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.





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$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.



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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.)


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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.



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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.




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Authenticity and The Velveteen Rabbit

A charming and inspiring Youtube snippet from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams Bianco, illustrated with watercolors, read by Meryl Streep, with music by George Winston: "he wished he could become real without these uncomfortable things happening to him."

A classic story--about love and authenticity and a little toy rabbit becoming real, "For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard...."

I'm guessing the author intended this story to be about love mainly--and the way appearances cease to matter. I think it also speaks strongly to anyone who ever lived in a psychic cupboard.




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Trying Too Hard! Too Much! Overkill!

Ever felt a trifle nervous on a new job? Told yourself, "Just act normal"? Or worse: "Be funny"?

If so, you must read: "I Am So Funny". "My brief and wondrous career at The Daily Show," Lauren Weedman writes, "consisted of making jokes about the Amish and trying to get Jon Stewart to love me."

Jon Stewart didn't come to love her.

I've become quite a devotee of The Daily Show during the recent campaign. Resolved to write for them or Saturday Night Live in one of my upcoming lifetimes. Weedman, though, did it exactly the way I fear I'd do it: by being so overwrought that she was alarming. But the trip was worth the story, at least if you're the reader and not her.

It's an excerpt from her book A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body: Tales from a Life of Cringe.

It's killer funny. And a cautionary tale about trying way too hard.



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Getting Rid of an Obsession

An excellent primer on stopping an obsessive thought is posted on Beliefnet, which is a great place to explore/talk about any sort of spiritual belief or doubt.

The ideas in the piece are familiar to me--but then I'm quite a student of obsessions and the stoppage of them. However, I don't recall seeing them so well condensed and assembled, also with pictures for each that are oddly persuasive.

Obsession can get in the way of boldness or of any movement at all.

Once I went to a party that reminded me of this. It was a birthday party held in a warehouse-like space that was already filled with an art piece. The art was made up of the old narrow single beds from a state mental hospital. They were empty and made up with white sheets, and all the air between and above them was thickly cobwebbed with black string. A terrific three-dimensional visual of what obsession feels like -- one aspect of it, anyway.

So the guests were given scissors and we cut down the net of obsessions. I have somewhere a picture of myself doing that. It was satisfying to do, and useful to remember: to do what's necessary to cut through that sticky stuff.

Added note: some obsessions, like a romantic yearning, we don't always want to give up hope on. Once when I was single I had one of those hanging on too long. My therapist said, "Cut it off." By which he meant giving up every hope or ambition. I said, "That's hard." He said, "As hard as my cutting off my own hand." I have to say, though, it worked, and was a lot less painful in the long run. It was time.



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Host/Hostess Anxiety

I find entertaining difficult, not while people are at my house, but in advance of the event. Has to do with cleaning up the house.

We live in a log house in the woods and have one large dog and one very-large dog with us in the house; both of them, bless their hearts, are shedders and one enjoys rubbing against furniture and appliances. And then my husband Bob --bless his heart too--uses the seats of chairs for storage areas.

I didn't suffer from hostess anxiety while I was single. And this is curious because I was and am what an English ex-boyfriend referred to as "a heap." If it was my junk, it was okay for people to see.

I opened a book this morning that has been useful for me: Daring to Be Yourself by Alexandra Stoddard. Saw a couple of things I'd underlined way back: "There is no need to be a nervous hostess. I feel comfortable when I entertain but only if I don't put on airs." and "Your guests want to experience your natural style."

But my natural style does not involve dog hair. But I've also come to realize: my heapish artist style did not produce the rustic house next to the pond, all of which I like very much. Bob (and his ex) were the creator of that. And I get more credit than is due. So maybe it all balances out. Or maybe none of that matters. (That's an idea I try on for size; actually I don't buy it.)

In any event, it seems to be my natural style to marry a guy who creates a wonderful woodland house where the leaves are now madly and brilliantly falling as well as the dog hair and piles of books. So that's the style that it's okay to show.



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Your Vote Counts: Winning by a GASP

In the little I did about campaigning, I was plagued and hindered by the thought that I wasn't doing any good for my candidate. Phone-banking--well, I did it, but at the same time I know I've never been persuaded of anything by somebody calling me from a campaign. Same thing with door-to-door canvassing.

However, when I look at the campaign group that formed and blossomed in my town in only the last weeks of the campaign, I'm convinced as never before that every single vote matters, and that every effort to help a voter get registered and to the polling place counts.

Here's the persuasive (to me) data: GASP began with ten women about six weeks before the election. By election night, there were more than a thousand: registering people to vote, cooking meals for volunteers, writing, making calls, and giving many thousands of dollars.

