy day.

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Bold Benares #5

This man, Sakhai Prasad, was my model for the character of Ramesh in my novel Sister India. Like Ramesh, Sakhai was an innkeeper; he was the cook and manager of the two bedroom guest flat where I spent my three months in Varanasi (or Benares).

I think he's the only real-life model I ever used for a fictional character. I needed that kind of help, though, to write from an Indian's point-of-view. He and I were locked up in curfew in the flat for the two weeks that Varanasi was shut down by riots during my visit. He spoke little English and I spoke only a few words of Hindi. Still I felt we'd had full conversations.

You writers among us, do your characters come to you or do you base them on particular people or combinations of people?

(Welcome, BTW, to Judy and to Jewon An in South Korea. One of my stepsons is teaching English now at a university in South Korea, so I feel a special connection there.)

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Bold Benares #4

An original mattress factory. There's something satisfying about seeing daily objects made by humans, knowing that it can be done.

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Bold Benares #3

This photo, taken in one of the wider of the narrow alleys, called galis, of Varanasi, is part of the reason I called my novel Sister India. The other reason was that my good friend Usa who lived in the flat across the stair landing from me said that I was her Indian sister, which meant a lot to me.

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Bold Benares #2

This intersection is the site of a crucial moment in my novel Sister India. Jill is riding a rickshaw that is trapped in a traffic jam beside a political demonstration that seems on the verge of erupting into violence.

I did have that experience myself at this spot. I briefly considering walking across the bars and bench backs of rickshaws to get out of there. There was no space between the wheels to walk on the pavement. But the rickshaw traffic jam broke. Violence in Varanasi, also called Benares, didn't break out until a few days later.

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Bold Benares

I shot this photo of a water taxi on the Ganges during the winter I spent in Benares (also called Varanasi) doing research for my novel Sister India.

I'm starting a series of photos here that I took during that trip, one of the bolder adventures of my life. The two-bedroom guest flat where I stayed was maybe a third of a kilometer into the city from the riverbank, where people bathed away their sins at the moment of sunrise.

This city is often considered the holiest for Hindus; to die here means being released from the cycle of rebirth.

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The Courage of Athletes

If you ever feel worn out from long effort on any project--like finishing a book--a look at these photos can put that into perspective.

They're from the ESPN sports magazine's body issue and show the wear and tear and hyperdevelopment of the bodies of athletes.

These show what trying hard looks like when it's physical. They make typing feel pretty easy.

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Sin Boldly

My Halloween costume:















Photo by husband Bob Dick.

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Bold Costume

Tonight's the night.

Here's my rig.

It's not too late for you to break out yours.

Clue: try the Goodwill. I found my ensemble at the Apex, NC, location for six bucks. I think that boils down to a millionth of a penny per shiny red dot.

And so the devil walks tonight!

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Go To O!

At the recommendation of Anonymous on the previous post, I just read a stunning article by a brave woman. "I Will Never Know Why" is Susan Klebold's story of living with the fact that her son committed murder-suicide at Columbine High School.

This is one full-time brave woman. I hope her telling the story is helpful to her.

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Why All Comparisons Are Odious

The business about comparing people being bad is a cliche.

Ever wonder why?

It's because it's always apples and oranges. There are no equivalent situations. Even identical twins growing up in the same house have different aims and different sets of problems to solve.

I think we all know that at a gut level. But it's easy to forget, especially in the case of self-judgments.

The practice of measuring is "odious" because it's always inaccurate. When I do it, it simply distracts me from doing the things I need to do while here on Earth.

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Big Courage and Little Courage

My friend with an ovarian tumor had surgery yesterday, and the news was: BENIGN.

What a huge relief, and wash of gratitude.

It occurred to me that in the challenges in life that require the most courage, we have no choice but to proceed.

It's with the easier stuff--hang-gliding, public speaking, returning tricky phone calls--that we have a choice and can get wobbly. Maybe we should remember that when it comes to courage: we're all marathoners. That very recognition could make the easier stuff easier.

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Boldly Unwinding

Seems that letting go of the usual self-imposed structure leads to some serious sleeping. Not what I expected, but entirely predictable.

I've always found that as long as I work intensely, I don't get sick. Colds, etc., happen after deadlines. And that can make a person delay in letting up.

But pressing on and on is ultimately counterproductive, personally and professionally. Right now I'm finding this going-slack business really nice.

