Long Hollow

Hard Times Require Furious Dancing

March 25, 2013

(photo by Deborah Barrett)

I love dancing.

Nevermind the therapeutic benefits, both mental and physical. When I hear certain beats and rhythms, I really can't sit still. If nothing else, my toe will be dancing.

What I love almost as much as dancing is getting others out on the dance floor with me, getting them to forget about what other people think and just get lost in the music and the movement. The smiles on their faces make my heart soar.

But dancing is therapeutic, no doubt about it. Along with writing, photography, spending time with friends, and pounding on my drums, it's one of my favorites. (Sometimes I wonder why I need so much therapy…)

Alas, between working weekends and traveling to see my parents'so much, my dancing nights have dwindled over the past year. Consequently, my stress levels have risen. So this past weekend, I talked a bunch of friends into joining me on the dance floor.

It was a blast!

That was sweet!, but having a friend think of me when she saw a copy of "Hard Times Require Furious Dancing" by Alice Walker in a shop, and take the time to send me the photo of it…well, that was just as sweet! (Thank you again, Debbie!)

Here are a few other sweet! moments from the past week…

Monday: bird-watching and bird-listening; managing to put off a trip to the grocery store; taking care of dusty but important things on your to-do list; a day at home with your husband, even if you're busy with your own projects

Tuesday: waking early enough to write and exercise before work; another mallard sighting; redbud trees blooming longer than usual; meeting other photographers; helping a friend celebrate her birthday

Wednesday: waking early enough two days in a row to write and exercise before work; sleeping through a hailstorm when you're exhausted; finishing a book that's driving you crazy wanting to know how it ends

Thursday: time to weed through your untended, overgrown email inbox; your husband caring enough about a wounded snake to put it in a terrarium so it can die in peace; walking the streets of Venice again, at least in your memory and words and photos

Friday: traffic working with you on an early morning road trip; splashes of bluebonnets lining a highway; time to chat with your dad, even if it's in a hospital waiting room; your mom breezing through her nuclear stress test with no problems; getting together with friends and spending hours on a dance floor; good bands

Saturday: sleeping in; biscuits and bacon for breakfast, thanks to your dad; a yard decorated with pink and purple flowers; hanging out with your parents all day; a hug from, and chance to visit with, your sister; a former co-worker contacting you for a potential new job

Sunday: sleeping in, Day 2; a walk around your old neighborhood on a brisk sunshine-filled day; new houses going up in an old neighborhood; a field of tiny yellow flowers; stopping along a highway to capture bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes with your camera; wiggly puppies welcoming you home

Monday: getting to work in a library with a view of Texas hills and blue skies

I hope all of you had a week filled with therapeutic, sweet! moments, too!

“the world has changed: it did not change without your prayers without your faith without your determination to believe in liberation and kindness; without your dancing through the years that had no beat.”

~ Alice Walker, "Hard Times Require Furious Dancing: New Poems"
Labor(er)s of Love

March 24, 2013

I had fifteen minutes before my meeting started. A guest was going to be telling us about a project he had initiated. I wanted to get a look at it beforehand, so I arrived early – for once – and headed to the woods behind the church with my camera.

…At least, there used to be woods there, so thick with Juniper trees and underbrush you couldn't step foot beyond the children's playscape. But that evening last week I found a cedar-chip path lined with rocks winding through enough trees to provide shade and cast shadows as the sun drops.

This man had envisioned an outdoor Stations of the Cross and initially wanted to do all the work himself. When he found himself overwhelmed, other parishioners stepped forward to help with the clearing of trees and create the little creek to divert rainwater.

Children in the parish had helped line the paths with rocks.

Others helped build this log fence.

And another man is stripping cedar logs and building crosses for each station.

It's not finished yet, but already it's such a peaceful, reflective place to walk. What a gift this man has given to our parish and community!

But that's not all…

Along with his wife, he is starting a Family Ministry for our church, taking a survey to see what the needs are and finding speakers to come once a quarter on the different topics, such as divorce, loss of a child or spouse, problems with teenagers…leaving enough time in between speakers for the groups to continue to meet on their own and develop a support system.

At our last meeting another couple spoke about their ministry…serving gourmet breakfast treats in between Masses. I'm talking Quiche Lorraine, folks, not glazed donuts or stale coffee cake! Our small activity center now overflows with people enjoying the treats and getting to know one another better. They call it "The Garden of Eatin'". Cute, huh?

