Garrison Keillor Gets Sexy

The ever-cheeky Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion set a new standard for home-spun boldness Saturday. If you missed it, do go listen to his song "Fatherhood", a bebopping rendition of the heroic journey of a sperm. It's in Segment 3, just after "Bailout Boogie."

(I'd offer a sample of those daring lines, but ever since I paid for the right to quote from "Puff the Magic Dragon" in my first novel Revelation, I've been careful to stay out of song lyrics.)




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Unhappy Puppy

While I was planting verbena this afternoon, our new puppy Aura had her first encounter with the electric fence of her little corral. I'd never been around when such a thing happened and I was almost as upset as she was.

She yowled, then ran, but wasn't sure where to run. Didn't know what was safe.

I couldn't stand it. I got her out of there and spent the rest of my gardening time trying to stop her from walking on the columbine and eating the daffodil fronds.

I don't know whether I'm too soft-hearted to train a dog or a child, or simply too squeamish: unwilling to suffer myself in seeing them hurt.

I do know that Aura, shocked, dramatically illustrated how all kinds of creatures tend to behave after a broadside. Not sure what to trust, desperate to avoid further hurt. It's hard at such moments -- takes boldness -- to figure out what caused the pain and not blame it on any and every thing in sight.




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The Snake in My Head

A garter snake is on the list of entities I've always thought of as ridiculously harmless. Like dandelions, cotton candy, soap bubbles, toads, puppies, primary colors, large print, milkshakes, and the board game Candyland.

So today I was weeding the periwinkle and startled a two-and-a-half foot striped snake sunning his/herself on the ledge at the back of the bed. I jumped back. The snake fell still, head raised in my direction. I yelled for Bob. He came out and told me it was not a copperhead at all, instead a garter snake. First time I realized I'd never seen one. It didn't look like bubbles or cotton candy at all. More like, say, a pygmy rattler. But I let him/her alone and went back to my gardening -- at a little distance. Next time I looked the snake was gone.

I didn't want to make a pet of the creature, but neither did I have any sense of lingering alarm. Hours later near dusk, I grabbed a handful of weeds and dead leaves that squirmed in my hand. I gasped and tossed it, then discovered that the live thing was a toad that was hopping away from me at top toad speed.

What interests most me about all this is that the mini-burst of adrenaline on grabbing the toad probably would not have happened it not been for the earlier moment of alarm over the snake. Without even realizing it, I was expecting to stumble onto trouble.

This secondary reaction made me wonder what other and larger ways I may have conditioned myself to unnecessary wariness.




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The Courage to Relax

The ability to relax is underrated as an act of courage. I tend to have tense shoulders all the time. And I've just now come from the dentist where I tend to turn into a 5 foot 8 inch steel plank. A snootful of nitrous helps, but still I can be fairly tense.

Somehow tight muscles feel like the proper state of readiness for everything, good or bad. Never mind that I almost never resort to a physical solution to problems. I don't actually engage in fight or flight. Instead, I ponder, revise, negotiate, think, chat. These activities don't require the muscle tone of a shark.

Nevertheless, the habit persists. This morning at my dentist's I made a point of using not just the nitrous but as much muscle-loosening as I could muster. I made my hands feel heavy. It felt good.

And I have an idea I could probably think better with loose muscles. If you happen to have any studies or experiences that demonstrate that, I'd love to know. I fear it's going to take all the king's horses to get my shoulders to move to a different position on a regular basis.





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Pig Spa

I'm ever scanning the world for sterling examples of boldness to report on, and I found some true moxie yesterday in my local News & Observer.

The story by Kathleen Purvis was about Hog Heaven, an inn and spa devoted to an appreciation of pork. "'I figured if California could have the Napa Valley, maybe it was time for the South to celebrate what makes us truly happy,'" owner Sue Trotter says. "'And no place appreciates bacon like the South.'"

This North Carolina mini-resort doesn't stop with a pork-heavy menu and opportunities to spend time with the cute little piglets: "...You can relax under a cooling raw-bacon eye mask while you get a facial with high-quality leaf lard, prized for its antioxidant content."