Religion and politics blogger Doug Muder has a wonderful post on this subject called The Stages of Rest.

Note: when I glanced back at the title of this post just now, I read it as Bodily Unwinding. Of course, it's more than that.

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Boldly Taking a Day Off

Been overworking for about a year. This morning I woke up, knew I didn't have a deadline or an appointment today, and decided against doing anything terribly productive until Monday. (Email and blogging don't count)

So I'm having Ferris Bueller's day off. Husband Bob has been rambling about with me; he's half-retired and already had the day off. We've poked around in Carrboro, the Paris of the South: thrift shops, used books, a camera store, a bead store (he was patient), a run through McDonald's for sweet tea, now the Chapel Hill Library. Soon a Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant (the Fiesta Grill, which seats 13) that's supposed to be amazingly good. (There's nothing like warm gooey cheese in my estimation.)

Probably Bernanke will announce early next week that my taking a day off is yet another sign of the receding recession.

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Bold Color

What is it about orange that makes it a "bolder" color than the others? Bolder even than red. A field of pumpkins for example, is much more vibrant than a great pile of cucumbers or eggplant.

There's probably some optical reason.

In the absence of knowing what that might be, I dare to guess: orange arrives at the eye sooner than indigo? there's less orange in the typical background? it has some innate charisma?

My hope is that when I figure it out, I'll know something about forthrightness that I didn't know before.

My research turns up the following:
About.com says the color is mentally stimulating, less aggressive than red, sociable, and associated with change.

Color expert Kate Smith says orange is more controversial than any other color; people have strong feelings about it one way or another. Also, it's fun and flamboyant. (I think we know what side she's on.)

Orange is the color linked with the second chakra, which is in turn associated with creativity and sex, happiness and courage.

Got anything orange in your closet?

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This Has Nothing To Do With Boldness

This is an example of why we sometimes grind our teeth and then rush to watch Jon Stewart. This is a reminder (as if it were needed) that sometimes we are beyond the reach of caricature and satire. Here is an actual quote from an online help desk individual who couldn't answer my question.

"...Your concern will need to be taken care by the Concerned department."

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The Ultimate Adventure

My writing group is showing its age, as one of our number pointed out last week. The group has been meeting on Thursday afternoons for 26 years and we weren't kids when we started.

Recently one of the gang said she would in the future be coming only very occasionally. She has a serious chronic ailment that limits her mobility. Another has a pacemaker and continuing heart trouble. One wears hearing aids. Yet another has some surgery scheduled for Monday and I had a round of that myself a few years ago.

We range in age now from 51 to 71, and have been lucky so far. No deaths. No malignancies unless you count a wee skin cancer, which I don't (and it was mine, so I get to decide.) I'm 60 and have dodged all large bullets so far.

It's a truism that "old age is not for sissies." No kidding. Getting old is an adventure of the tallest sort. Much more dangerous than rock-climbing, for example. Harder to beat than any casino.

I don't want to rush it, of course. I do have a sense of calling here on Earth, to tell particular stories. I know that's grandiose, but it helps me plan my time. I'd like to get further along with my assignment before having to quit. I'd also like a bestseller or two, but that's a different adventure.

The important thing about the aging adventure so far is that it's a team sport, much better done with friends. My writing group, which BTW has produced quite a good pile of good books with more to come, is "in it for the long haul," including any who have to come only occasionally. I'm proud of this bold set of pals.

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A Procedural Question

I've had report that it has recently been hard/confusing/impossible to leave a comment here.

If you've had such difficulty, would you email me and let me know? ppayne51@cs.com.

Thanks.

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The Courage to Make a Controversial Stand

A new hero of mine: Olympia Snowe, Republican senator from Maine.

She's the only senator of her party to vote for the Obama-backed healthcare reform bill this week. And she has ignored right-wing doctrine before: voting against a bill to ban gay marriage.

Hail, Ms. Snowe.

I hope her courage and her thinking set a good example for others on votes to come. I'd never heard of her before this week, but I won't forget her now.

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Step Outside the Walls

Brisk weather is, for me, enlivening. It's the season of new resolves, freshly sharpened pencils, and perkier energy. Perhaps that's just in North Carolina, where the mugginess tends to lift by mid-October.

In Chapel Hill, the temp just now is 56. The wind is north at 5 mph, and the humidity is 56%. We should arrive at 59 before the day is out--not exactly sweaty.

