I've just finished a month-long experiment on Twitter with my Shrinking Violets Promotions buddy, Robin LaFevers. We wanted to see if a couple of card-carrying introverts (that would be US) would find any value on this hugely popular forum, particularly as relates to book promotion, building a platform, etc. Now clearly, thirty days is not a sufficient period of time to truly gauge those possibilities. It was, however, more than enough time for us to both decide that Twitter just wasn't working for either of us. At ALL.  At least for now. We nearly ran shrieking from it. 

The only tweeting I want in my life right proceeds directly from a pointy little beak. Adding Twitter to my life was the small atmospheric disturbance that caused the avalanche-- a deafening torrent of voices, lives, details that threatened to derail my writing focus.

Having just finished the revisions for Love and Pollywogs, I want to gather up all my energy and hold it close. My next book projects have been waiting patiently for months.  I can't wait to get deep into the slippery guts of them. I've got a couple of boy characters that are whooping and hollering for my attention. I'm going to try working on two concurrent novels.  Um, we'll see how that goes!

I've been housesitting for a dear friend for a couple of weeks, who lives in a much more remote area than I live in.  It's been such a profound pleasure for me to be here. The absence of anything but the sound of the wind, birds and various critters has been deeply soothing to me.  I've been staying up late just so that I can savor every hour of it. 

Speaking of deeply soothing, those would not be the words I would pick to describe my anticipation of the television interview I did yesterday on the Creative Community Program, hosted by Santa Barbara Poet Lauraete David Starkey-- a seriously lovely man. Gawd, I was so nervous!  My goal for the interview was not to woof up or accidentally say any naughty words, which I tend to do when I'm nervous. Mission accomplished, but I gave my Lady Mitchum anti-perspirant a run for it's life.  When they put a link up to the interview, I'll post it here.  EVER so glad to have that behind me.  It was a bit like having a pap smear, root canal, and trip to the DMV all rolled up into one event.  But it was completely way nicer.  The team at SB Channels was great to work with-- they made it quite painless.

Random, but July marks my one year anniversary of eating very simply and very raw.  And off the Diet Coke.  Wow.  Can't believe it. Never ever thought I'd be doing this in my life and enjoying it so much. Life is exciting that way. You just never know what might be in your future.  I just love that!

Lastly, and since the theme of this post is focus, I want to congratulate the Zen Masters of Focus, five members of the Kalyra Women's Cycling Team, that have been in "Lou-a-ville", Kentucky all week at the USA Cycling Masters National Championships. They have all done exceptionally well, and nearly worn out the podium with their frequent trips up and down.  In addition to a number of medals, four new Nationals Champ jerseys are coming home.  Woot!  (From left to right: Janet, Dawn, Jill (mi esposa), MaryAnn, and Sonia.)

 

Hope you all have some happy plans for the 4th of July weekend. Not being a big fan of the hot dog or the fireworks, I'm looking to find a way to make it festive all the same. Perhaps I'll just sit in the silence and bre-e-a-athe.  

Peace to you each--
Mary 

I dreamt of friends last night and awoke feeling truly awed by this incredible life perk.  As if trees weren't enough, and birds, and Scharffen Berger dark chocolate, we get friends!  Completely cool.

I'm taking dedications today on this post.  If you have a friend (or two or three) that you'd like to pay homage to, please do so!  I may just even send a Peet's gift card to a randomly selected entry so that you and your friend can go have a cup of tea together, or even a cyber-tea date.  I'm like the Blog Delilah today. 

"Your friend is the field where you sow with love and harvest with gratitude. He is your home, he is your table. Even when he is silent, two hearts continue to talk. When you have to leave him, don't suffer, for you will see the importance of the friendship all the better because of the absence, just as the mountain climber sees the landscape around him better when he is far away from the plains. May you be able to share not only your moments of joy but also your moments of sorrow. And know that a friend is not only by your side to help you kill the time, but rather to help you enjoy life in all its fullness."
--Kahil Gibran

With love and thanks to all of you in my life field,
Mary

I'm so struck by this little face... and the energy and conviction with which she addresses her God. I want to listen to her prayers ... follow her... feature her as a main character in a book... I want her to be my teacher. I want to pray like I mean it! Clearly we can't see into the mind of God, but what Deity could resist this?