Then when the votes were in, North Carolina went for Obama, first time for a Democrat since Carter in 1976, by roughly 14,000 votes. Wake, where GASP was at work, went for Obama by about 15 percentage points. Had Obama led in Wake by only 12 points, Obama would have lacked the votes to win the state.

Though it cannot be absolutely nailed down, I am convinced that the 1,000 + women made the difference. Disclosure: I'm not even officially a GASPER, never went to the first meeting. But from now on, when doubts arise about whether my effort will help, I'm going to remember this, and do what I can.

Addendum: GASP is now looking at what their next effort should be.


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A Turning Point

Pivot is a move that has become familiar in my writing career.

Just when I think I'm done with something I learn something new that will make my book better or more marketable in some substantial way.

That happened once again yesterday in my writing group, led by Laurel Goldman.

Fellow member Joe Burgo was struck with a thought no one had had before that would make my writing more accessible to more people faster.

He seemed worried that he'd caused me a great inconvenience. But he's really onto something, and I worked three hours last night on the first page, making tiny non-objectionable changes that I think will welcome a reader faster, especially a more casual reader. (I'm now going to do that for a lot of other pages.)

It does go against my essentially reserved nature (I say that while blogging away, like a pop tart telling a TV reporter she's a private person.) And, if I may delicately say so, it pisses me off that I don't get to speak in the way that comes most naturally to me. I did enjoy expressing myself on that subject yesterday. Writers who match the zeitgeist get a lot more work done a lot faster and more easily. But this exercise seems to be part of my dharma, and so I carry on--and with some fresh interest.






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Toughness and Serenity

A hope I have for this new administration: that the uncommonly calm-seeming Obama will make it hip to be understated.

I have a stake in this. While I strive to be bold and clear, I'm naturally inclined toward saying things only once and none too loudly.

Now we have a leader who has managed this enormous political feat while seeming almost serene. In the last week, Charlie Rose asked of one of his guests: "Does he have any outrage?"

I very much admire the combo of leadership and calm.

See?! Soft-spoken does not mean wimpy.

A person can boldly step to the front of the free world without getting all rowdy about it.

I thought I'd seen someone else writing to the same effect, with the title "Born to Be Mild." But it was about a motorcycle.



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America the Bold!

I am happy! and grateful! at the election results.

John McCain was heroic, showed true leadership, in his concession speech. It couldn't have been more graceful.

Barack Obama--well, you know how I feel. He makes me so proud of my country. The only moment I thought he showed his own pride and joy last night was when he introduced his wife as: "the next First Lady of the United States." In a gut way, that was the moment that stirred me the most.

I know also that many are disappointed this morning, people who worked hard for McCain. Listening to him last night, I could understand why. I'm trusting that, as was promised last night, Obama will prove himself to you, that he will be your president too.



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Do the Right Thing and Vote

Sometimes when I've felt chilly in the car, I've reached over and turned on the radio. Not the heater, the radio. As if any knob would do.

Yesterday, with this important election day looming, I had a strong impulse, not to campaign, but to vacuum my car. On deadlline for one project, I've sometimes madly worked on another.

I picture a sort of free-floating urgency that thinks it will be satisfied by any action. But it's not true.

So now I remind myself that I must do as Forster suggests: "Only connect." Not quite the way he meant it. But it works. Connect the urgency with the needed action.

Minutes ago, the postman stepped into our foyer with the mail for these four offices. I wished him a happy election day. He said, "Tomorrow this time we'll have a new president."

"Have you voted?"

He laughed in an embarrassed way. "No, not yet."

"Are you going to?"

"I hope so." (He hopes so?! For one thing, this man is African-American! What is he thinking?! I was tempted to get between him and the bowl of candy we keep on the front table, but then realized that would be probably be illegal.)

I said, "Please do. Please vote."

I'll say it again: Please vote. It won't do any good to just turn on the radio.

(Another good Forster quote from Howard's End via the website Only Connect: "Mature as he was, she might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion."




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The Eve of Election

If you haven't already voted, please figure out when you're going to do it tomorrow. Allow plenty of time. Take a book. Take a neighbor. I don't think there has been a more crucial election in my lifetime (except, of course, when my brother has been on the ballot in NC.)

Today it seems that everybody I see is a little agitated and excited. The security guards in a state office building wanted to know where to get the particular Obama pin I was wearing (the one with Martin Luther King on it.) When I said where I'd gotten it, one of them lit out down the street on foot to get one.

Or maybe it's just me seeing the whole world as excited. If I wake up tightly wound, I realize it first when I can't decide what to wear. If I simply can't accessorize. This morning it was scarf fever. I tried so many different things around my neck that finally my husband, who thinks scarves are silly and unnecessary, started telling me that each one looked good.