I snapped this photo with my phone one Sunday. I think it explains why they go to all of this trouble every week…

Another woman in our parish, a member of my committee, heard about a Prayer Shawl ministry, so she recruited a bunch of
knitters and in just a few weeks they already have over twenty shawls to pass out to
those who are sick, grieving, or lonely. A warm hug and prayer they can hold.
So thoughtful!

There was a period in my life when I had a meeting of some kind almost every night. Take three kids, multiply by at least three organizations/activities they're involved in from the time they start school until they graduate from high school, add several small town community and church organizations and board meetings, and you get the picture. I was addicted to volunteering.

As my kids grew and flew the nest, I left behind one volunteer position after another until now all I have is this one committee where I get to hear about these people and their ministries.

They inspire me to think bigger and be more giving. I feel so blessed just to know them.

Even though I realize my plate is too full right now trying to pay for all those years I only volunteered my time to consider biting off a large project, I'm keeping my heart open for other ways I can give back, even if it's in little bits and pieces.

Unselfish and noble actions are the most radiant pages in the biography of souls.

~David Thomas

What about you? Do you volunteer your time and talents anywhere in particular?
Five Things on Friday…oops…I mean, Saturday.

March 23, 2013

Prologue: I meant to post this yesterday but never had a chance. I was on the road at sunrise, spent several hours in the Houston Medical Center while Mama had a (scheduled) nuclear stress test, then met a group of high school friends for a night of catching up, mostly on a dance floor. (You know you're getting old when your knees, feet, and back are sore and stiff after a night of dancing! Totally worth it, though. I think it just means I need to dance more often.)

(P.S. Will those of you who pray say a few for me? I can't divulge why, but God knows. Thank you!)

(P.S.S. Linking with A Rural Journal and Friday Fragments)

1. Hallelujah! I finished The Hunger Games trilogy. Now I can get back to my regular programming.

2. A glance at my closet will reveal a dozen pairs of
jeans, three pairs of black dress pants, a handful of dresses, and a whole rack
of screen print tees commemorating soccer tournaments, high school one-act
plays, company parties, concerts, my kids' colleges, and my fire-fighting
training that I rarely wear but can't part with.

Am I the only one that saves all of those shirts?

3. If you use Google Reader, then you probably know it's going away in July. My photographer/blogger friend Lisa Gordon tipped me off about Feedly to replace it. I tried it and love it! It synced perfectly with Google Reader – so easy! And now I can organize the blogs and sites I follow much easier. Thank you, Lisa!

4. We didn't get any snow or ice this past winter, but we did get a lot of drab browns and grays, so I'm relishing the signs of spring all around us.

I shared more photos of spring in the Hollow on my photography blog HERE.

5. I don't watch much television and can barely tolerate reality shows, but I will do almost anything to spend time with my kids. And that's how I came to watch Toddlers & Tiaras last week, to spend time with TG. It was fun – we laughed a lot and she put up with my running commentary about how it represented everything wrong with the world.

Today (maybe yesterday…my days are blurring together) she sent me this video. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
Happily Lost in Venice

March 21, 2013

The Scintilla Project Day 9: Talk about where you were going the day you got lost. Were you alone? Did you ever get to where you meant to go?

Huge cathedrals and museums, ancient statues, priceless art and architecture…it was all beginning to blur by the time we entered Piazza San Marco in Venice that hot July day in 1976. I mean, once you've seen one soaring, gothic, thousand-year-old historic tower, you've seen them all.

At least that's the way it feels when you're seventeen, on a grueling, tight-budgeted, whirlwind, month-long tour of five European countries. And it's over 90 degrees. And no one has heard of air-conditioning. Or ice.

So as the rest of our group moved into the entrance of St. Mark's Basilica, the three of us slowed down, dropped to the back of the herd, then dashed into a crowd moving away from the Basilica, deeper into the square. Our quest was simple: to find a place to sit down and relax for just a little while. To catch our breath and rest our feet. And being teenage girls, to eat.

We found much more than that when we wandered into a quaint restaurant tucked into the bottom of an old hotel just off the square. Not only did the Cokes we ordered appear with a slice of lime (delicious!), but there were actual ice cubes clinking around in the glasses! The only ice cubes we saw during that entire month of a record-breaking European heat-wave.