Why do we pray so quietly? Well, maybe you get all shouty about it. I'm pretty mouse-like.  Hushed and shushed seems to be the default setting for so many. Reverent, contained, accepting, hate-to-be-a-bother-God-but-could-you____?

I've had some great discussions in recent years at work with my colleague/sidekick who is Jewish. He has brought the whole concept of arguing with God to me. So.Completely.Foreign.To.My.Experience. Clearly, I've been missing out for decades. I wouldn't mind going a few rounds with Her. Really!  Apparently in some other religions as well, this is allowed. This is great-breaking news. Twitter that!

I don't have issues blaming Her for the bad things that happen in the world. I think it's pretty clear whose fingerprints can be found there.  My issues tend to be Creation design flaws that I think are problematic.  Least for me.  Like why the kiwi is so blasted hard to peel. And underarm hair.  Really necessary for survival in any century?  Really? It's just not a good look for either gender.

And the whole introversion/extraversion thing. It might have been a better idea to just go ahead and put the I's and E's on separate planets entirely. Was this an experiment?  Or, is it Heaven-based Reality TV show that just cracks up all the angels and saints?  I think it is  way past time to go back to the drawing board on this one.  A volume control switch for the introverts would have been kind, Lord. The belly button is totally available for use.  Put mine there.  Easy squeezy.  Is there an extravert talking your noggin off?  Press Mute.  TV too loud, but you hate to nag your family  turn it down?  Stick your finger in your belly button, and just bring it on down.  It's not too late for a recall and retrofit on this.  No one will  mind, or hold it against You that you didn't finish the whole job in seven days.

And flies? Is the buzzing really necessary?  If they must have an audio component to their activities, how about Oooommm, or the melody to Amazing Grace? Stairway to Heaven? 

I have SO many issues with the design flaws in the aging process-- but the one that seems completely counter-intuitiveis the loss of visual acuity. For God's sake!  At a time when bones are growing frail and minds foggier, for safety reasons, this is the Worst Idea Ever.   We can fall, develop unruly eyebrows, or gargle with facial astringent! 

And things start sagging for no discernible purpose.  That feature could be turned off completely. Instead, activate arm lengthening (for reading purposes), and spine lengthening.  We need to get taller instead of saggier.  After a few decades of living, we deserve that.  We could be a Watusi-like tribe-- tall, fierce, stately.  Goodbye elder abuse!  And sharper hearing, please.  Hawk-like vision.  All hair growth associated with aging needs to be confined to the top of one's head. Period. Nuff said on that. 

Instead of a random drawing for June's contest here, please submit your best Design Flaw Correction ideas.  Excellent prize planned.

Lord, I have just been clobbered by the Go-to-Bed Fairy. Hardly ever argue with that one.  I'm off!

Before I give it up, though, at the end of the day, I like to follow Sarah Ban Breathnach's advice and write down (or reflect) on at least five things you're grateful for.  Here's my list for Friday, June 19th. 
1) I did not lose a pair of reading glasses today, or walk into any impermeable objects.
2) I had the most excellent girl date with Robin today-- CPK & Matinee!
3) The lady at the Nordstrom make-up counter did not call me "Ma'am", 
             or try to sell me concealer,
                    and she had my Adore U lipstick color which is hard to find.
4) Consecutive belly laughs-- the hurting kind! (See Sandra Bullock's new flick-- yeah, can't believe I'm recommending it either, but it is sweet, scenic and very funny)
5) Clarity paid me a nice visit today, and left her calling card.

Sweet dreams and gutsy prayers,
Mary 

Dear Friends,

I am reading a rather amazing memoir right now entitled Dreaming Me: From Baptist to Buddhist, One Woman's Spiritual Journey by Jan Willis. (Thanks to the GSBC for the loan!*)  Time magazine described the author "as one of the new millenium's top religious innovators."  She is a esteemed Indo-Tibetan scholar and professor of religion at Wesleyan University. After graduate school, the author found herself at that difficult fork in the road that we all know too well-- should we join the Black Panthers, or go to India and study with Buddhist monks? Oh, wait, that was just her.  Passion and indecision dogged her.  Should be stand up and fight for justice, or pray for peace?