To take advantage of any perkifying effects, however,it's important to actually step outside one's door.

A sobering detail from Science Daily:

"...People in industrialized countries, on average, spend 93 percent of their time indoors, making them largely disconnected from the impact of changing weather outside."

The Science Daily article seems to favor warm weather, BTW. Perhaps the researchers are based in Lake Wobegon. I for one am emboldened by crispy air.

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Dare to Stand Out

University professor meets with student to go over his work. (on Halloween) See previous post: Feeling Like the Only One? Got your Halloween costume yet?

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The Daring and Beauty of "Dear & Yonder"

Surfer women are the subject and the stars of a charming and inspiring new movie I went to see last night. "Dear & Yonder: Daring Stories of Ladies United by the Sea" had its Pittsboro, North Carolina premiere at Pittsboro General Store Cafe.

This inland village(pop.2525), 20 minutes from my house, is where one of the auteurs grew up. Andria Lessler came back to town with her movie (three years in the works) and it played to a crowded and delighted house.

It's rare that a piece of art feels all at once sunny and delightful and seriously inspiring, without being sentimental. Dear & Yonder, the story of women in surfing all over the world, manages this feat.

If you want a glimpse at some role models for daring, athletic skill, careful artistry in any field, or the creation of a new category/identity, watch the trailer here or go to the Dear & Yonder website. (DVDs will be available in early December.)

This film is also a tribute to the gorgeousness of people, the ocean, and the planet. Next showing is in Portland, Oregon.

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Why We Should Celebrate Failures

From Success Magazine this month:

"When is the last time you rewarded yourself for failing? Probably never. Instead of mentally punishing yourself for not succeeding, buy yourself an ice cream cone and say, 'Great job! I'm one step closer to success!" On the surface this sounds silly, but celebrating failure is one of the best ways to stop letting no have a negative hold on your thoughts and emotions."

--from "YES Is The Destination; NO Is How You Get There" by Richard Fenton and Andrea Waltz

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Baby Blue Courage

A young couple who live down the other fork of my dirt road had a baby a few weeks ago. Their first one died in infancy a couple of years ago and it was very, very hard. I'm so proud of them and their courage for starting again.

They have one huge celebratory blue bow on their mailbox in the otherwise nondescript row of boxes out by the main road. Possibly the biggest and perkiest looking baby bow I've ever seen.

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Boldness in Crisis

I'm watching a friend go through a crisis and handle it in a manner that is thoughtful and purposeful and yet emotionally in touch.

This same friend gets into a fury if she misplaces her sunglasses.

I'm impressed. And I'm also encouraged by the thought that real trouble may call up resources we didn't know we had. I happen to get unhinged if my email doesn't do right. And I hate to think about a proportionate response to a crisis that's many times larger.

Maybe we expend our furies safely on the little stuff and haul out our best in the face of the most daunting.

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Several Reasons to Seize the Day

Hyper-alive today. Partly the blue sky and October air. Mainly it's being reminded by the waiting-for-news friend I posted about yesterday and then seeing last night another pal who is increasingly disabled. I'm worried for both of them and yet overwhelmingly glad we're all three alive.

And one more thing, I just left the reunion of participants in a June writing workshop at Meredith University. (I led the fiction-writing group that week.) Today people read from what they're working on--and reported an impressive number of stories and poems accepted for publication. Hearing all that also felt enlivening to me: plus, of course, there was the fruit/cheesecake tart and the cookies, the gustatory equivalent of blue skies and fall air.

So to recap, reasons for seizing the day:
*weather
*good buddies
*cookies and other pastries
*art
*progress
*time is short.

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Looking for Meaning

A buddy got some worrisome news. And now has the anxiety of waiting for more info.

Maybe the worrisome-news category of events exists to put things like email problems into perspective, for all concerned.

However, I can easily conceive of a universe in which there's never a bad biopsy and no vexing computer problems either. That would do a lot for my perspective.

I guess the bold thing, though, is to "get" in a gut way the fact that that universe isn't the one we currently have. And then figure out how to manage, moment by moment, as gracefully as possible in the one we do have.

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Feeling Like the Only One?

An English professor of my acquaintance was teaching a freshmen class on a day that fell on Halloween. She assumed that surely the students would dress for the occasion. And so she rigged out in witch regalia, including silver mask and tall blue diaphanous cone hat.

