"As the first white sliver edge of moon appeared over the peak, everyone began to sin." [sing]

The writing is going well today. I almost used the word "penumbra." I've always wanted to use that word in something, but when I looked it up to double check the meaning, it was wrong. Oh well.

This is supposedly true. Doesn't matter, really.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The professor told his class: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person
will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.

Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."



The following was actually turned in by two of his English students: Rebecca and Gary.
THE STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph! by Gary)

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago.

"A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his Trans galactic communicator. " Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.

"Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel", Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her.

"Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anudrian mother ship launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anudrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. " Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F--KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"

(Rebecca)
A^$h#le

(Gary)
B*t%h!

(Rebecca)
F**K YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!
(Gary)
In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.

(TEACHER)
A+ -- I really liked this one.

On Monday I led the sangha mediations. I read a piece on bodhichitta from Pema Chödron's writing, then followed it up with a guided chakra meditation I wrote that incorporated nurturing bodhichitta towards ourselves, then sending it out to the world. It had a very nice feel and people said they really got a lot out of it. I rang the bell at all the right times, had the backyard cleaned up (of dog doo) completely, so no embarrassment as we did the walking meditation around the yard, then back inside for the final silent sitting meditation.

I've probably mentioned ad naseum how much I love this house, but especially for events like this. Sitting in silence in the living room, we could hear the soothing sound of the waterfall, evening bird calls, and the various tinklings of the small wind chimes, and the deep voice of the Bar Harbor wind bell (listen @: http://www.northcountrybells.com/index.cfm?id=92192&fuseaction=browse&pageid=28) on the back patio. I'm particularly proud of our Yankee-rigged wind chime. I bought a cheap tubular wind chime at a local craft show last week, but the weight on the bottom was too heavy to blow around and make the chimes ring. We tried various other things, including tinfoil, which worked but kept blowing off, and finally settled on drilling a hole in the upper edge of a used CD and hanging that. It works great.

Made anise biscotti for the "tea hour" after meditation. Bisotti is easy! It turned out well and was scarfed up, even when one of the younger members, unfamiliar with biscotti, dipped his in the hummus. Apparently it was good. My friend from mainland China always brings something interesting; this time it was cubed tofu with sesame oil and cut up 1000 Year Old Eggs. Always wanted to try those. Tasty, and the egg whites look like black jello.

Wrote well, topping 1100 words today powered by a very nice green tea from
Chado.




Finally tracked down some nice Yixing teapots and ordered two. The only one I have is pretty, but bought cheap in Toronto's Chinatown at a touristy place, so the chances of it actually being a Yixing are low, and possibility of lead content something to ponder.

After many, many months of cruising the net I found a site for a shop in Corvallis OR (used to live there). The descriptions of the pots and the photos were encouraging, and the woman who runs it was quick to answer questions by email and very friendly. I informed Doug and the boys that they had just bought my mother's day gift: "Happy Lion" for everyday use: http://www.sensationalteas.com/specialyixing.html

And I bought a signed one for the collection: "Small Cap" http://www.sensationalteas.com/yixingartisan.html

A dangerous site. Many more on my wish list. Now to lay in a stock of good Chinese tea to christen them with. Ti Quanyin is my current favorite, and very well suited to Yixing.

Also got a shipment of very nice Kona coffee, too. The champagne of coffee! Sipping happily as I write. We got hooked when Starbucks briefly carried Kona. It was really, really really freaking good. Doug and I went into serious withdrawal when the source dried up. We've been on a quest ever since, with uniformly disappointing results. But this Koa company's roast is gooooooood stuff.



Ah, hedonism! But hey, it's my version of being a wine connosieur. Once you give up alcohol, there are so many other delights out there to play with, and some are even good for you.

And it's amazing how much better everything feels and tastes after a good work day.

talithakalagoI'd like to know about writing the first book--before you found a publisher. And the shortly thereafter--the months following the release.