The memoir recounts her life early life in an Alabama mining camp during the 50's and 60's, complete with the KKK making their neighborhood rounds, and a Baptist community of love and support. Ms. Wills is both black and light-skinned, and suffered a double racism whammy as a result. Her path to enlightenment required that she deal with her festered fury of not fitting in with her community, and oppression by white America.

This is such a soul-stirring read. I find myself thinking of her constantly even when I'm away from the book. I wandered through Trader Joe's tonight in a daze, passing the things I needed over and over, and having to circle back again. It was if  I was stuck in some kind of literary labryinth that I couldn't quite complete.  And that was completely okay.  (On account of the free coffee and good people, TJ's is a perfect place to wander.)
......................................

On a much less profound note, but still compelling, my Shrinking Violet Promotions partner, RL LaFevers and I, are conducting some important field research for the month of June. We have both signed up for Twitter, and are investigating whether this newest media innovation holds any marketing and/or platform possibilities for introverted authors. Or, is this clearly an extravert-driven obsession, and a "digital narcissism" as it has been coined?

We've marshalled a small band of our Shrinking Violet readers with us for the ride. So far, Robin and I are feeling like a couple of Twidiots. It is clearly not as user-hospitable as some of the other social medias.  I am swirling with Twertigo, and can't quite crack the organizational code. It's like being in an enormous, raucous marketplace with everyone competing for my attention. Like how I thought Pinocchio must have felt when he ran off to the scary circus. So far, the best of Twitter for me has been following the "tweets" of Sarah Silverman and Tina Fey. They are both so brilliant, raw and irreverant.  Comedic saints, in my book.  Anyway, if any of you are on Twitter, come say hello!  You can find me @maryhershey (she says optimistically).
                    ......................................

*Gillespie Street Book Club: a lovely and generous group of very smart women that let me sit among them.  Not sure how I ever got so lucky. 

I know I've posted this first piece before, it found me again today... maybe it needs to find you as well. From poet Mary Oliver:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
Love what it loves.

And this, from Julie Cameron's Vein of Gold:

"Creativity is an awful lot like sex.  If it always has to be great, that creates a certain amount of performance anxiety.  If, instead, you experiment a little, even when you're not in the mood and don't have time for a candlelight dinner with your muse, interesting things may start to develop.  You are married to your muse, not just out on a first date. There has to be some comfort here.  There has to be some room for compassion and "bad artist days."  Let yourself write badly.  You can rewrite later.  Paint rotten canvases.  You can paint over them.  Just do ten minutes at the piano.  It is better than none.  Think of yourself as a skittish horse.  Keep the jumps small."

I can feel my muse underfoot, trying to foil the orchestration of my day.  I have so much to get done right now,  and is taunting me from the sidelines, threatening to pull me into her mischief.   I've just got until Monday to get my latest set of revisions in to my editor, and I'm sucking every second from the day toward that end. Nearly breathless from the pace!

Still, I can feel the very undertow of her...  help!  Please send water-wings.


Mary

***********************
Congrats to the very funny author Jennifer J. Stewart for winning our random drawing contest for May!  Jennifer, if you'll select a new YA title, I'll send it to you, or donate it to a library of your choice!  Just let me know!
                                                                                          ******************************
                          

Okay, this drug me me out of my corner! 

Congratulations to 13 year old Kavya Shivashankar, the 2009 Scripps National Spelling Bee Champion!   Dawg! The girl can spell! 

I'm thinking pretty much anyone with a name that hard to spell is a shoe-in for the job. Her parents probably set the whole thing up before she was born, staying up nights trying to cook up a really hard name for their future child to spell.  Just so they'd be assured that college fund. They were not feeling laodicean about it  all.