I was worrying a bit about how comfortable it would be to eat pork while patting a pig; especially since I liked the hogs that wandered the streets near where I lived in India, found them surprisingly personable. And then of course I came to the final punch line: April Fool's Day. I'd been completely suckered up to that very last sentence.

What was bold was that story. And the photograph that went with it.





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The Confident Camel

I picked out this camel pin (for Husband Bob to give me) just because I liked it. Probably also at the back of my mind was the fact that when I was a kid my mother smoked three packs a day of unfiltered Camels and I have good memories of the image.
I also think my camel is an excellent reminder of persistence and steady long haul effort. The camel tends to get where she's going. She also knows her worth; if you've ever been around camels (as I was now and again in India), then you know there's no loftier manner in the animal queendom.

So I've been wearing her image on a pocketbook, the equivalent of heart-on-sleeve for visibility. I like the combo of confident persistence and regal bearing. And as you can see, my camel is smokin'!!!




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My Polka-Dot Woodland Semi-Shade Garden

By popular request (Regular Contributor Debbie Whaley suggested it), I've posted here a few of the bold blossoms around my house. They're bold to peep out because we live in woodland amongst herds of deer and large swathes of shade and voles and other diggers, including something that can only be the Tunneling Yeti. And I tend to plant what I want even if it would like more sun, (these pics are prior to the arrival of the summer leaves.) My strategy yields a few courageous blooms that are much-appreciated. They're all the more admirable for venturing out under such adverse circumstances.










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Blount Wisdom on the Economy

The hilarious and wise Roy Blount, Jr. writes a don't-miss column in the Authors Guild Bulletin (he's president of that group.) His most recent entry is about the economy and writers. It applies to more people than writers.

"Look. It was imprudent of us, in the first place, to become authors....For 33 years I have been a freelance writer, literally never knowing where my next dollar is coming from, even when I knew from whence it was supposed to have come three or four months ago....But I know this: Authors have been scared before, and not deterred."

That's the key strategy idea here: "NOT DETERRED." And that definitely applies to all of us.



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Bringing Home the Mastiff Puppy

The new puppy arrived at our house yesterday. What does this have to do with bold?

Well, Husband Bob is extremely bold to take on this dog. She--Aura--is a sweet soft, though rather large, mastiff puppy now. She'll become a 140 pound animal, a Boerboel, bred as a guard dog. Already, at about four months old, she's over sixty pounds and hyperalert.

Bob likes big, challenging dogs from faraway places. He already has a Kangal dog, Kaya, a Turkish mastiff-type, a strong-willed fellow who outweighs me.

Last night, little Aura met big Kaya for the first time. The puppy rushed up to the big guy. Kaya, on a leash, stayed cool but had a fiercely interested look in his eye. Aura (gutsy puppy) would back off a little but then dash forward again. I think we're all going to get along fine. In the meantime, it's quite a household adventure.








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Sky-Diving In Without a Laptop

When I got to my office today, I discovered that I'd left home the cord that goes between my laptop and the power strip-- called a power supply? or battery pack or something like that. And of course the battery in the machine was out of juice. And I had appointments etc. and no time to get back home.

So, I turned my attention, in my non-appointment time, to doing everything in my office that could be done without my computer. By 6 o'clock I'd finished my taxes and filed receipts going back to October. And paid some bills. I could have put these off a bit longer. But, laptopless, I was forced to face them. Not such a bad thing.

And my desktop, the upper surface of my physical desk is clean, except for a few notes and a Fresca can.

This is the third time I've left that cord in the wrong place. And I've gotten a lot done every time. So maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Sort of like getting pushed out of the plane when it's time to make your first parachute jump. Ordinarily I don't like that kind of help, but I did do this to myself. So I can't complain.

(Note: Sky-diving is one thing I declined to do even back in my more reckless years. Parasailing twice around Puerto Vallarta Harbor is as close as I ever want to come. I got the second trip around for free because there was difficulty getting me down, and when I finally skidded in for a landing, I came to a halt lying across a sunbathing gentlemen who had seen me approaching in the last seconds and desperately tried to get out of my way.)

(Note 2: My process in writing novels is very much the same as that used in this post. Start off with a missing cord and wind up in Puerta Vallarta. I like that.)