None of the students dressed up. She swears that she didn't flinch, just proceeded comfortably teaching the class as a witch.

Obviously she has magical powers.

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Feeling Timid?

Standing in line at lunch today at one of the hip green lite fast-food places called Evo's, waiting for my low-fat chocolate shake, I picked up one of their hip magazines, Paste, which carries the slogan: "Signs of Life in Music, Film, and Culture."


"African Queen" was the story I started browsing, and then seriously reading. This article about Malian singer and businesswoman Oumou Sangare had not a trace of jaded attitude to it. It was old-fashioned dazzlingly inspiring (well-written to boot.)

This woman sings in the language Bambara about justice and reform. Doesn't sound like a money-maker to me, but she has become an international music sensation (though without my having heard of her before.) And she truly "speaks truth to power."

Here's an example of her courage:

"She once sang an anti-polygamy song to the King of Swaziland—'he had three wives on one side and four wives on the other!' Sangare laughs before getting serious. 'Polygamy is the worst thing that anyone can possibly do to a woman. I respect the choice of women who say they know what they’re doing and want to jump into the fire, but often they don’t have a voice. Their opinion isn’t asked for. For 20 years, I’ve been singing directly to women in Mali and Africa, telling them what’s really important is to have self-confidence. They can become autonomous and independent.'"

Feeling inspired by her example? I am. Paste is right: she's definitely a sign of life.

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Halloween Is a Holiday to Lift the Spirits

Do you have your Halloween costume yet?

I found mine by happy accident a couple weeks ago at a local Goodwill. I'd already been invited to a party. And then a few days later what do I see on one of the acres of racks but a sparkling floor-length red number, tagged Sultry Devil. It was $6 and amazing: a strapless sheath shining from top to bottom with see-through red bat sleeves and a small hooded cape as a wrap.

I've been so excited about this that I have the feeling I've posted about it already, though I don't find it on my blog.

If you want to add an enlivening tidbit to your schedule this month make a fun little to-do this year about this paradoxically playful celebration.

(My husband Bob has a pair of glittering red devil horns he always wears on Halloween in his office all day while seeing patients.)

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Self-Actualizing Bouquets

Flower arranging once seemed to me an impossible art. That was back when I tried to make the posies fall into the places I had in mind.

I gave that up.

Now I let the stems pretty much have their way. And I put in some of most everything that's blooming. This approach produces a sort of oddness, and doesn't reach levels of doing weddings or of ikebana, but it's a great pleasure to me and keeps a little something live on the table.

That big round thing on the right is a mock orange, BTW, a wonderfully eccentric plant. The fruit has the fuzz of a peach and the size of a plum, smells like an orange, and maybe I'll get emboldened and taste one.

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Creative Doodling: Three-Dimensional

A piece of anonymous folk art was standing in front of my drugstore Saturday when I pulled into the parking lot.

There on the grass was an edifice built of plastic knives. I think the elements might have already have pushed it a little out of shape. Nonetheless, it remained luminous, a nice little discovery to happen upon.

I like the idea of turning disposable knives into a bit of art. In general, I like evidence of people looking at things in more than one way.

And after all, I live in the area that recently became famous for the Barrel Monster, the late night creation of another imaginative person who created a national sensation out of some traffic markers.

Once one person opens the door, all kinds of stuff starts happening.

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Enraged and Obsessed

With the email horrors that I've been having increasingly for months now, TRULY BOLD would be thinking about anything else.

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A Bold Man

Today is the birthday of Gandhi, a man who faced unending heartbreaking frustrations and yet changed the world radically and for the better. He was also notably nice to people, including his jailers, most of the way. A sterling example of bold living. This sculpture of him sits three blocks from my office.

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A Recommendation for Writers

You know that website called Publishers Marketplace? You can get a lot of info at no charge there, including a free newsletter about the publishing industry, what book just sold by what agent to what editor for what price level.

I've generally ignored the $20 a month membership option for additional info there, thinking that one way or another I could find what I want for free. That may be true, but it takes a long time.

I just ponied up the $20 for a month and, goodness gracious, it was worth it. Want to know who's representing who and what the email is? I don't know of a faster way to get it. I was amazed. And membership is month by month, so you don't have to keep paying once your need is past.

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Who's Bold Now?