Even though I'm a writer and a graduate of Catholic school (aka Rambo Elementary), here are three words that I can NEVER spell, not even if you held a 45 caliber gun to my head, or taunted me with 40,000 cold hard cash:

sandwhich
Micheal
Ceasar

You can be assured that you will never read in any of my books a scene where a guy named you-what, orders a glob of tuna between two slices of bread and asks for a side bed of greens with very garlicky dressing.  Just not going to happen!

I like to think that all those hundreds of worried (read sweat running down their legs) spellers in the competition will be sleeping like the  dead this weekend.  Good work all of you!

Mary

Muse is sitting in a corner today. Mad. Sad. Frustrated. Bewildered. I'll be hopeful tomorrow.

Come sit with me a moment and watch this 59 second video.

Mary
Wed 10/25/2008
One of the lucky 18,000.

Photo by Randy Watson


Even if you aren't graduating this Spring, we all need a stirring speech now and then. Particularly this one!  

Ellen DeGeneres 2009 Commencement Speech at Tulane University

Enjoy!
Ex Oh, Ex Oh,
Mary

I'm going to give Barack a call in just a bit. Or, if he's tied up, maybe I'll give Michelle a ring-a-ding. Oh, darn, it's Wednesday night.  Isn't that their Cocktail Party night? Maybe I can get one of the girls to get them on the phone.

Anyway, I'm thinking that what we all need is to have a giant dance. Like the whole country needs to get up and shake their booty. I mean it-- EVERYone!  I think Matt from the YouTube link below should start it.  I'm available too, though, if you recall, I've got the IGS (Irish Girl Syndrome) wherein I only dance from the knees down.  Still, I'm all IN!

If you haven't seen YouTube Matt dancing across the world yet, here he is! I love him hugely. If you've already seen him, time to re-dose yourself. Where the Hell is Matt?

Off to go work on my Matt moves-- it's not as easy as it looks!  Hope to see you all at the dance!
Save one for me--

Mary

My neighbors and I have spent a lot of time these past few days fighting ash from the Jesusita Fire burning in our foothills. It falls like a greasy talcum, sheeting our cars, mailboxes, our welcome mats.  It comes through our window screens and blows up under our doors. It gives us something to fight, since we can't stop the fires.  It mars our beautiful life in Paradise, choking our flowers, animals, children, and  muddies our pools and hot tubs. It makes everything wheeze and burn.  And itch (Says she with that cheap Irish skin).

I have a neighbor with a power blower that is a self-deputized Marshall for Ash Management.  He's been plugged in and engaged in hand to hand combat for days.  He's like a man in a flood with a dishtowel trying to keep his porch dry.  But then, he  comes to  wring out his dishtowel on our porches.  He isn't managing the ash at all, he's just blowing it out and off his home. To his credit (really?) he's offered to share his blower with others. As far as the art of neighboring, sharing is generally good.  Now adding to the relentless orchestra of helicopters and assorted sirens, we have the high decimal whine of the pass-around blower.  And the ash goes to and the ash goes fro.  And back all over again.

I have another  neighbor that got up yesterday and swept up his small porch. With a broom.  Not even a very big one.  It does not have a plug, and only has one setting-- manual.  When he finished his small porch, he didn't stop.  He swept up acres of walkways and driveways and stairs he doesn't travel.   And then he went back inside.  Didn't say a word.

I swept my porch yesterday, inspired the by quiet work this neighbor had done.  And in the soft scratching of my old broom back and forth, I recognized what my porch was covered with.  It was the remains of the eighty-plus homes that have burned this week.  And all the trees, grasses, creatures and wild flowers from the foothills. They had all come to their final resting place in front of my house.  After enduring the violence of the flames that overcame them, they did not  deserve a final death by a hand-held hurricane.  They were meant to be considered.  To be blessed. To be tended to with some reverence.

I am done fighting ash.  There will be more in the days and weeks to come.  I will sweep again and again. I welcome it into my life, my hair, my eyes, my mouth.  It is my community.  

I am so happy for  all those that have been able to return to their homes yesterday and today.  I am struck as well with those that have had the fires come to their threshhold and then stop.  And I holding those that have lost their homes close in my thoughts and heart.  I  hope you will as well.

