Even if you’re not a fan of his (for whatever reason), I recommend you see This Is It, the posthumous tribute to Michael Jackson. Aside from the visual and auditory feast, which I expected, this movie pulls back the curtain on MJ's artistic genius. Simply put, it fed my creative soul. 

In this montage of rehearsal footage, it's clear that the King of Pop was intimately involved with every aspect of pre-concert preparations, down to the tiniest of details. Every fiber of his being, every filament of his soul—he gave it his all. And no surprise, Michael Jackson exacted the same level of commitment from his fellow artists. Still, I wasn't expecting (but was delighted by) the feather-light touch he used to accomplish that delicate task. He treated everyone equally, showering everyone with grace. 

Time and again, Michael Jackson stepped out of the spotlight, allowing others to take center stage. And in all humbleness, he encouraged them to expand, extend, and illuminate their own creative talents. It was dark in the theater, and the only writing implement I could find was my trusty blue highlighter. But I managed to scribble down a few (of many) examples. Here they are, with apologies to MJ for those times I didn’t get the words exactly right:  

Nourish it.
You want to take them places they've never been before...
Show them things they've never seen.
Let it simmer…
Let it bask in the moonlight...
It’s your time to shine!
Do it with patience, with belief, with understanding, with love…
It’s all for love, l-o-v-e. 
Give your all... 
and we’ll be right there with you.
God bless.

See also: Time magazine's movie review.

Creative journaling is a brand-new experience for me, so I was overwhelmed (in a wonderful way) by your encouraging comments. Since it's Thankful Thursday, I thought I'd express my gratitude by sharing this charming little video. More encouragement to start/revive your own journal? Perhaps....

My good friendcartazon introduced me to creative journaling a few weeks ago. She explained its usefulness for writers, which is all well and good. But lo, when I laid eyes on her splashy entries, I coveted them wanted to try it for myself.  

And still, I resisted, mainly because 
a) I'm not an artist (have I mentioned the 'C' grades I earned in elementary school?)
b) my perfectionist tendencies might make it more work than play

But when I kept coming back to the idea, I figured I'd might as well give it a try. I bought a spiral-bound sketchbook--small, so I won't get intimidated by the broad expanse of blankness. And over the weekend, I emptied my bank account filled a shopping cart with art supplies. (Disclaimer: You don't really need more than a few colored pens and pencils. See also: b, above.)

Long story made short: I'm in love. It's another avenue for self expression, one that connects the right side of my brain with the left.  Plus, the very act of creation invites more inspiration, which has a spill-over effect on my writing. My enthusiasm far exceeds my skill level, I know that. But really and truly, I don't think that matters. Whether or not the pages are beautiful, the process itself brings me joy.

Since it's Teaser Tuesday, I've mustered up the courage to post my debut pages. The images you see here are representative of "His Eye is on the Sparrow,"  my chapter about Nana. They're not perfect by any means, so I'm certainly open to suggestions. And if you haven't already, I invite you to create an artistic journal of your very own.

To clarify: The writer-reader events we're planning are for SoCal authors in all genres, and for readers of all ages. If you live in SoCal, please oh please, say you'll come!

(Feel free to pass along this call for participation.)

I'm so excited to announce this!!

I'm doing some volunteer work that really appeals to me, professionally and personally. Namely, I'm helping the co-owners of my neighborhood coffee shop bring authors and readers together for book events. Not for commercial reasons--although the authors can sign and sell books, and everyone knows that writers and caffeine are a match made in heaven. Our goals are simple: We want to share beautiful art, words and ideas in community. Plus, we wanna have fun! 

Who:      SoCal published authors in all genres, and readers of all ages

What:     Book-related activities (readings, writing workshops, art projects, etc.); Q & A's with the author(s); and signing sessions

Where:   It's A Grind on Alicia Parkway (Laguna Hills, CA)

When:    The first Saturday morning of every month

Why:     Because we like you! 

Our 2010 themes are rather like those of the Pasadena Rose Parade--tagged to the month in which they fall, but broad enough that you can be creative in matching your book(s) to them.

January:   Beginnings
February: Love
March:     Green
April - December: TBA

Do any of these months and/or themes appeal to you? If so, let me know! (If you'd like, you can collaborate with other authors on a joint event.)  We've planning ahead for the first few months of next year, and are ready to match dates and themes to interested authors.