I gave up. No scarf.

Tomorrow, I'm signed on to spend the last hours of the voting day as an IMPARTIAL observer at polling place. I'm just to watch and make sure everybody gets to vote and report any problems to an on-call lawyer or technical problems guy. To seem impartial, I will have to calm down. This would indeed be bold.



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American Dream

Want to know what irks me about almost every campaign I've ever seen? It's the idea that there are "average Joes" and "everyday Americans" and "the little man."

In my view, there are people -- and every damn one is a big deal.

That's the point of the United States. And also of the Democratic party.

The combo of this hot hot campaign with today's news of the death of Studs Terkel, the great oral biographer of both rich and poor, brings this to mind.

I'm convinced that any person's potential is greater if we all view her or him as a Big Deal. As a goldmine of possibilities. And take our own powers seriously as well.

I certainly see us as all peers in the matter of success in the writing business. You never know who is taking it up today for the first time, who'll have a bestseller two years from now. Students are ever passing the teacher. It happens all the time.

For example: years ago after publication of my first novel, an ad writer took me to lunch to ask me questions about getting started in fiction. Her name: Jan Karon, astoundingly successful creator of the Mitford novels.

It's just realistic to view each other, and ourselves, as remarkable.




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Writing about Sex

Last night I started reading--and almost finished--the newly released Desire, by Susan Cheever. It's about sex addiction. In her acknowledgements she made a comment about dedicating the book to her children who'd embarrassed to death by the book. A nice irony. And very interesting book.

I have a rather highly-sexed, potentially embarrassing-to-others novel in its final stages. My mother once sent me a quote from someone saying: "Pity the parent of a writer."

But we have to write what we have to write.



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A Small Bold Move

To tell a person immediately that I'm getting annoyed with whatever they're doing, instead of letting irritation pile up and then blowing up to the surprise of everyone.

Why is that so hard?


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Barack Obama in Raleigh!!!

A local TV station airing this morning's speech live estimated 28,000 people gathered in the downtown mall. The line waiting to get into the area stretched for many blocks, doubling back on itself repeatedly. My office partner Carrie waited over three hours and got in.


I walked around outside with my camera, so excited, taking crowd shots in every direction. This place in this moment with the choppers hovering overhead and the news trucks lining the curb felt to me like the center of the world.



Then from the loudspeaker, audible for blocks: Barack Obama, urging people to go straight from the rally to vote. "It's a beautiful day," he said. "Don't wait."

I walked back to my office, only a few blocks away, and listened to the rest of his speech on my computer. I've never felt more patriotic or full of hope for this country.

As I walked through downtown later in the afternoon,everyone seemed to know everyone, strangers speaking to each other as if they'd already met. The dull film that can lie over an ordinary moment was gone.
I want every day to be like that, with that kind of awareness and appreciation of everything. That to me would be a bold life.



At the same time, I can feel in myself a tempering of my excitement, as if that blunting of feeling would protect me in advance from heartbreak if my candidate doesn't become president. That kind of strategy doesn't work; it just gets in the way of the fun along the way. And may well get in the way of the best results. Because full enthusiasm is likely to lead to more action toward the goal.




So, I'm advocating full-tilt enjoyment of this historic moment, which, by the way, does not mean no-holds-barred behavior. Not at all. One thing that impressed me about this morning's 28,000. It was such an orderly and yet obviously delighted crowd.

Indeed, a beautiful day.












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Race Talk at Brunch

Sunday morning at a small get-together, I had the first direct personal conversation I ever had with an African-American about growing up on opposite sides of the color line in the South.

I'm almost sixty years old; how could it have taken this long?

Surprisingly it wasn't the Obama campaign that started the conversation. It was the movie The Secret Life of Bees, with the black woman in the group saying it was a shallow and unrealistic treatment of the black characters in the story. She called it "a white woman's fantasy."

This friend--I'll call her Jane--grew up with a mother who worked in a white woman's home. I grew up with a black woman helping to take care of me from my earliest memory until adulthood. In only a few minutes, we took a run through some very sensitive stuff: how this kind of arrangement could affect a black kid, how a black nanny might really feel about the white family. A fuller picture than either side typically saw.

During the conversation, I felt as if I were walking a high-wire: easily, but not daring to look down. At the same time, I felt a growing exhilaration and relief.

By the time I was halfway home, though, I was very sad. I didn't feel the connection with the earlier talk; but I knew it was there: how much my privilege has cost people I love, and how little I ever did to shift that balance.

I've come to feel that there's not a lot of point in flaunting guilt, or at least no admirable point; there's plenty to be done still, so I should shut up and do it.

Still, the straight talk was a good thing. For me, anyway.






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