Mary

I accidentally attended the First Communion Mass yesterday which did not thrill me.  I was hoping for a slightly quicker version of the service, and one not quite so packed with a lot of people coughing and blowing their noses.  And wanting real bad to shake my hand. 

There were about twelve children receiving their First Communion-- mostly second graders, except one girl who towered over them by two heads at least.  Her veil was full-length vs. shoulder length, and she had white spike heels on. Like the kind you'd wear in the Miss America pageant.  Extreme shiny pointiness.

The kids outfits were pretty amazing all around.  This was some serious finery... hose, tiaras, First Communion bling, dresses and veils with enough layers to keep the rain off the girls for days. There were only two boys, and one had a three piece white suit on that nearly did me in.  He looked like a very short John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever. He really liked putting his hands in his trouser pockets.  It was a whole look he had working for him, but it was not working for their teacher.

There was quite a bit of processioning throughout the Mass--up and down the aisle and round and round the altar.  One of the little First Communicants had seen quite a bit too much of Project Runway and was leading with her hips, doing the traditional supermodel giraffe walk.  I could tell she'd practiced this quite a bit. The other kids flanked her like an army of saints, heads down, hands folded chastely. They were probably praying she'd get booted off the runway soon.  I also think she had product in her hair, and maybe even highlights.  Second grade?  I don't think I got my first highlights until third grade. All I got for second grade was the navel ring. Geez, kids these days! 

I was wishing the Mission had one of those Crying Rooms in back yesterday, because despite the spectacle, I was so moved I could not stop the water works.  I had my whole row standing ankle deep in my tears.  These little brides and grooms of Jesus were so incredibly sweet, I could hardly bear to look at them, but I couldn't tear my eyes away.  

I was remembering how absolutely grown-up I'd felt during my FC.  It was the first rite of passage I'd ever experienced.  I'd wanted the day to last forever.  I felt so clean and shiny inside, truly diaphanous. I was desperate to make that last as long as I could.  But I just wasn't sure how long I'd be able to go without having any impure thoughts.  I wasn't exactly sure what those might be, but I did NOT want any to stain my newly washed and starched soul. And there was always the chance that I might start coveting something.  Lord, it was a LOT of pressure on a kid.

Anyway, they really need to bring the Crying Rooms back for middle-aged chicks like myself that can't hold on to their wits in the presence of such exquisite innocence and earnestness.

So, I wanted to just pause a moment tonight and congratulate Jesus and his new herd of beloveds.   I was glad to have bumbled into the event, despite the enormous bio-hazard of it all.  It was worth every minute of it.   Mazel tov to you all! Here's to the perfection of you each that can never be altered by impure thoughts, coveting, or false Idols--whether they be American or Brit.

Love and prayers, from the bawling lady three rows from the back,
Mary Hershey
................................................

I'm going to completely devote myself to coffee art. I think it is the most amazing thing ever! The barrista down at my local java-hole can just about create anything with a foamy latte and a toothpick. He's like Michaelangelo-- only way better, because he provides me coffee.

Speaking of joe, I have a Peet's card to give to the winner of last week's contest! And the winner is.... Robin LaFevers!   As yet another reason to love being sick, Robin's entry was on the money! 

"When it finally goes away, and you feel as if you've come through this hideous, phlegmy hell and been reborn and that being well is one of life's most under-appreciated miracles."

Love that!  And, that is exactly what is happening to me right now as I'm coming out of my mouth-breathing fog... feeling so grateful to feel well!  I finally got to exercise tonight.  It was an absolute joy to blow my pipes out a bit.

I am excited to be preparing to dive into my next writing project!  I have done some preliminary work, but it is time to get in nose-down mode. There are two that are vying for my attention and I haven't decided which to start with.  Believe I'll just start and see where I go.

