The Journey Itself

As 2008 approaches, many are reflecting on the year that has passed and looking forward to a new one with fresh goals. I learned a great deal in 2007. One of the challenges for me in 2007 was keeping faith. In general I am not someone who loses belief in God or the gracious force that guides the universe. I do lose faith in people. I find myself becoming disillusioned, saddened, and even angered by others who waste opportunities, impair others who would do good works, or simply treat others with cruelty, malice, ignorance. For the most part I think we all try hard. But I see more people every day becoming self indulgent, excuse-mongering anger addicts.

Where, then, to look for guidance? This past year there were revelations about Mother Theresa of Calcutta and her loss of trust in God as her life came to a close. I was shocked to hear others discounting both her work and her spirit as a result of these revelations. For in spite of a darkening heart, one that found it increasingly hard to trust God's plan, she continued to her final breath to help others. She served humanity even in the throes of doubt.

Jesus questioned the plan, too. He wept tears of blood at Gethsemane and begged for a way out. He went willingly to his cross, but in agony asked "why have you forsaken me?" Perhaps those who worship him should consider that when condemning a little woman who did God's work even when she found it hard to hear God's voice. "I am just a little pencil in God's hand," she used to say. When her certainty of glory in the afterlife waned, her dedication to others did not.

I want to make that kind of determination my guide. I'm no Mother Theresa, nor would I want to be. But how can I fail to admire the strength it takes to plow onward through the hard times without really knowing if any reward awaits? Surely the journey itself, and whatever good I can do along that path, is worth its conclusion even if no reward awaits. As my dear friend Maria often says, "what if life itself is your reward?"

When you live with a terminal illness people tend to respond in one of two ways: denial on your behalf or fear and shock that such a thing can happen. The denial camp tends to respond with dismissal. "You'll be fine, they'll find a cure tomorrow," delivered in a saccharine voice followed by a fast change of subject. The message: it's too scary, so we're going to pretend it will go away and I am simply NOT going to think about nasty things. The fear/shock camp has a more natural response: holy crap how does somebody deal with THAT? From those people I often get offers of prayer (always deeply appreciated) and gentle questions. "How do you deal?"

I believe a power beyond us drives this universe. I believe in good and evil, but suspect we (humankind) drive most (if not all) of both forces. I believe in angels, in the power of releasing a light intent on good things into the world, and that the balance of endless chaos responds to darkness with light eventually. I believe in getting up and going on with an open heart. And I believe I can be wrong. But like another woman who was "just a pencil in God's hand" I believe the journey to be worthwhile regardless. So if I take a drive to visit a little shop at the end of a meandering country road lined with maples covered in snowy lace, it's cool if the store is closed when I arrive. Not everyone takes note of what rolls past as they move along the roads of their daily travels. For me the trees and rivers, incredible skies at dawn and dusk, and even the people I meet on the way are reward enough. Anything else is just icing on the cupcake.

Post Storm Catch-Up

I do love livng in New England but sometimes it's a pain in the ass. Case in point: this past weekend I lost access to my ATT wireless satellite internet and had to resurrect my cheapo free dial-up. I was out of the loop and cranky.

To make matters worse, I also found my tied-for-first-place addiction, Romance Divas' Forum down. There was a temporary Yahoo group that proved more aggravating than isolation and I am recovering nicely now that the geniuses (geni? genum?) at RD figured stuff out. It was a rough few days. I was main-lining Starbucks like a Crystal Meth Head hiding from a bounty hunter. Been like a ferret on speed for 4 days.

So I got bored and did some very cool, sexy tattoo headers for Websong. Check them out here if you are so inclined:

Tattoo Headers

Oh, yeah, and the first novel I ever wrote-- Echo's Daemon, has been lying in dust on floppy disks for over 10 years. First time I submitted it I got a single reply telling me it was "too dark" and "too complicated for younger readers." Now, everything I thought I knew about publishing indicated that slush piles were cleaned out pretty regularly, but somehow ED managed to survive one. An editor at a Very Important Place contacted me from the wayback machine and expressed interest. Go figger.

So to catch up:

I found the floppies, was relieved to find they were still working, and am reformatting. Max is eating spiders. Ahmed is keeping holiday secrets. The snow melted, froze, melted, and froze again. And my erotic paranormal dark humorous fantasy is out there waiting to become a best seller soon.

Prayers for Pterry

My all time favorite author is Terry Pratchett, creator of the Discworld series, Tiffany Aching books, and Johnny and the Bomb series. Pratchett is a genius. If you have not yet discovered him, please do yourself a favor and start at the beginning of Discworld, hibernate, and don't stop reading til you come out the other end. You will have a glorious winter.

Pratchett, who has a mind like a diamond-honed prism, recently announced he was diagnosed with a rare form of early onset Alzheimer's disease. He is planning, for now, to continue with his writing schedule.

Send him your prayers.

Boooooooooooooo- Ringggggggg!

I'm all for a change now and again but let's face it... when you're an addict you can only allow for so much flexibility. And I'm an addict. In fact, I'm an addict several times over and may, in fact, be captain of the addiction team for the next Olympics. It's close. Ahmed is trying to sweat me out and Maria Alvarez is putting in a pretty impressive dark-horse showing.

But anyway...

Romance Diva's forum is down. This is problematic for me on several levels.

1. I can't dork around reading messages to waste time, avoiding the things I am not in the mood to do.

B. I can't check messages from fellow Divas.

Third. I can't send an IM to my secret santa telling her how incredibly cool the little gift she sent was. (Neato book and cooking set thingie for Max... so tres coolio!!)

Last. I can't get advice, give advice, and share the daily grind of writing with women who are smart, talented, funny, experienced, willing to share, willing to laugh with_not_at my own struggle. I can't connect to a few hundred best-friends-ever I've never, technically, met... but whom I love.

Is there a rehab clinic anywhere close by? Cuz dude... this would be like if they closed Starbucks. S'rsly. :-(

Out of the Nostrils of Babes...

I was blowing my nose yesterday when I was approached by my 3 year old nephew.

Munchkin: Is you sick, Chrissy?

Me: Nope, just keeping the inside of my nose clean. I just needed to blow. (Wiping with tissue.)

Munchkin: I use my finger.

Me: Yes, I know, and you shouldn't.

Munchkin: Cuzwhy?

Me: It's disgusting. You get boogies on your hand and then touch stuff and you spread germs. (I blow again, wipe again.)

Munchkin: Yeah (shoulder shrug, finger planted knuckle-deep, walking away), but my way's quicker.

Kinda hard to argue with that. Pardon me while I boil... pretty much everything and liberally spray Lysol.