Which also I hate, but this week I have loved it more than I have hated it, so on the balance, we're in good shape and ready to go.

First of all, I was in Florida this week. (Any Floridians out there? Is that what you are called?) Florida is good for me because there is, you know, sunshine. Which there is not in Mpls, and when there is, it somehow coincides with 20-degree-below-zero weather, which is just perverse of it. Anyway, Jeff was on vacation, and the rat lay around basking in the sun while I worked, WHICH, as mentioned, went wonderfully well. I kicked out some fifty-odd pages, a good chunk of what I'm working on, and for once there was that thrill writers get when they're pretty sure they're writing decently/not horribly/almost acceptably, because I was having such a good time I just kept going. I hit a wall Thursday and took two naps and was certain the magic was gone, over, never to come again, but Friday morning arrived and I was back at my desk. Ok, actually, I was sitting at a patio table trying to block the sun with an umbrella, because I am a bat and prefer to work in the dark (true fact--it's now four a.m., I've been up since one a.m., don't even ask).

Sadly, the bummer of how wonderfully my work week went was the fact that I was not writing what I was supposed to be writing. I was writing what I am supposed to be writing several months from now. Which means that, to my dismay, I can't just sally forth with my very entertaining spree of writing what I feel like writing, and must instead go back to what I am supposed to be writing. I have given myself one day to sulk.

On the matter of grey vs. gray, some kind poster has informed me that it is a matter of British vs. American spellings. I will continue to use British spellings, because if they started the language then I think they know it better than I do, and they are ultimately right. I will also (as I mentioned in my post replying to that post) continue to use 'deamon' and 'humour.'

Sanibel, Florida, is really a very odd place. One of those places with its own subculture so specific to itself that it seems a little surreal to me, who is/am (? where the hell is my grammar these days?) from a subculture so specific that it would seem weird to any Sanibelian.

Have I mentioned yet that I have been consumed with a desire to leave town and go to a cabin in the woods so I can write? It seems a little suspicious to me that I am constantly fantasizing about a cabin in the woods when I am about to go on a tour cross country that will be in no way like a cabin in the woods. SPEAKING of tour, a few more events that we haven't posted on the schedule yet: For those of you in Canada, I will be on Canada A.M. on either the 14th or 15th of April, will let you know. Can't remember which of these I've mentioned, but look for interviews in The Washington Post, People Magazine, Elle, Glamour (which may I point out uses the British spelling), and The Diane Rehm Show on National Public Radio. There will be more as the date approaches. All of those publications will be in the April issues. Also, a reading has been added: Northshire Books, in Manchester Center, VT, on April 11.

I may have forgotten to mention this, and you may already know, but Madness is available on pre-order at barnesandnoble.com and amazon.com.

I'm absolutely loving the discussions that are afoot on the posts. Keep it up, I love reading it, and there are more people out there reading them than are writing on them, so keep the lurkers entertained.

Here I go on one of my tangents/favorite topics, and am about to sound to many of you like a total loony, but I will persist. If you're looking for a little peace of mind (surely one or two of you are?), a way to get back into your body (another one or two?), a way to settle down the brain chemistry (a few more of you there?) then this is what I can tell you: meditate. When you have learned to be still with yourself, even for a few minutes, you can clear your mind of all the flotsam and jetsam that it's grabbing at and trying to worry about and preoccupying itself with and thereby blocking out all the clearer, more peaceful things it really wants to be filled with, and just breathe. How many therapists have told you this? I know, I know. I'm telling you too. And when your bodies are healthy and strong (and not one fking second before), yoga. If you're tempted to misuse yoga as a symptom, don't do it. Wait until you're in a mental and emotional and physical space where you can really appreciate all the mental/emotional/physical strength and quiet it can bring you. In the meantime, sit down and meditate. Some days I sit there in the dark (I meditate when I wake up) and listen to my thoughts go whizzing about like a bunch of little maniacs, and that's fine; the trick is to just ignore them, let the thought whistle and zip all by themselves. They are perfectly capable of being frantic without any help or attention from me. And the more I practice letting them go on their own way without getting into it with them, the better I am able to feel calm even while my thoughts go nuts. And some lucky days, I sit there and am totally quiet, and have let go of all the day to day junkola that usually fills my head and distracts me and keeps me worried. Either way, it's a wonderful thing to try: take a few minutes, or a lot of minutes, and just sit quietly and breathe. Do I sound like a total fruitcake? I don't care a bit. It's working for me. When I do it, I start the day in a quiet place, and can hear myself think the real thoughts, write better, handle situations with more ease and confidence, and spend a day without nearly as much internal mayhem. When I don't do it, well, the mayhem returns. Just trust me on this, and give it a try.

It's Sunday morning, 4:32 a.m. CST, and the winter sky is a soft dark red (does this happen anywhere but in the north?). It's beautiful. Time to read a little poetry before I start my day. The Wonderful Lora (of Interlochen fame, for Wasted readers) sent me this poem, the first thing I read when I woke up, and something I'm posting above my desk. From Lora to me to you:

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go
 
let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go
 
let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear

so comes love
 
~ e. e. cummings ~

Peace, all.
M