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  <title><![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith (Large Print Press)]]></title>
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  <description><![CDATA[Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]></description>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <votes>13</votes>
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[wouldn't recommend]]></recommended_for>
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  <read_at>Wed Aug 01 00:00:00 -0700 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun Sep 02 12:57:51 -0700 2007</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Dec 17 08:26:10 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[My love affair with Anne Lammot started many years ago with her book Traveling Mercies.  It was raw and inviting and I was quickly drawn into her story-the story of a woman openly displaying her mess and how Jesus came into her life and how her life as a mess with Jesus continued.  There was no way ...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5539147">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5539147]]></url>
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      <review>
  <id>1203062</id>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>2</rating>
  <votes>5</votes>
  <spoiler_flag>false</spoiler_flag>
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          <shelf name="vignettes" />
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[]]></recommended_for>
  <recommended_by><![CDATA[]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Tue May 01 00:00:00 -0700 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Mon May 14 10:14:41 -0700 2007</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Dec 16 19:24:38 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Annie, we need to talk. <br/><br/>First of all, why do you keep telling the same stories and quips over and over, repeating yourself like a demented party guest? Remember Jesus drinking gin straight out of the cat dish? Let's get back to that type of hilarious creativity. But let us never speak of...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1203062">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1203062]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1203062]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
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    <name><![CDATA[Ana]]></name>
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    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
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  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>2735</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>4</rating>
  <votes>2</votes>
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  <read_at>Sat Mar 01 00:00:00 -0800 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Mar 06 15:12:49 -0800 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Mar 15 07:13:22 -0700 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Hmmmm. . .I noticed a lot of really negative reviews about this book by folks who are Anne Lamott fans. I did enjoy it and, yes, as other reviewers noted it is more of the same of what we were given in Traveling Mercies &amp; Plan B, but I don't know that I would expect anything different from her. <br/>...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/17189407">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/17189407]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/17189407]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
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    <name><![CDATA[Kyla]]></name>
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  <isbn>1594489424</isbn>
  <isbn13>9781594489426</isbn13>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12542.Grace_Eventually_Thoughts_on_Faith</link>
  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>2735</ratings_count>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>3</rating>
  <votes>2</votes>
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  <recommended_by><![CDATA[]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Sun Jul 01 00:00:00 -0700 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Aug 02 06:17:27 -0700 2007</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Dec 17 03:22:24 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I keep reading Anne LaMott to reassure myself that my deep, dark aetheist soul can read about religion without wanting to throw something across the room. Kind of a hodge-podge of essays with the humility and confession we've come to expect but not exactly cohesive or anything, it has a slapped toge...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3958529">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3958529]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3958529]]></link>
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      <review>
  <id>30983129</id>
    <user>
    <id>522867</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Elizabeth]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[Portland, OR]]></location>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12542.Grace_Eventually_Thoughts_on_Faith</link>
  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>2735</ratings_count>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>3</rating>
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  <read_at>Wed Aug 20 00:00:00 -0700 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Aug 23 09:02:54 -0700 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Aug 23 09:07:59 -0700 2008</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I just became aware that there was an Anne Lamott book, a new one, that I haven't read yet.  Old enough to be out in paperback.  So I picked it up at the beach and read it in an afternoon/evening (finished at midnight).  <br/><br/>I truly love Anne Lamott, and so I suppose I am willing to be more ...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/30983129">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/30983129]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/30983129]]></link>
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      <review>
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    <user>
    <id>303453</id>
    <name><![CDATA[Michelle]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[Greenfield, MA]]></location>
    <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/303453-michelle]]></link>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12542.Grace_Eventually_Thoughts_on_Faith</link>
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  <description>