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The Creative Unconscious

I sat down this morning to start proofreading my novel and wound up making substantial and marvelous changes to the opening. (Some might not call these substantial since the events didn’t change, but I do: the emotion became clearer and stronger.)

This reminds me once again: it’s not only our will and resolve and conscious minds with the capacity be bold. The unconscious can at the most unexpected times kick in with some pretty cheeky ideas as well. Thank God! I’d hate to think I was on this job entirely on my own.





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In Bold Chase of Dad

A man whose father left him as a baby decided he wanted to find out about his father and where he'd gone. After decades and networks of research and with the help of some DNA detective work, he learned at the age of 82 what he wanted to know.

This story, "DNA Reveals Story of Dad's Disappearance," was in my local paper, the News & Observer, yesterday--written, as it happens, by my sister-in-law, Ruth Sheehan.

The story got an enormous outrageous shocking number of hits.

I wonder if it was because DNA and genealogy are hot topics. Or because the story of a guy who kept on looking is inspiring. ('Course, Ruth's a really good writer, it could've been entirely that.)

Whatever else the attraction, I'm pretty sure that the story of someone keeping on--for more than six decades, even into old age--and succeeding is always a hot topic.





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A Passion for Mastiffs

A big piece of the boldness equation is going full-tilt after what draws you, what you care about.

Saturday night my dear old friend Susie came to dinner; we had not seen each other in 41 years. Until our mid-teens, we lived one door away from each other, and had played together from my earliest memory. Then she moved.

The Internet (with the assistance of my brother Harry) reconnected us. She lives only three hours away, and she was traveling with four Tibetan mastiffs.

Turns out that she, Susie Ochsenbein, has a passion for these huge beautiful dogs and has traveled over much of the world showing, judging, visiting, and studying them. She's a global expert on these animals. And has 13 of her own. That's pretty close to an actual ton of live dog.

The one I got to meet was a sweet-tempered, quiet girl with a gorgeous fluffy coat, as they all seem to have. She's only a year old and about the size of a very large bulldog.

What strikes me even more than the wonder of these handsome dogs is Susie's devotion to them, her knowledge and her passion. I love to see anyone seize life that way; and that's what I think is happening when we follow our true and abiding interests.

It's especially nice when it's my old pal.



From a Joseph Campbell interview with Bill Moyers: "...If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid, and doors will open where you didn't know they were going to be."






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"Bold, Persistent Experimentation"

A Newsweek article, "America's New Shrink", on Obama said that his model is FDR (we all knew that), who based his New Deal on (here's the juicy item): faith in "bold, persistent experimentation."

I love the phrase: bold, persistent experimentation. And I too have faith in that method. It's so often the basis for revising a manuscript. I'll know from feedback that there's some problem I need to solve. But usually if a reader offers a prescription for solving the problem, it doesn't quite work. So I sit and experiment -- on and on -- and then try the results on that reader again. And if the problem isn't solved, then back to work on it again.

Sort of like Thomas Edison's famous approach to invention: keep changing the recipe, and if that doesn't work then change it again, thousands of times.

It's a pretty good strategy. And all three ideas in this mantra are crucial: bold, persistent, experimentation.





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The Indiscreet Novelist

Philip Roth's birthday was noted on Garrison Keillor's almanac, and included a choice bit of wisdom that should urge us all to boldness. Note that Roth is the novelist who reached his first fame with Portnoy's Complaint (1969), about a man obsessed with sex.

Roth is quoted as saying: "I cannot and do not live in the world of discretion, not as a writer, anyway. I would prefer to, I assure you -- it would make life easier. But discretion is, unfortunately, not for novelists."



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Cleaning the Fish Tank

I did something this morning that I've been telling myself I needed to do for weeks, perhaps months. Cleaned the aquarium. This involves a siphon and a tube that runs over the side and into a bucket. It vacuums up goldfish waste. What a surprise that I don't get around to it too often.

But every time I've walked up or down the stairs in recent weeks, I've looked at that tank and thought: Gotta do that!

Bold would be to do it when it first came to mind,when it was first needed. At the same time, what a nice feeling that I get to walk upstairs tonight and congratulate myself on having gotten it done.