At moments before two o'clock this afternoon, I decided to close my eyes for a moment on the little fainting couch in my office. I woke up shortly after six pm when my husband called.

In the meantime, my office partner Carrie was working busily in the next room, as she had been since early morning. Here's the clincher, she'd traveled 40 hours to get back from South Africa yesterday, arriving less than two hours before doing an evening reading at a bookstore. Well, one hopes she'll crash tonight.

Maybe I was doing compensatory sleeping on her behalf. Generous of me.
I tell myself as others also tell me: must have needed my sleep.

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Bold Living: the Aftermath

Sometimes the tricky part of a bold move is what comes next.

A very minor example. I wrote an extremely odd short short, a bit of what is often referred to as "flash fiction", which is to say, a story that's very short.

I wrote it in the form of a style sheet, the list of definitions of an editor's markings on a manuscript. As in, stet means "keep as is." The action unfolds in this list of editorial symbols, which grow increasingly fanciful.

I already admitted it was odd.

The story, "Writers' Handbook of Editorial and Proofreading Marks (WHEPM, 17th Edition)", included in an anthology out this month: Long Story Short, edited by Marianne Gingher, published by UNC Press.

So tonight I'm to join Gingher and two other writers published in the collection (Carrie Knowles and Angela Davis-Gardner) at Raleigh's famous Quail Ridge Books & Music to read our stories and talk about them.

My story cannot be read aloud. It's more like a cartoon, not so entertaining when you try to explain it. Carrie's story is 96 words long, including the title, and she's flying in from South Africa today, will no doubt be in flight-dazed condition after 15+ hours in the air. This should be an entertaining evening.

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Back to Maslow, Self-Actualizing

Two courage quotes from Abraham Maslow on the power of confidence:

"The history of the human race is the story of men and women selling themselves short."

"We fear to know the fearsome and the unsavory aspects of ourselves but we fear ever more to know the godlike in ourselves."

Advice for the day: Don't Punt. Take a Look at the Godlike in Yourself.

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Gardening Guilt

After a summer of neglect, my flower garden was full of reproach when I started a bit of weeding this afternoon. It's just too hot here to enjoy such activities in summer, plus I'd rather be on the water then. (Or lounging in the AC reading a novel.)

So I expect a garden to look after itself during the hot months. And what I encountered this afternoon was: bugs and blight and drought-damaged plants and the creeping trails made by moles and voles. Plus, some flowers. I would like to be able to focus on those flowers--and the oranges on the mock-orange. But it's hard not to berate oneself while standing knee-deep in weeds, dead stalks, and the accusing survivors.

It's a hobby, I tell myself, not a moral obligation.

Also, I'm convinced that the only true waste of time is berating one's self--or others, for that matter. But it's very hard to stop.

So I kept weeding and pruning. Didn't yield to the impulse to simply toss the clippers and give it up. I give myself credit for that.

This is one more example of a garden as teacher and provocateur. I've always liked the saying: if someone wants to rule the world, let them first cultivate a little plot of land. It's humbling.

My bold goal becomes simply to keep going, to fix what I can.

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Bold Living: at Parties

At a party last night, I had a talk with the hostess, a woman in her seventies whom I'd never met before, and was impressed by the fact that she seemed entirely "for real" through the whole conversation. I asked myself what gave me that feeling. She seemed:

* relaxed, but not ostentatiously so
* forthcoming yet not eager to entertain or impress
* free of any sign of anxiety
* mildly flirtatious with the men who happened by
* in the moment, rather than orchestrating the coming moment
* and interested in the conversation

She, like almost every one else at the party, was a group psychotherapist, and perhaps in her case that played a part. But I also know that there are plenty of therapists who are shy as rabbits.

I mentioned to my husband my view of this woman. He agreed and said: Isn't she gracious? and she doesn't just blurt out whatever comes to mind.

My own party style has evolved: I used to talk until I was giddy and had a fine time. Over time, without meaning to, I've slowed it down quite a bit; regrettably though, I haven't liked parties as much since, which is sad.

I think last night's hostess has somehow found what the Buddhists call "The Middle Way." Best of all, it seemed to come naturally. I think it can come naturally for anyone. But a lot of us need help getting the conversation started: a search turned up hundreds of thousands of websites on how to start a conversation.

My mother, a pure example of extroverted, calls the process "finding their topic."

On the other hand, I get tired of my topics. I like it when someone steers me into an interest I didn't know I had.

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