I was talking to some lovely women today about discipline, which is a word that causes a lot of people to quake, flee, or long to take a nap.  I think it's been forever bound in our minds to the evil that our parents or prinicipal inflicted us when we were out of line.  It was painful and to be avoided at all costs.  These women were asking me how I've learned to be so disciplined in my approach to writing and publication.  Boy, the lessons that I learned while running marathons have been so invaluable in this arena.  They have served me countless times.  

Lessons Learned  While Pushing Through The 26.2 Miles

1.  When you embark upon something hard, wise to want it BAD. 
2.  Know thy "Big Why".   (Because when your feet start bleeding, you'll need to refer back to this.  A lot.)
3.  You need to be prepared.  Right fuel. Right socks.  Right sports bra.  
4.  Even though no one can do the work for you, it is extremely helpful to be around people going through the same thing.
5. You may wail and moan all you like,  just keep your feet moving.  Do not stop.  No matter what.
6.  Diet Coke + bathtub = sheer bliss.

Number five was the thing that got me to the finish line every single time.  I gave myself permission myself to be as whiny and wussy as I needed to be when the miles went on and on, and I wanted to just lay down on the curb and weep a while.  I entertained all the self-doubt that I could stomach-- but I did not stop moving forward.  That was the deal.  

Number six was essential, too. Particularly for miles 23 to 26.  After the finish line, I knew I had a date with steamy bath and an icy Diet Coke back at the hotel.  Nirvana. Never underestimate the power of a prize.

It is this very same bargain that keeps me writing when I want to put the laptop through my shredder.  Yeah, you're a total hack and you couldn't write your way out of a paper bag and you'll never be published again--uh-huh- just keep your fingers moving.  Write another sentence.  Yeah, I know, what's the point?  Yes, your writing group probably is looking to dump you. Now write another sentence. 

I think I'm going to do a whole workshop on discipline someday.  It really does get a bad rap, and once you learn what tricks makes you work, it serves as mega- fuel for your path.

Speaking of fuel, I will be needing some for work tomorrow, so I better get some sleep.  Tomorrow is Thursday-- a really good day of the week for me.  It is the day of the week that my mother dedicates her Mass and prayers to me.  Each of her kids has their own day.  She's done this forever, and it always seems good things happen to me on Thursdays.  :-]

Hope your day is equally rich!
Mary

TWENTY REASONS I LOVE BEING SICK

1. It's coming to me.
2. You may have to wait for it.
3. Blowing my nose--- (hold on).
4. Oh, yeah, I know. I never feel guilty about buying the most expensive box of Kleen-ex ever made when I'm sick. I look for the one that costs the most, and that's the one I get.
5. You might get to stay home from work and watch the Hallmark Channel.
6. You don't have to shave your legs if you don't want to.
7. You can take drugs to sleep.
8. No one wants to get in your space except your cat.
9. You get to try all the new flavors of cough drops that have come out since you were last sick.  
10. Your girlfriend/boyfriend/VSP (Very Special Person) will go get you a Big Gulp and Thai Hot & Sour Soup pretty much whenever you ask.
11. No one wants you to do the dishes.
12. Or fold their laundry.
13. Or make them coffee.
14. You don't feel (too) guilty about not writing.
15. There is about a two hour window of opportunity in your 5-7 days of being sick that you might get that really sexy voice thing going on.  (Tip:  It's a good time to rerecord your outgoing phone message)
16. Or you might get laryngitis and you don't have to talk at all!
17. Any prayers you say when you're sick count for double. (Whaa-a-at? No one told you? Geez, glad you came by!)
18. Those really baggy, ripped sweatpants that are kind of disgusting at this point? Yeah, you get to wear them today.
19. Sometimes people bring you things-- if you're really sick.
20. There is a moment in all of this that you have reached the worst it is going to get, and then from that second on, you start feeling better, and you feel all relieved and optimistic. But, you don't tell your VSP so you can get at least one more Big Gulp & Hot Soup run of of her.

If you can think of a reason that I will like even better than all these-- let me know. I've got a $10 Peet's card with your name on it if you do. On account of coffee tastes like hot hazelnut turpentine right now.

