Showing posts from August, 2005

But I'm Not Complaining

After my sister got into a car accident a couple of years ago where she fell asleep at the wheel and flipped her truck over a median, everyone told her how lucky she was to be alive. No kidding-- it was no small miracle that she survived this, and with no "devastating" injuries. But because of this "you're so lucky" sentiment, she felt it wasn't okay for her to ever complain about the pain in her arm where the metal plate was put in, or the fact that her toenails were ripped off, or the loss of feeling and strength in her hand. On the rare occasion that she did mention her pain, someone quickly said, "Just be thankful you're alive." Now, of course, there has to be a sense of perspective. Obviously, that's entirely true-- she IS lucky, and she IS thankful, but it frustrated her that her thankfulness was supposed to negate any of the pain she went through. That's sort of how I feel about my writing career. I can't complain. See,

The Power of Prayer: Natasha Lyonne

I'm still doing a lot of searching when it comes to my own spiritual beliefs. I know I believe in the power of prayer, but I'm not exactly sure why. It's not that I think God keeps count of how many people are praying for someone, and when it hits the magic number, he decides to grant the prayer-- like a genie-- but I think it's that I believe there's a spot in each of our subconscious minds that can take in those prayers and know that people are pulling for us. Anyway. Today I'm sending prayers to Natasha Lyonne. You probably know her from her roles in American Pie and The Slums of Beverly Hills. According to the NY Post, she's in the intensive care unit of Beth Israel Hospital with track marks all over her arms, receiving treatment for hepatitis C, a collapsed lung, and a heart infection. I don't follow celebrity news much, so I somehow missed her apparent downfall this year. I have no idea which rumors are just rumors and which ones are true, but it

The Long Hair Activists Found Me

Strangest thing. I wrote this little book, Hattie, Get a Haircut! , and talked about it in my recent Absolute Write Newsletter . In the book, Hattie decides that she will never, no way, not at all get a haircut. Eventually, she changes her mind and discovers she can do a good deed in the process by donating her hair to Locks of Love. Locks of Love is never actually mentioned in the text, but there's an "Ask me about LOL" sign in one of the illustrations. My editor had suggested this angle; originally, Hattie just decided to get her hair cut, period. I liked the addition of a "good deed" because anything that encourages kids to be thoughtful is a smart idea, in my opinion. Anyway. I got a couple of letters from people who are anti-LOL. They told me that the charity is no good, mostly because they don't use a lot of the hair for wigs for kids. They sell a lot of it. I knew that, but was okay with it because I know they have plenty of expenses-- they pay for t

Maybe the Theme of this Blog will be Hammock Photos

In the book Journalution by Sandy Grason, she described how she began one of her journals by drawing a picture of her legs in a hammock. I was thinking of her when I took this shot.

I've Graduated

...from neurotic author to less neurotic author. I am so proud. I recently realized that I no longer check Amazon obsessively for new reviews and rankings. I used to do it so many times a day that I'd have to pretend to myself that I was on the site for a legitimate reason. Now, I'm cool. I'm calm. I'm Less Neurotic Author.

I am Allergic to Rain

I know, it doesn't sound possible, but I am. Something swells up inside my brain right before it rains and stays that way for hours. Not usually before a downpour, but much more during those misty light rains. I get rain brain, which makes me a spaced-out idiot. I made the doctor X-ray my head, but all he found were giant cysts in my sinuses (which they had to yank out of me). I hoped the cysts were the culprit, but alas, no. Rain brain lives on.

The Kindness of Strangers

I stumbled upon Angels for Hope today. They crochet angels, butterflies, and smiley faces and send them free of charge to anyone who needs hope. Know anyone?

Bring Me the Measuring Stick

My sister, my mother, and I have always been about the same height. Technically, I'm the shortest. My mother is a smidge taller than I am, and my sister is a bit taller than my mother. Or so it was until this week. This week, I found out my sister and I have the same weight, which is odd, because she looks thinner than I do. My mom said that's because she's taller. I said, "Not much taller. Like, barely at all." She ordered us to stand back-to-back, and that's when the bizarre discovery happened. I am taller than both of them now. This, I believe, is a mutation of some kind. Humans are not supposed to grow at age 29, right? I believe the secret is in the Pringles. Or possibly the brownies. Whole new possibilities abound. Next year, I may be a giant. I will contemplate learning how to play basketball and pout on the catwalk just in case.

Through the Hammock

A girl could really get used to this view.