Thus refreshed, we spent the next few hours wandering through the narrow streets, dipping into one shop after another, until we knew it was time for our group's tour to end. It wasn't hard to find our way back. We just approached strangers and asked "Piazza San Marco?", pointing to our map, and they helped us along our way.

Being lost was never so lovely.

Oh, if only I'd had a digital camera back then. These are the only three photos I have from Venice.

That's Laura, Donna, and me in the one above, standing in Piazza San Marco, perhaps plotting our escape.

Or in the middle of it!

This is the amazing mechanical clock tower facing Piazza San Marco, dating from the 1400's.

Here I am fresh from a swim in the Adriatic Sea, standing on a bridge crossing over one of the Venetian canals.

Trust me, it's there even though you can't see it because of all the bodies in the way.

It's the closest I've come to a riding in a gondola.

One day…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

March 17, 2013

My coffee pot is wounded. I discovered a pool of black coffee seeping out from under it this week and panicked, thinking it was actually dead. I do have some of those individual coffee bags, but they just aren't the same as fresh brewed coffee.

But I tightened some tiny screws on a flange, and made a pot, keeping an eye on it. No obvious leaks. Just seepage. So if I immediately put the whole pot in a carafe, I'm okay. For now.

Then…I missed a chance to go dancing Friday night because I didn't pay attention to my calendar. And my middle son came home this weekend, but I didn't get to spend much time with him because I had to work.

Also, I've missed two critique group meetings now because even though I've gotten up early and worked on my book a few times, I'm tearing it apart at the seams, then putting it back together, not really moving it forward. I have nothing to submit to the group for critique. Plus I haven't had time to critique anyone else's work because I've been working so much…

…which, of course, is a blessing.

Here are a few other sweet! moments I noticed this past week, despite the bumps in the road…

Monday: wintery mornings that turn into spring days; brunch with a friend from your old neighborhood; bringing your youngest home for a few days over spring break; a check waiting in the mailbox

Tuesday: managing to wake up well before the sun to work on your book; making it through a crazy busy on-your-feet-running-for-hours kind of day at work without making any customers angry; collapsing in front of the television after work with your baby girl, even if it's to watch three episodes of Toddlers & Tiaras

Wednesday: spotting a pair of Mallard ducks on your morning walk; a vineyard in early spring; a crescent moon smiling at you on a night drive home

Thursday: sleeping in; a slow, lazy day; a text from your daughter letting your old puppy take the lead on a morning walk; reflective walks

Friday: making friends with other women in the shoe department when you shop for shoes for your son's wedding; making a little progress on your to-do list; the song of mourning doves

Saturday: your son coming to visit and making you a deluxe chicken and veggie quesadilla for lunch; working with a great team; chocolate torte; the night wind whipping down your porch and playing with your hair

Sunday: kneeling between your husband and son at Mass; remembering to wear your green shamrock beads to work on St. Patrick's Day; a grumpy customer becoming a happy customer; celebrating St. Patrick's Day with good conversation, corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, Irish soda bread, and Irish beer, thanks to good friends; your baby girl making it home safe and sound from the coast

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, here's a little Irish blessing for you…

May God give you…

For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.

(my favorite kind of rainbow!)
On Breathing

March 16, 2013

I'm playing catch up.

I knew when I signed up for the Scintilla Project, a two-week writing commitment, that it would be a challenge to write something every day.

I accept that there are going to be some days I just won't have time to write, especially since I usually have to roll a prompt around in my brain for a bit before I decide how to answer it.

I'm going to try my best to respond to each one, even if it means posting two on one day. But I'm going to cut myself some slack and not stress about it if I don't.

It's more important to breathe…

Scintilla Project Day 4:

Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.

We tossed our bags into the cargo space of the charter bus idling in the church parking lot, said our goodbyes to our parents, and boarded the charter bus, excited about our week-long journey to St. Louis. Thirty or forty of us, barely teenagers, members of the youth choir, setting out on a summer adventure…with a few adult chaperones, of course.

I was excited about traveling through the midwest, the heart of the United States. I couldn't wait to see Dorothy's Kansas, Tom Sawyer's Mississippi River, and that huge Gateway Arch.

But before we even got out of Texas, my pubescent hormones and tree pollen teamed up to spoil my trip. It started as a tightness in my chest that climbed higher, squeezing my air passages until all I focused on during that long drive through the night to Joplin was breathing.