Gosh- hope all is good in your world!
Mary Hershey

Thanks to Nikki and Amy from my old Windy City neighborhood for passing this one on! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UE3CNu_rtY&feature=player_embedded

Warning! You're gonna wanna get up and get your groove on!  This is truly brilliant.  Next time I'm flying?  I'm totally taking the train-

Mary

Dear Friends,

This photo of these gorgeously-colored eggs sent me back to my early years as a kid struggling mightily with Christian tradition and teachings around the Passion and Easter. (Don't even get me started on my blunderous understanding of Passover.)

I could not figure out why God forgot to dye the eggs during Creation, when we so clearly prefer them colored.  Wouldn't He have seen that coming?  He was so good with color, too.  Hello! Peacocks!   Rainbows!  But white eggs??? I found the annual ritual of coloring eggs a rather tedious chore, with little real pay-off. I was NOT a fan of the hard-boiled egg. I wanted my eggs chocolate, caramel, or so full of sugar they would make your teeth scream--thank you very much.  

And why call the day that Jesus got ratted out, tortured and killed Good Friday? When I asked, a nun told me that God's sacrifice was good and saved us us.  Still, Very Sad Friday or Worst Ever Friday for a Nice Guy seemed more appropriate.  It embarrassed me terribly that we called it Good Friday. Like, yay, good for us--- we're not going to hell!  I was very sure it hurt His feelings. A lot.

But, even before we get to Very Sad Friday, I wondered why anyone as smart as Jesus would pick the worst apostles EVER.  Could there have been a bigger band of yellow-bellies in all of time? One of his own gang, Judas, sells him to the bad guys.  His BFF, Peter, leaves Jesus hanging high and dry when He gets arrested. Thomas so doubts the resurrection that he needs to stick his hands in Jesus's wounds after it's all over.  This is like a really bad reality TV show-- Gallilee's Top Apostles. I want all of them voted off the island, off the runway, and out of the hot tub. NOW.  And don't come back until you've spent a weekend locked up with Dr. Phil. You boys have some serious work to do on your relationship skills.

The Easter Bunny was a head-scratching enigma to me.  Since Jesus had been resurrected, and was clearly available on Sunday morning, why couldn't He deliver the Easter baskets to us?  Why have a bunny do it-- a vegetarian without opposable thumbs, and lacking a sled of any kind? Jesus could have rounded up those slacker friends of his and taken care of this much more efficiently.  And I figured Jesus would be much more likely to know of my preference for dark chocolate. 

What I loved about Easter, though, was the very fancy dinner my mom would fix.  Our grandparents would always come, and Mom would put out the scary thin china, the real silver,  and the break-one-of-these-and-die goblets. There would always be this bread basket with white pull-apart dinner rolls.  If you got to them while they were still warm, when you pulled the rolls apart, you'd get this steamy little facial. I would butter them up good and then drown them in honey.  It was nearly sacramental.  I could tuck away a half dozen before Mom would start clearing her throat at me.

I'm very grateful to be able to spend the day with her  back in the old 'hood tomorrow.  Seems just right. I think I'm going to revisit that Good Friday topic with her again.  I'd be grateful to clear that up once and for all.

I'm leaving you with a YouTube that just came my way that got me right in the thumper.  My partner rolled her eyes, and told me it was such "old news."  Well, fine, Miss Smarty Pants, but if I missed it, maybe you did, too.  Jason's Seriously Amazing Night

Embracing the grace,
Mary

I am busy refilling my tank after blowing my whole entire kaboodle on my novel that I just completed.  Water level is seriously low.  I'm looking for a few good Artist Dates if anyone has any favorites that they want to share. Problem with trying to think of a good Artist Date when you need one is you lack the imaginative faculties to devise one.  I keep coming up with cleaning activities to do.  I pretty sure that I don't need to scour my tank, I just need to fill it. 

If you're not familiar with the Artist Date, it's a creative recovery practice that author Julia Cameron proposes as one of two essential tools-- the other being daily Morning Pages.  If Morning Pages is your transmission to the Universe of your hopes, dreams dissatisfactions, the Artist Date is you acting as receiver-- "...opening yourself up to insight, inspiration and guidance."  She also notes that "Creativity is like crabgrass-- it springs back with the simplest of care."  I love that!

