The bossy one. The snark. The tough-mom type who made her kids finish the game, the season, the commitment and didn’t want to hear:
4. Or any combination of the above
Not much has changed. Well. That’s not exactly true. Since I started this writing endeavor, a few things have changed:
I buy skin firming cream with the regularity of a drug addict.
My L’Oreal application needs retouching every three-and-a-half weeks.
Crest White Strips have replaced certain other things in my bathroom cabinet.
The soccer-playing high school junior is now getting his MBA in Boston.
I’ve buried some people and rejoiced the birth of others.
I’ve learned how to do ceramic tile floors and walls.
I’ve gained and lost the same eight pounds on a seasonal basis.
Snakes fear me.
Mary did a great teaching post this week, wonderfully out-lined, touching on the major points of clean, good writing, offering straightforward instruction on the ins and outs of POV (I love well-written head hopping stories, and I live to see that methodology come back with abandon), setting, dialogue, etc.
Myra captured your hearts by revealing the secret whereabouts of Unpubbed Island, a South Pacific enclave of empathy, warmth, tough love and understanding with a seemingly never-ending supply of various fish and one ostrich which could become barbecue at any time….
Pam, you listenin’, girlfriend? I’ve got the campfire and I know how to use it…
Julie stirred your souls with her lovely piece on Divine Connections, the wondrous, magical bends in the road that lead us to the here and now through the hand of God.
I want you to thicken your skin, point your chin in the air, plant your feet firmly on the ground, remembering Tina’s quote from Calvin Coolidge, about persistence vs. talent, and go for the goal. The gold ring. The prize worth taking.
“Nevah, nevah, nevah give up.”
This quote, credited to Winston Churchill, came in a short speech he made to the Harrow School, his alma mater. A man of quick, strong and concise words, Churchill never belabored a point, but got right to the essence of what he wanted to say. It’s a lesson we unpublished authors can learn from.
Katherine, I thought of you when I read this next part. I hope that’s okay.
“Do not let us speak of darker days: let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days; these are great days--the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race.”
Katherine was gutsy enough this week to speak of envy, an emotion we all abhor and experience, even if we pretend not to.
Um, raise your hand if you NEVER feel envious.
Liar, liar, pants on fire. Put those hands down, ‘cause I’m not buying it. We live in a gracious and generous land, ripe with opportunities, and it’s hard, if not downright impossible to not envy what others have from time to time. Having the guts to admit it?
Wow. Pretty cool.
So we’re on Unpubbed Island. Think of it as on-campus housing. I mean it. Do college kids whine and cry because they can’t live in graduate buildings as underclassmen?
Maybe, but no one cares, so eventually they buckle down, close their mouths, get the hitch out of their drawers and get on with the focus of the day: achieving a degree.
For us the degree is a contract, and not just any old contract, but one that says other industry professionals find our work pleasing, palatable, and marketable, offering payment for work completed.
Yup. The real thing.
And if we can provide you a bit of fun, camaraderie, sisterhood, understanding, empathy and the occasional smackdown, then we’ve accomplished our purpose. In what other profession do people go out of their way to willingly train their replacements?
So thanks for coming by, snacking with us, chatting it up, laughing, crying, getting all ver klempt.
I’ve got the coffee bar ready for you early risers, and I know that Janet ordered an Italian cookie tray for mid-day (with some of those chocolate-drizzled macaroons, oh-my-goodness-gracious-sakes-to-Betsy, those things are TO DIE FOR), but I also heard rumors of Mary bringing a proper Nebraskan lunch around noon, so if nothing else there should be good eats on hand.
(And for those of you who were here last week when Myra offered her one and only Girl Scout cookie, I apologize. I mean, come on, Johnson!!!! You can’t even PRETEND to make food? What’s up with that????)
Big Ruthy grin here.
So we’ve elected Myra to be the official April cook on the island.
Translation: We’ll all starve, but we can afford to shed a few pounds. And even if we do, one rule of the Island abounds:
No bikinis allowed. You dress in muumuus like the rest of us overage heifers or stay on the mainland.
Like we haven’t got enough to deal with on a day to day basis.
(Unless you’re an editor. Then we don’t care what you wear, you’re more than welcome at any time, in any mode of dress, mi casa es su casa, and all that. For you guys, we’ll actually buy REAL FOOD!!!!! Worth coming to visit us, right there!)
Wishing each and every one of you a Celtic blessing, that your road rises gently, the sun warms your face, and God holds you in the palm of his hand.