I sat on the arm rest of a chair, gripping the rail above my head, pulling as I struggled to breathe in, drifting into an uneasy sleep as I exhaled. I remember a dream-like stop at a random emergency room. Maybe two. Instead of sharing a motel room with my friends, I bunked with Mrs. Eaton, the pianist, so she could keep an eye on me.

No giggling, no gossip, no flipping through television stations for me, just sitting on a toilet in a steamy bathroom so I could continue breathing.

The only thing I toured in St. Louis was the mall across the street from our hotel, and the airport, where I at least experienced the excitement of my first airplane ride, all alone and feeling very grown-up, back to Houston, where my mother drove me straight to my allergist at the very moment my friends were probably gazing out of the Mississippi River from the top of the Arch.

And that story leads directly in to my next…

Scintilla Project Day 3:

Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Write about a time you taught someone a lesson you didn't want to teach.

The wheezing. The coughing. The chest retractions. I knew the sounds and symptoms. Antihistamines, albuterol, corticosteriods, and other asthma and allergy medications overflowed a large basket on the kitchen counter. Beside it three nebulizer masks air dried, waiting for the next round. Two nebulizers were in position on end tables, taking the place of whatever decorative knick-knacks I'd once had there, before I had three kids with asthma.

The boys were easy. I'd slip on their masks and flip the switches on the nebulizers. They'd nestle on the couch with a picture book or a toy, or ask me to turn up the volume on the television so they could hear it over the hum of the motors, and then they'd do their best to see through the mist. At three and five, they were antsy about having to stay still so long, but they understood it was necessary.

TG was another story. She developed asthma before she was a year old. The nebulizer mask was confining, uncomfortable, and very scary to her at first. She didn't understand that it would save her life, but I did, so when it was time for her treatment, I figured out a way to secure her on my lap with one arm and a leg wrapped across her little body to keep her from flailing loose, while the other hand held the mask securely in place so the medicine could reach her lungs. I ignored her tears. I dodged her kicks and attempts to bite me, instead tightening my hold on her. Tough love because I loved her so much.

Over time, she quit fighting me during her treatments, realizing they actually helped. Over more time, they all got so much better they no longer needed inhalers very often, much less nebulizer treatments.

And then they became teenagers, needing that tough love for entirely different reasons. But that's another story.

Tree pollen, you don't scare us anymore!
Five Things on a Friday Night (when I should have been dancing)

March 15, 2013

1. My crape myrtles are budding! I'm really surprised because we haven't had much rain and the poor things haven't bloomed in two or three years now. I wasn't even sure they were still alive. I've got my fingers crossed they've somehow established themselves enough to give me some summer color later on.

2. I had a chance to go dancing with friends tonight. Instead, here I am editing photos and working on a blog post. Not that I don't love blogging, but…well, I love, love, love dancing!

So why am I blogging instead of dancing, you ask? Tom didn't want to go, and it was a bit of a drive…and I have to work tomorrow…so I was debating whether or not I should go. Trying to be a grown-up.

In the meantime, I went shopping for shoes to wear at my son's wedding. I should have gone prepared to meet my friends when I finished up, just in case, because shopping took longer than I expected (of course!) and by the time I got home, it was really too late to eat dinner, change clothes, and go back out.

Sigh and dang it.

Which just goes to show what I always tell my kids…if you don't make a decision, the decision is usually made for you.

3. On Monday I had brunch with the sister and mother of a friend I've known since 2nd grade, Todd. They were traveling through a neighboring town and asked if I wanted to meet them. Of course!!

That's me on the left. Beside me is Mrs. Scruggs – would you believe she's 81? She says 80 is the new 40. I love it! Across from us are Darlene and … ah, I can't remember her husband's name!

(I'm sure my memory is directly affected by my lack of dancing lately!)

4. Jon Bon Jovi is coming to Austin in concert next month. For some reason, I wasn't that interested in him when I was younger and Bon Jovi first made it big. But now, I would love, love, love to see him, more than Eric Clapton or others who have been here recently. Love his music and his hair. Isn't that weird? Of course, I don't have money for tickets to see anyone. But if I did, now you know who I'd spend it to see!

5. In case you've been living in a closet with no access to a television, I'm please to inform you we have a new Pope! As a Catholic, I'm very hopeful about it. From all accounts, Pope Francis is a very humble, simple, but intelligent and courageous man.

I believe those are the qualities of a great leader of any institution, but especially for a church.