Let's get a sign-up sheet going quickly, so that we can start promoting. Fun times, and we’re hoping you want to do this!! Also, feel free to copy/paste this message into emails to other authors in the area. For more information--or to be referred to the co-owner for consideration--just send me an email. I'll pass it along. If you don't get a quick response, please assume I haven't received it. (Melodye.Shore AT gmail DOT com)

Oh, and watch this space for announcements about our Halloween and Holiday Season authors. PLUS, a special guest will conduct workshops on artistic journaling.

You're our lucky winner, Stephanie! Send me your address and I'll mail my ARC of ONCE WAS LOST to you right away. And thanks to everyone who entered the contest--Sara will answer your Lightning Round questions next week.

In a real way, we're all winners, because Sara Zarr's going to join us in The Authors' Tent just two days before her newest novel hits the bookstores. Mark your calendars so you'll remember to pick up your all-access pass here next Tuesday, 9/29.

Exciting news, everybody: Sara Zarr’s going to be making a guest appearance in The Authors’ Tent! We've been having fun with backstage preparations, and I can't wait to spotlight this multi-talented author. 

Would you like to be among the first to read Sara's upcoming novel, ONCE WAS LOST? If so, I've got just the contest for you.

Rules: Propose a question for the Lightning Round* of our interview, and I’ll enter your name in my drawing. While I can't guarantee that your submission will be used in the actual interview, everyone who proposes a Lightning Round question in the comments thread (below) is eligible to win.

Contest Deadline: All entries must be submitted by 8:00 a.m. (PDT) on Tuesday, September 22^nd. 

Grand Prize: I’ll mail my Advance Review Copy (ARC) to the winner. 
 

*Check out previous Authors' Tent interviews (including the every-popular but oh-so-unpredictable Lightning Round questions) here and here.

I’m leaving today for a yoga retreat in the Land of Medicine Buddha--gonna shed the cares of the world and get my Om on.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to extend my yoga practice in such a gorgeous setting. Beyond the obvious pampering, I find deeper, more spiritual reasons for doing yoga: 

[Yoga] means ‘union’ and that the practice of yoga unites body, breath, and mind, lower and higher energy centers and, ultimately self and God, or higher Self. But more broadly, yoga directs our attention to the unity or oneness that underlies our fragmented experiences and equally fragmented world. (Yoga Journal, May/June 1984, p. 4)

Interpreting yoga as a gathering place—it's a very cool concept, don't you think? Plus, I’m meeting up with long-time friends. In between our yoga and meditation sessions, we'll catch up with each other on long hikes among the redwoods. Nirvana!

Namaste, my friends. I'll be happy to see you again next week.

I don't consider Facebook one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, nor do I fear it'll be the ruination of my own relationships. But oh, it's so very seductive! And therein lies its danger. Real-life friendships require face time. And true love can wither while you Twitter.

Let's be honest: Facebook is, for the most part, a virtual playground. Perhaps there are some who would disagree with me, who could produce substantive evidence that it's "productive." So be it, and let me see it.

Balance. Again, we're back to that. Facebook (and for that matter, Twitter) is no substitute for face-to-face communications, nor can it replace the cozier, thoughtful exchanges of its online counterparts--like LiveJournal, for instance. And yet, I've seen so many people topple down that rabbit hole. You, too? Where are they now, I wonder? 

Here, an excerpt from an August 25 article in the Wall Street Journal, "How Facebook Ruins Friendships."

Notice to my friends: I love you all dearly.

But I don't give a hoot that you are "having a busy Monday," your child "took 30 minutes to brush his teeth," your dog "just ate an ant trap" or you want to "save the piglets." And I really, really don't care which Addams Family member you most resemble. (I could have told you the answer before you took the quiz on Facebook.)

Here's where you and I went wrong: We took our friendship online. First we began communicating more by email than by phone. Then we switched to "instant messaging" or "texting." We "friended" each other on Facebook, and began communicating by "tweeting" our thoughts—in 140 characters or less—via Twitter.

All this online social networking was supposed to make us closer. [...] But there's a danger here, too.

Go ahead, scribble on your FB wall. Tweet 140 characters on Twitter. Then come sit a spell, maybe read the entire article so we can discuss it. It's Sunday, a day of rest. Put your feet up, and I'll put on the teakettle.

I spied a bushel basket of pomegranates at the supermarket today, alongside an enormous display of watermelons. They were waxy-perfect, more exotic than the ones that grew in my grandmother’s backyard. Nana's were dark crimson, not cherry red, and they were etched with brown patches that looked like the freckles on her wrinkled hands. Still, and although it’s a bit early in the season, they reminded me of her, so I decided to buy one.