I dare you to tackle one of your own fish-tank-type chores.




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Family History Mania Update

I just put in the mail the family history I threw together over five intense days; sent it to my Mom for her birthday. Now I feel like I finished exams, even more so than I do when finishing the draft of a book.

I worked on this little 30 page item like a madwoman. It's the story of my mother's father's family. It's no dissertation; I used mainly secondary sources and included stories that have been handed down, and a file of old clippings and notes that others had amassed, and internet sources, such as websites done by other people chasing Tuckers and Woffords, and ancestry archives.

I did write one email to someone who'd done a Tucker site, asking him a question about a man named John Tucker who was in Virginia or Maryland in about 1750. Turned out the wife of the man at that website is my second cousin. Astounding to all concerned! She and I are both descended from the son of a Civil War captain who died at the Battle of Second Manassas at the time that his son, our most recent ancestor, was two years old.

The impact of this frenzied chronology exercise on me is that I learned in a gut way how hard life used to be, how hard it was until fairly recent decades. I knew intellectually, of course. But now I feel it. I think it burned up more boldness just to live daily life not so very long ago.

For one thing, I discovered that my generation is the first in this side of my family not to go to war. For hundreds of years on end, the men fought and the women usually had six or nine babies. A lot of those babies died. And the men so often died early, leaving the women with all those kids.

This is such old news. But it feels new whenever it strikes emotionally.

I'm glad I get to use my store of courage for edgy writing and such, not, as one of my foremothers did, by driving a covered wagon across three states with six small daughters in tow after her husband disappeared. This sort of thing can easily put problems that occur at a desk into perspective.










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The Boldest Business

I'm alarmed and saddened by the ongoing disaster in the newspaper industry.

Yesterday was a sort of Black Monday here in Raleigh, another long list of very good reporters and editors got their pink slips at The News & Observer. In the last few weeks, one major American paper has died and another has cut back to a very trimmed-down online existence. Newspapers' very continuation is threatened.

I'm frightened by the thought of an America without serious daily news reporting. Imagine what some of our sneakier administrations would have gotten away with if no one were looking. Blogging, as we now know it, is not enough. Blogging is rarely more than comments on recycled news. And the advertising on blogs will not support the kind of news gathering operation that is adequate to covering what's going on. Who knows when that revenue rise, if ever? Our country can't go a minute without reporters.

Reporting is the bold business of poking into places that often tell you to stay out. We need that as much as we need police and firemen and a whole lot of other basic services.

I'm hoping someone will come up with a bold solution fast to SAVE THE NEWSPAPERS.






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Following a Mania

For the last three days, I've worked enormous numbers of hours on an unlikely-for-me project: a bit of genealogy that I'm turning into a riveting story of one line of my family: the Tuckers and Woffords. Months ago my mother gave me a folder about her father's family, a bunch of bits and pieces, and said, "Here you take this." So I decided to flesh it out, and finally got serious on Saturday and am trying to get it ready to mail to Mom in time for her 87th b'day this weekend.

Inevitably, answering a few questions led me to a few more questions and I took the research back 200 more years, into the late 1500s in England--and quite a number of juicy details. Now I see why people do this. It satisfies the lifelong need created by reading Nancy Drews.

Joseph Campbell advises: "Follow your bliss." I take that to mean being really committed to the pursuuits that are really important to me; and I've structured my life to be able to do that. But this has a sudden fire to it that says: Do this now! Don't stop! Don't eat! It's exciting. And, as of this moment, exhausting.

Have you had this experience? And did it involve chasing ancestors? I'm more measured about writing books and articles, I've been doing it so long. It's nice to feel this kind of fire. Wipe-out refreshing.



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Nature Setting a Good Example

Here are a few more blossoms to remind you to spring forth with your own brilliant creations.

Even though the climate might create some obstacles.

Years ago, I said to my therapist about the market for literary novels: "you don't know what's it's like, it's working in a cage with a tiger." (Not the most apt comparison, but the basic idea is: difficult situation.)

He said: "How much good is it going to do you to spend your time watching the tiger?"

So I'm keeping an eye on the flowers, as I work.








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