I hope you have a fantastic weekend. If you get the chance to do something you love, don't be wishy-washy and waste time trying to be practical like me – just go do it, for Pete's sake!

Linking up with
Instructions on Finding a Keeper

March 14, 2013

I'm combining both of today's Scintilla prompts into one:

"What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told? Why? Would you tell the truth now, if you could?"

"Tell the story about something interesting (anything!) that happened to you, but tell it in the form of an instruction manual (Step 1, Step 2, Step 3….)"

1. First, form a serious relationship with a guy who is terribly jealous.

2. Win a scholarship in Chemical Engineering, where you are only one of a handful of women in the program compared to hundreds of men.

3. Take Linear Algebra Computer Programming in the first summer semester.

4. Become project partners with Don, who tells you about his girlfriend with the really cool apartment and doesn't even flirt with you a tiny bit.

5. Tell your boyfriend that of course your partner is a girl, just to avoid the inevitable accusations and fight that would follow if he knew your partner was really a boy.

6. Make the mistake of letting your boyfriend see something with Don's name written on it.

7. Listen to the inevitable accusations.

8. Say "No really, Don is a girl. I don't know why she spells it that way." Shrug your shoulders and roll your eyes for good effect.

9. Change the subject really fast.

10. Mentally question whether you want to be in a relationship where you have to lie, especially over nothing at all, and especially since you're starting to have a hard time keeping up with the lies.

11. Meet a really great guy while you're out dancing one night and your boyfriend preferred going out with his friends.

12. Say "yes" when he asks if he can meet you at Gilley's the next night to see Alabama play.

13. Let your boyfriend know you met someone, because you don't want to lie anymore.

14. Go to the movies and a Pat Benatar concert and the Renaissance Festival with the new guy.

15. Tell the new guy the truth about anything you ever lied about to your (old) boyfriend to see if he can handle it.

16. Decide that even if this new thing doesn't last, you are never going to be in a relationship where there is no trust.

17. Introduce the new guy to your best friend at work (male) and another old boyfriend who you just reconnected with as friends and your most recent old boyfriend's mom, dad, and little brothers, watching his reaction very carefully.

18. If he handles the truth about you and isn't jealous about you having guy friends, marry him as fast as possible. He's a keeper.
If the Hard Hat Fits…

March 13, 2013
His eyes were blue. Such an intense blue they gave me the creeps. Maybe that's what it was, the intensity rather than the color. Paired with a scraggly beard, the whole package reminded me too much of Charles Manson.

"Yeah, we should all get together one weekend…you, your boyfriend, me, my girlfriend." We were making our afternoon round to all of the welders, tallying weld counts at the construction site where we shared welder's helper duties.

"Sure, that would be fun," I told him, with no intention of ever doing such a thing. In all honesty, it wasn't just because he totally creeped me out. My boyfriend wasn't the type to double date with co-workers of mine, anyway. Heck, I could barely get him to go on a date with me.

But that's another story.

Blue Eyes (I can't remember his name) was just one of the characters I met in those two months I spent at the muddy, mosquito-infested construction site where my mother's boyfriend scored me a job. It was a good 'ole boy network back then…although I'm quickly realizing in my current job search that networking and knowing the "right" people is still a big asset.

Today I'm not sure whether I should bless R.L. for getting me that job, or curse him. I had dropped out of college, throwing away a full scholarship in chemical engineering, because I felt a dramatically desperate need to get a place of my own following my parents' divorce. My flaky 19-year-old brain had it all planned: I would get a job at one of the chemical plants where I could make enough to pay my rent and my own way through school. I didn't need that scholarship. Heck no. I could do it myself.

After spending days driving up and down the Houston Ship Channel, filling out one application after another, I was grateful for the welder's helper job. I think it paid a whopping $4 an hour – not huge money, but enough to get my own apartment. We worked four 10-hour days, receiving our brass tags in the morning and returning them to the brass shack when we left.

The mud and the mosquitoes and creepy Blue Eyes were bad enough, but the worst part of the job were the Port-a-Potties, nasty in every sense of the word, including the graffiti inside and out. Why do some guys love drawing penises?

If at any time during the day I needed to use the restroom, I went home 'sick'. Do you blame me? After all the road trips we've taken, Tom has a hard time believing I ever made it through a full ten-hour day.