The grocery clerk dragged my produce across the scanner, with nary a single glance in my direction. He mumbled something in Spanish--granada, I think--as he rolled the pomegranate toward the bagger.

“Have you ever eaten one?” I asked.

No answer.

“My grandmother had a tree...”

His head snapped up. “Mine, too!” And in that split second, we recognized each other as kindred spirits. “Listen, sprinkle some lime juice on the seeds. Add some salt and pico de gallo….” His eyes sparkled wet as he shared his grandmother’s secret recipe. “Try it,” he urged, “You won’t be sorry.”

Maybe I’ll experiment with that recipe one day. But this afternoon, I resorted to my favorite way of eating pomegranates: fresh and unadulterated, seed pearls oozing red as I removed the crown and tore into the fruit.



The seeds were sugary, sour, crunchy, juicy--a sunburst of flavors and textures, just as I’d remembered. I split the pomegranate with my family, realizing anew that it’s not the flavors I love most. It’s the sharing, the sense of communion that this sticky fruit inspires. Likewise, that's the delicious take-away of my grocery store encounter.

You may remember that I took an ARC copy of THE MILES BETWEEN on a tour of the Orange County Fair. So much fun, and the book itself is awesome. At the very moment in which Destiny finds her life at the crossroads, she finds a beautiful pink Cadillac idling at the curb. Carpe diem, she thinks, and she embarks on an incredible road trip.

This is a high-speed read, with thematic signposts any teenager can relate to. With that in mind, Mary, would you please inscribe the autographed copy I won (!!) to Girls Incorporated of Orange County? I'm thinking it’ll be a wonderful addition to their library. And yours, my LJ friends, if you haven't already treated yourself to Mary Pearson's latest novel.

Inspiring all girls to be strong, smart, and bold ^sm

Today's horoscope:

You love what is sacred and also what is ordinary. You could interchange the two today as you realize the only thing that makes something sacred or ordinary is the quality of attention you give to it.

And the lessons, they keep coming.

This is Perfect Jeannine Garsee. Note how polished and polite she looks—how her legs are crossed just so, hands folded neatly in her lap.

 No doubt, you'll recognize Jeannine’s alter ego,  onegrapeshy

And this is Writer Jen. Can you see the wheels turning behind those innocent eyes, the mischievous smile spreading across her face?

Young Adult author…closet comedienne…psychiatric nurse…friend. If you want to meet the real Jeannine Garsee, step inside the Authors’ Tent. 

The one big nagging problem of memoirs is that many would-be memoirists assume that a memoir is a story where the writer already knows what happens. […] You stifle your memoir in the grave when you consider it a passive account of things past rather than an active, completely new and surprising encounter.

--The Intern

 
This should be easy, I told myself when I began revising a chapter about Nana. I love her deeply, and I could talk about her all day. But several drafts later, the pages were still lifeless…a bare-bones outline in the graveyard of my imagination.
 

I finally realized I needed to step away from the keyboard, to allow myself space and time in which to re-envision the chapter’s essence. And so I did. I sifted through my memories, starting with Nana's prized button collection—stashed like a pirate’s treasure in a battered biscuit tin, and still sweetly fragranced with her rose-scented lotion. I lingered over my tiny collection of photographs, including this one, where she's posing with my youngest sister. I searched for new meanings in her favorite expressions. “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” she once told me in a no-nonsense voice, blowing wishes from a dandelion puff with her very next breath. And I remembered her wrinkled hands, plunged deep into an enamel sink full of dishwater. “His Eye is On the Sparrow,” she sang, as her eyes traveled a million miles beyond the kitchen window. And I knew in that moment, as I’ve always known, that my grandmother was watching over me.  

Wonderful memories, all of them, but I still couldn’t find my way in—until, that is, I awaked early one morning, on the cusp of a beautiful dream. And in that gauzy space between sleep and wakefulness, I heard the echo of a long-forgotten song.

When I was just a little girl,

I asked my mother, what will I be?

Will I be pretty, will I be rich?

Here’s what she said to me.
Que sera, sera...

It was one of Nana's favorites. Phrase by phrase, verse by verse, I recalled the lyrics Nana helped me memorize ages ago. What was she telling me, I wondered. Dawn gave way to daylight, and as the clock ticked forward, I sat with my teacher—the teacher—and learned the lessons anew. And then I opened my document and started writing.

This story has another happy—no, magical—ending. Would you like to hear that version, too?