I spent a lot of years learning to write as I worked on what became the first two books— close to ten. It began as "just for fun", then people started reading it and enjoying it, so I pressed on and got more and more obsessed—er, determined. I took the honking big manuscript I was working on to a writing workshop taught by a favorite novelist of mine, Cathie Pelletier (also known as K.C. McKinnon) who was very encouraging. Armed with this, I forged on and eventually had a finished manuscript.

Then I had to teach myself how to sell a book. (see: "The Complete Nobody's Guide to Query Letters" http://www.sfwa.org/writing/query.htm) That took a while, too, but I learned how to prepare a submission packet and started sending them out. And getting rejections, the most useful of which was from an agent who liked the story, but pointed out that the manuscript, at 200,000 words, was too long to sell, especially as a first novel. She suggested I split it and add a new story arc to fill out the end of the first book. So I did. And sent that query out, and got some more rejections, then finally got an enthusiastic response from a woman who has been my agent ever since. It took her less than four months to sell it to Bantam. And there was much rejoicing! And then I went through my first revision cycle, and felt like a Real Writer at last. And then the book came out and there was more rejoicing.

I'd like to know how being published affected your life.

Heh. To paraphrase an old Zen saying: "Before you get published, chop wood, carry water. After getting published, chop wood, carry water." It changes your life less than you expect. No instant world fame. No instant wealth. Years away from establishing a lasting reputation. And now you have to do it all again. Not a career for the faint of heart or short of attention span.


buffysquirrelMight be useful for new readers to know which book(s) you'd suggest they start with :). Me, I started with Bone Doll's Twin--I think that was a good one to start with! lol

You can start with the first book of either series. For those who read Nightrunner first, it's fun to go back and see the roots of history. For those who start with Tamir, you get to find out what the hell that stupid bowl thingy was about. One series informs the other interchangeably.

This started as passing comment I made in Robin Hobb's ng. I rather like it, and certainly believe it.

"Every time I start a new book project, it's a lot like stepping out on a high wire naked, holding an
umbrella with a high wind blowing."

OK folks, I've got until Friday to put an ending on this puppy and get it in on time. Of course, I'm feeling utterly distracted. One of those days when I write a couple of hundred words, go to the fridge, couple more, check the laundry (and find that our washer has died at last, in mid rinse cycle), check the email, a few more words, dump the tea and change for something stronger, more words, feed the koi and see that the pond needs water, and the hanging plants, too, move the computer onto the patio, since that's where I want to be . . .

You get the idea. But it's progress all the same. Playing with Micum and Thero just now. The hummingbirds have been keeping me company. One little female blackbill (?) has been alternating between drinking from the feeder and perching on the glass mobile hanging next to it. They are cheerful companions.

So, back to work . . .

From Julia Cameron's new book, Finding Water:

"If poetry is like an orgasm, an academic can be likened to someone who studies the passion stains on the bedsheets." Irving Layton

"The artist is extremely lucky who is presented with the worst possible ordeal which will not actually kill him. At that point he is in business." John Barrymore

"The artistic temperament is a disease that affects amateurs." G. K. Chesterton

"Man is always more than he can know of himself; consequently his accomplishments, time and again, wil come as a surprise to him." Golo Mann

"Trouble is only opportunity in workclothes." Henry J. Kaiser

"It is not irritating to be where one is. It is only irritating to think one would like to be elsewhere." John Cage

"An artist is someone who turns his coat inside out and falls in love with the color of the lining." Jeanne Tardiveau

"Art is the sex of the imagination." George Jean Nathan

"Boredom is not an end-product. It is comparitively rather an early stage in life and art." F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Genius does what it must, talent does what it can." Edward Bulwer-Lytton

"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." Abraham Lincoln

"Happiness walks on busy feet." Kitte Turmell

"Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't." Erica Jong

"Any coward can fight a battle when he's sure of winning, but give me a man who has plucked to fight when he is sure of losing." George Eliot

98 words and I hit my mark for the day.
98 words and I can enjoy that little hit of "I did it again"
98 words and I'll have completed something today, otherwise awash in half dones
98 words and I can cruise the internet without guilt


Ok, Lynn, just 98 more words . . . . .