    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Sat Dec 01 00:00:00 -0800 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Mon Nov 19 22:21:19 -0800 2007</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Dec 06 12:10:49 -0800 2007</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I have been a die-hard Anne Lamott fan for the past 12+ years.  Maybe this is a case of listening to your favorite album in high school over and over until you just can't hear it one more time.  (Good God did I just type the word album?)  I started this book and Lamott still writes with her great sa...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/9340585">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/9340585]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/9340585]]></link>
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      <review>
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    <name><![CDATA[Laura]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <recommended_by><![CDATA[I wish I could remember]]></recommended_by>
  <read_at>Thu Jan 22 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Tue Jan 20 17:00:28 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Jan 22 17:46:36 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[This is the first book by Anne Lamott I have tried reading, and it is also the last!  Her thoughts on faith seem to me more like thoughts about herself.  I don't understand how thoughts on faith can have so little to do with God or Jesus.  I wasn't finding the book particularly interesting or inspir...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/43747387">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/43747387]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/43747387]]></link>
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      <review>
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    <name><![CDATA[Jessica]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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  <read_at>Tue Dec 08 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Tue Dec 08 14:54:54 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Tue Dec 08 19:55:22 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[A lot of the reviews I've read of this book from fans of Lamott's are rather harsh, so perhaps it works out in my favor that I'm going into this totally unfarmiliar with her work. As a newcomer, I really enjoyed it, even though it wasn't entirely what I was expecting. <br/><br/>Lamott has a unique...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/80335220">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/80335220]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/80335220]]></link>
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    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
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  <description>
    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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    <rating>5</rating>
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  <read_at>Mon Jan 01 00:00:00 -0800 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Fri Jul 24 18:34:55 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Jul 24 18:35:06 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I seem to have forgotten to add this book to my book log, probably because as soon as I finished it, I started reading it again. I can’t write rationally about Lamott anyway; it’s like trying to write logically about your first junior high crush when you are thirteen. Here’s my truth about her...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/64849003">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/64849003]]></url>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Sat Nov 01 00:00:00 -0700 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Wed Apr 22 18:39:45 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Apr 22 18:53:00 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count>5</read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[  I know that everything about this book should say RUN! RUN! The author is a recovering alchoholic, born-again Christian, hippie from Northern California *with dreaklocks!*. Aparently, she and Derrick Jensen have a lot of drama, which is, of course, utterly hilarious. <br/> But don't be swayed by ...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/53662466">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/53662466]]></url>
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    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Mon Aug 13 00:00:00 -0700 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Apr 18 17:34:20 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Apr 18 17:36:01 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[I picked this up at the Book Stop at the library on impulse.  In fact, I picked it twice.  I returned it once, unread, then saw it again a few weeks later.  It is a collection of essays loosely about faith and other topics.  A couple of my favorite excerpts:<br/><br/>“My friend Father Tom says t...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/53168328">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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    <rating>4</rating>
  <votes>0</votes>
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  <read_at>Sun Mar 15 21:04:36 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Mar 14 14:37:09 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Mar 15 21:04:36 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[ Now THIS is the kind of book I would write, if I were ever to be a writer. Full of large and small truths and honest interpretations of life. Anne meanders sometimes through her passages - but usually gets back to the point. You allow yourself to be patient for her message because she's often inter...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/49267524">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/49267524]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/49267524]]></link>
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      <review>
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  <isbn>1594489424</isbn>
  <isbn13>9781594489426</isbn13>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>2</rating>
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  <read_at>Mon Jun 01 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Jun 11 13:51:51 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Jun 13 16:40:05 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count>1</read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I will admit that in the end, I was slightly disappointed in this book.  I have read a few of Anne Lamott's early works, and always really enjoyed them.  This one, which consists of several different pieces that are grouped by similarity of topic, was just not what I was hoping it would be.  <br/>...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59310337">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59310337]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59310337]]></link>