On the up side, I had a crash course in character. There were some good people there. One welder in particular stands out, B.J. Johnson. I don't remember how I knew he was a good guy. Perhaps just through some conversations, probably the way he talked about his wife and kids or the way he treated me. He went on to work at a neighboring chemical plant with a friend of mine.

I was glad he got out of there, because, by contrast, many of the people I worked with were varying degrees of shady, enough so to help me see the kind of person I didn't want to be.

For instance, one of my foremen wanted me to smuggle stuff out of the tool room in my purse; the other one cooked alligator in the rod box for lunch – when hunting alligator was illegal. (It tastes like chicken, by the way. Hey, I never said I was perfect!)

A guy who worked in the warehouse always talked about being high on Vicodin – it was prescribed for a back injury, but I don't think at the doses he took them. I'm pretty sure he was selling them, too.

The only woman I remember working with had a gun in her purse and a butterfly tattooed on her décolletage, way before tattoos became mainstream. Her boyfriend was in the Bandidos. I can't remember her real name, but the welders called her Moo-Cow, because of her ample, um, décolletage.

Then there were the pot-smoking welders out in the weld-out yard, and the guys who would brag about cheating on their wives when they worked out of town and laughed about how they once chased a black man down the street, throwing glass bottles at him from their car.

(I had a few choice words for them about that. They didn't mention anything like it in front of me again.)

Also on the up side, I was hired by DuPont to help start up a brand new Syngas and Methanol plant because of my experience in and exposure to the construction site, even though it only lasted two months. (That's another "up" – it only lasted two months.) My gig at DuPont lasted thirteen years and three births; it paid for a couple of mortgages and helped with Tom's degree. (He had tuition assistance from the G.I. Bill.)

Maybe if R.L. hadn't pulled some strings to get me that job…if I hadn't been hired by DuPont…I would have given up and gone back to school. I probably wouldn't have I crossed paths with Blue Eyes and Moo Cow and B.J. and all of the others who made such a lasting impression on me, but I would be an engineer somewhere, maybe with more money in the bank than I have now.

But maybe I wouldn't have met Tom, had my babies, made those lifelong friends at DuPont, and learned how strong and smart I really am in ways I never could have imagined.

That's just too many "maybe's" to worry about. So I'll just say thank you, R.L., for helping me get to where I am, and who I am, now.
I'm participating in The Scintilla Project, where we share the stories who make us who we are. The prompt this week is: Tell a story set at your first job. While I had held other jobs before becoming a welder's helper, it was the one that provided independence.
Make Good Art (Life)

March 12, 2013

Last night I stepped away from my computer before midnight for a change, set my alarm for 4:30 am, and before drifting off to sleep, asked God to remind me when it went off that I was excited about getting up so early because I would have time to write.

He did. And so, for the first time since the conference in February, I pulled out the critiques on my children's book, opened up the file, and began yet another revision in a silent house, well before the distraction of a husband stirring or a pink sunrise or a puppy's face hoping for a walk could distract me.

I haven't given myself a deadline, other than to move forward every day, even if it's just to develop a character or backstory that no one will ever read.

On the wall of my office, right in my line of vision, is a placque, a gift from my friend Jill, that says "never, never, never give up" and on the other side is reminder from my friend Rae to "Find a passion and pursue it…never give up…do what you love…follow your dreams…make every moment count…be true to who you are…"

And who I am is a writer. Perhaps not the best, but I won't get better unless I write.

I even resisted glancing at my email this morning, because…

"There was a day when I looked up and realised that I had become someone who professionally replied to email, and who wrote as a hobby. I started answering fewer emails, and was relieved to find I was writing much more."

Those are the words of writer Neil Gaiman from a commencement speech to a class of university art students in May of 2012. One of the women in my critique group sent the link of his speech to the rest of us.

His words are aimed at artists, but since life itself is a form of art, I'm sharing it below with all of you, just in case I'm not the last person in the world to watch it. (That happens a lot!)

The speech is almost 20 minutes long, but every word is worth listening to. They were my wake-up call to re-focus on my book, but might be your wake-up call to re-focus on whatever gives meaning and satisfaction to your life. He has a lovely British accent, which makes it even better.

So turn it on, get up and stretch or do your nails or something while you listen.

Okay, here's another little bit from it, if I haven't convinced you yet…

"Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do.

Make good art.

I'm serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it's all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn't matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Make it on the good days too."

~Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman Addresses the University of the Arts Class of 2012 from The University of the Arts (Phl) on Vimeo.

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