One of the ways I'm refilling and refueling is by reading, reading, reading.  I feel particularly parched in that area.  I spewed out 45,000 words, but I need to suck down a million or so.  I'm reading John Green's truly stellar YA novel  An Abundance of Katherines. It is so smart, so  funny, so wretchedly good. Fugging good, as his protagonist Colin Singleton would say.

I'm also working my way through Susan Shaughnessy's Walking on Alligators, which is a book of meditations for writers. It's a bit like my new favorite dessert at the Sojourner Cafe:  warmed vegan almond cookie, toppped with cofffee ice cream, and near annihilated with fudge sauce.*  Yeah, that rich.  I just came across this excerpt from author Anne Rice in Alligators:

"Writers write about what obsesses them. You draw those cards. I lost my mother when I was 14.  My daughter died at age 6.  I lost my faith as a Catholic.  When I'm writing, the darkness is always there.  I go where the pain is."

And this jewel from Albert Einstein: 
"How do I work?  I grope."

I'm off in search of some z's.  Do holler if you have any good Artist Date ideas.  

Nerizaa-a-a is the winner of our March drawing! Feels like it is time to send out another Spiritual Cowgirl t-shirt.  Congrats, Neriza, on your win, and for all the light and cheer you share here.

Thirstily,
Mary

*Um, no, definitely not part of my raw cuisine plan.

It's cloudy out today-- but it feels like SOLSTICE inside of me!

I've got this whole Mary Poppins thing going on. I want to DANCE (oh, right, I'm Irish), I want to SING (so NOT a good idea), I want to CALL SOMEONE (well, there's that introvert thing), I want to EAT CAKE! (Really, Mary? Raw?)

So, I'm going to go take a shower and smile BIG. Try not to scare the kitties. Get down with my wild self.

The saints be praised! And God knows they should be-- I've been making them work overtime these last few weeks.

I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE! 
I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE!
I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE I AM DONE!

"May the Force be with you-- and also with you."

Mary

Two? Four? Ten? More than that? I spent a considerable amount of time trying to decide if this was some sort of interesting shell, or a variety of orchid that I'd never seen. I love that it is completely man-made!  I love that it truly blows up in your face before you get it. Or, least how that was for me.

Friends! I am now TWO days from deadline, have aquired what looks like pink-eye, and as of yesterday have an achey/sneezy/stuffy garden-variety cold (cough-cough).
I want to crawl under the covers with a bottle of Nyquil, a box of those expensive Kleen-ex with lotion in them, and a Nancy Drew mystery. Wait, solving mysteries sounds too hard.  Make it Junie B. Jones.

I am on the last leg of this long-arse race to the finish,  and I will make it.  Today I typed the words THE END on my manuscript.  The saints be praised! Now I need to spend the next two days reading the whole thing aloud, picking up word echoes, run-on sentences, or god-awful bloopers that I don't want to miss.  (Like in THE ONE WHERE A KID... where I have my one-legged protagonist using a single crutch in a scene to move from Point A to Point B.  Try that with one leg!)

What I still don't have is a title!  I thought I had come up with the best title ever, and happily typed it on my manuscript yesterday.  What a relief, I thought!  When I opened the file today and looked at it, I wondered what the heck I'd been smoking. It was worst title ever! 

I did want to come on line, though, and thank you all for your marvelous support.  And I want to send best wishes to three marvelous writers who are synchronistically on a similar April 1st deadline -- my Shrinking Violet sidekick, the uber amazing Robin La Fevers, Ms. Hysterical Herself,  Donna Gephart, my soul sister in long titles and Jennifer J. Stewart who will not hesitate to put a pair of knickers on her head to illustrate a point.  I do love that about her.  Robin, Donna, Jennifer, I am thinking of you all, and hope none of you have pink-eye or any nasty afflictions.  We are sooo, close, girls, I can smell the barn!

The rest of you are on deadline as well-- just two days left to leave a comment here to be entered into March's drawing for a prize.  Don't miss out!

Sprintingly,
Mary