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      <review>
  <id>1164400</id>
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    <name><![CDATA[Brandon]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12542.Grace_Eventually_Thoughts_on_Faith</link>
  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>2735</ratings_count>
  <description>
    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
  </description>
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    <rating>2</rating>
  <votes>1</votes>
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  <read_at>Sun Jul 01 00:00:00 -0700 2007</read_at>
  <date_added>Fri May 11 12:22:12 -0700 2007</date_added>
  <date_updated>Mon Jul 30 19:42:02 -0700 2007</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I found this book to be more of a therapeutic journal and less of a book that pertains to faith. Her style has always been quite different from other writers in her genre, yet I found this book to have little to do with 'grace.' If the author told you in the preface that she is a bad mother, struggl...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1164400">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1164400]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1164400]]></link>
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    <name><![CDATA[Mom]]></name>
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    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Wed Mar 11 04:12:26 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun Mar 01 03:58:25 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Mar 11 04:12:26 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I love the raw, honesty the author presents about her faith.]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/47868484]]></url>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <date_added>Mon Jun 15 18:33:14 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Tue Jun 23 07:02:34 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I agree with most of the reviews here, which are mostly written by confirmed Anne Lamott fans, who are semi-disappointed in this book. I have only read one other book of her, Operating Instructions, and I loved it. It was far and away the most enlightening book I read before giving birth to my own s...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59816677">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59816677]]></url>
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      <review>
  <id>74745392</id>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1071023.Grace_Eventually_Thoughts_on_Faith</link>
  <average_rating>3.80</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Sat Oct 24 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Fri Oct 16 12:02:53 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sat Oct 24 20:06:11 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[This is a book of essays on grace, and there are good stories in it. But (a) I listened to it on CD and found the author's voice really annoying and (b) kept being struck by how little grace I was finding in it. I loved <em>Bird by Bird,</em> because I thought the author displayed some of the frailty, the hu...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/74745392">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <name><![CDATA[Cynical]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Fri Aug 07 17:39:51 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Wed Jul 29 05:38:33 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Aug 07 17:39:51 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[This book has some great descriptions of places and people. It's very good in its connection to reality. The problem is--and I'm not inventing this--is that the subtitle of the book is &quot;Thoughts on Faith.&quot; I don't have a problem with that in a general sense, because I understand that Lamot...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/65380429">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <name><![CDATA[David]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Sun Mar 01 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Mar 07 11:53:54 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Mar 18 12:10:04 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[I loved Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies when I read it years ago.  It is inevitable that I will compare this book to that, and I did not feel that this book was as great.<br/><br/>Anne's writing quality is still above average; she writes in easy to read prose and paints beautiful pictures with wor...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/48520966">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
  <id>20301126</id>
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    <name><![CDATA[Nan]]></name>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith]]>
  </title>
  <image_url>http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427m/12542.jpg</image_url>
  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12542.Grace_Eventually_Thoughts_on_Faith</link>
  <average_rating>3.78</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[More thoughts on faith. Continued from Traveling Mercies and Plan B.<br/><br/>Through Anne Lamott's many books (including six novels, her bestselling parenting memoir, <em>Operating Instructions</em>, and her popular guide to writing, <em>Bird by Bird</em>) the subject she keeps returning to is her faith, her deeply personal--&quot;erratic,&quot; she says--journey in Christianity. Her latest book, <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>, is her third collection of her &quot;thoughts on faith,&quot; and she took the time to answer a few of our questions.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> This is your third book on faith. How has your perspective changed since you wrote your first one? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> I wrote my first book on faith when Bill Clinton was president, and I was in a much better mood. I wrote <em>Plan B</em> during the run-up to war in Iraq, and the ensuing catastrophe, so I was very angry, but trying to reconcile that pain and hostility to Jesus's insistence that we are made of love, to love, and be loved, to forgive and be forgiven. Some days went better than others. Also, my son Sam was in his early teens, and that was a LOT easier than when he turned 16 and 17, his ages when I was writing the pieces in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em>. In general, I think <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> is a less angry book. I like how I'm aging, except that my back hurts more often, my knees crack like twigs when I squat, and my memory fails more frequently, in more public and therefore humiliating ways. But I think I complain less. As my best friend said when she was dying, and I was obsessing about my butt, &quot;You just don't have that kind of time.&quot; <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What does grace mean for you? How can we better communicate it to each other? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> Grace is that extra bit of help when you think you are really doomed; also, not coincidentally, when you have finally run out of good ideas on how to proceed, and on how better to control the people or circumstances that are frustrating or defeating you. I experience Grace as a cool ribbon of fresh air when I feel spiritually claustrophobic. Sometimes I experience it as water-wings, something holding me up when I am afraid that I'm going down, or the tide is carrying me away. I know that Grace meets us wherever we are, but does not leave us where it found us. Sometimes it is so small -- a couple of seconds relief here, several extra inches there. I wish it were big and obvious, like sky-writing. Oh, well. Grace is not something I DO, or can chase down; but it is something I can receive, when I stop trying to be in charge. We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> Many of the essays in <em>Grace (Eventually)</em> first appeared in Salon, the online magazine, and that's the way that many readers first found you. How do you see the Internet changing the way people read and write?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> The Internet makes everything so immediate and spontaneous, which I totally love -- UNLESS it has to do with the immediacy of people's negative response to me.  Several of the Salon pieces in <em>Grace</em> -- for instance, the story about the horrible fight with my son, and the piece about turning the other cheek while being ripped off by The Carpet Guy -- generated a couple hundred letters, many of them extremely hostile. Perhaps &quot;spewy&quot; would be a better description. I also sometimes get knee-jerk responses to my mentions of Jesus in my Salon pieces that seem to lump me in the same tradition as Jerry Falwell. But for the most part, I love the populism and egalitarian nature of the Internet: everyone counts the same.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> What stories do people tell you, when they've read your books or know you are a writer?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> People tell me how relieved they are that I try to tell the truth about how hard it can be to be a mother, or a daughter, or an American in these times. They tell me stories about how awful their own teenagers can be, or how awful they themselves behaved towards their kids or parents; how hard it was to finally be able to adore their mothers, or to forgive their fathers. They tell me their sobriety dates. They whisper to me that they are Christians, too. Also, they ask if I am able to read their manuscripts, and the name of my agent, and my e-mail address. They ask if we are going to survive the current political difficulties -- and I promise them we are. They ask how old my son is now -- 17 and a half -- and how he is doing, which is fantastically, after some of the hard months I wrote about in <em>Grace</em>.<br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em>What lessons do you think you can pass on to others: to your readers, to your son? What lessons does it seem like people have to learn for themselves? <br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> All I have to offer is my own truth, my own experience, strength and hope. I can pass on the tool of a God Box, and how for 20 years I have been putting tiny notes in mine and promising God I will keep my sticky fingers off the controls until I hear God's wisdom: sometimes I get an answer because the phone rings, or the mail comes, but at any rate, during every single terrible problem and tragedy, I have been given enough guidance and stamina and even humor to bear up, and be transformed, for the good. I always tell Sam that if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans. I tell Sam that if he listens to his best thinking, he will suffer: and to listen to his heart instead, to listen in the silence, and to seek wise counsel.   <br/><br/><em>Amazon.com:</em> You've written nearly a dozen books (including an incredibly popular guide to writing): does writing get any easier? Does it get harder?<br/><br/><em>Lamott:</em> In a very important way, writing gets easier, because I've been doing it full time now for thirty-plus years, and just as you would get better and better if you practiced your scales on a piano, I've gotten better, and can try harder and harder pieces. But writing is always hard. It does not come naturally to me at all. I sit down at the same time every day, which lets my subconscious realize it's time to get to work. I give myself very short assignments, and let myself write really terrible first drafts. But I grapple with the exact same problems every writer does, which is having equal proportions of self-loathing and grandiosity. I sort of live by the Nike ads: Just Do It. So I sit down. I show up. I do it by pre-arrangement with myself, because I know I'll feel sad and terrible if I shirk on that days writing. I do it as a debt of honor, to myself, and to whatever it is that has given me this gift of being able to tell stories, and to make people laugh. Laughter is carbonated holiness. Other people's good writing is medicine for me, and I hope mine is too, for my readers.]]>
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  <read_at>Fri Aug 01 00:00:00 -0700 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Wed Apr 16 10:31:25 -0700 2008</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Aug 13 13:49:36 -0700 2008</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[This was my first Anne Lamott book and I have to say that I have very mixed feelings about it.  She is, at times, hilarious and then at other times, offensive....to me, that is.  Because of my political views and doctrinal stance as a christian, I couldn't always agree with her sometimes left-winged...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/20301126">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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