Jeffe Kennedy's Blog, page 240

The One, True Garden Stake

So, here's how it came about.

A few weeks back, I was cleaning up the garden for winter (which turns out to be a good thing because we're in full-blown blizzard conditions right now) and I managed to gouge my hand on a garden stake. Right in the center of my palm. It wasn't a bad scrape, but it looked unsettlingly like a stigmata.

Naturally, being a Twitter junkie, I tweeted about my new stigmata (stigmatum?) and dubbed myself #HolyJeffe.

I have it on good authority that several people took up the epithet and used it in good health.

Now, a number of people asked if they should worship me, which is just wrong, wrong, wrong. No, I said, you should worship that which gave me the stigmatum ("stigmata" sounds better), from whom all holiness flows. The garden stake.

Being in The Netherlands, Sullivan McPig, somewhat anxiously inquired if any garden stake would do. I had to deliver the bad news that, while all garden stakes are images of the One, True Garden Stake and one should always express courtesy and reverence towards them, that only the One, True Garden Stake would do for offerings.

Being the generous soul that I am, I agreed to be a conduit for all such offerings.

Holy Jeffe cares about you.

So, Sullivan, and his cohort, Voodoo Bride, who does book reviews here, got their owner to send tribute to the One, True Garden Stake.

It was acceptable.

Delicious, too.

Good Sinterklaasavond to Sullivan, Voodoo Bride and Carien and her partner today!

Fire of Life

I'm over at Word Whores today, ruminating on fire.

And, just in case that sounds ho-hum and you don't click over – I know, I know, how could I contemplate such a thing? – here's a bit of exciting news:

Big shout-out to sister Word-Whore Marcella Burnard for her nomination from the RT Book Reviews team in Futuristic Romance for her really wonderful novel ENEMY GAMES. If you haven't read it, you really should. It's really excellent hard-core sci-fi, chock full of battles with fascinating alien life forms.

 

A Run with a View

Hotel fitness centers often have a view of the indoor pool, it seems. It always strikes me as funny. Can't explain why.

Good Morning Starshine

Looks like it will be a clear day in Springfield. Love to see the sun again!

Oh Tannen-Whatsit?

This is the tree in our hotel lobby. Much debate over its funkitude. What do you all think – thumbs up or down?

Taking Time to Dream

I'm over at Word Whores today, talking about holiday rituals and having some time to day dream.

Good-bye Anne McCaffrey

Then, as the simple words of interment were spoken, as the atmosphere planes dipped in tribute over the open grave, Helva found voice for her lonely farewell.

Softly, barely audible at first, the strains of the ancient song of evening and requiem swelled to the final poignant measure until the black space itself echoed back the sound of the song the ship sang.

The Ship Who Sang
Anne McCaffrey

She passed away yesterday, after 85 good years of firing our hearts, minds and imaginations. Sometimes I wonder if anyone realizes how many of us writing fantasy and science fiction with chunks of sex and romance trace our inspiration back to Anne McCaffrey. In some ways I think we're all still trying to write F'lar and Lessa's story. Or Helva and Niall's. Or Sara and Harlan's.

I've blogged about McCaffrey and how much her books meant to me before, so I won't wax on here.

Yesterday evening, when the news hit and Twitter and Tor posted an In Memoriam shortly thereafter, the entire Tor website crashed from the load. (You can see it now.) As Kev, pointed out, it's the modern equivalent of turning crowds away from the memorial service. I just love that one of the venerable ladies of SFF and, yes, romance, created such a technological ripple.

All the dragons are lifting their heads to sky and singing the song of mourning today.

Messages in the Wind

The Buddhists have this idea that every person you encounter has a message for you. If you learn to listen, the theory is, you'll know what path to follow in life.

I think there's some truth in this.

I also think the people who thought this up lived in a much smaller society where they met only a few hundred people in their entire lives. That's about two minutes  on Twitter. Do I think every person on Twitter has a message for me that will illuminate my life's path?

Oh no no no.

That actually sounds more like a Jim Carey movie than the road to enlightenment.

So , the point is, you have to be discerning and know which messages to listen to. The crazy guy preaching on the subway? Probably not. Your well-meaning senior colleague offering advice on keeping your job "in this economy?" Hmm. The family member throwing the word "selfish" at you because you're not doing what they want you to? Uh, definitely not.

As with many aspects of life, it comes down to considering the source.

The other day one of my writing buddies wrote a post about taking critique. She mentioned a scene that five of her six readers/critique partners loved and one hated. Because she didn't want a sixth of her potential readers turned off, she made revisions. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. Except that I thought I probably would not have made the revision, had it been me.

Now, I'm not saying I think she was wrong to do it. There may be a deeper level to this in that the comments of the "hater" resonated with her and that's what really drove her to make the change. Very likely she trusted the source.

Trusting the source becomes key. When your best friend gently takes your hand and tells you that the lipstick you're wearing makes you look like a plague victim, if you trust her, you know she's looking out for you and not cutting you down. When a stranger comes up to and offers a piece of information that answers the question you've been asking in your head, trusting that is an act of faith in the world.

I think that's what the Buddhists were getting at.

The Little Things

I'm over at Word Whores today, counting up the little things that make plenty.

Refining Goals and Getting Out of the Boiling Water

I had this friend a while back who was going through a difficult divorce.

Not that they aren't all difficult.

This particular divorce, however, was complicated by massive amounts of debt, an unemployed soon-to-be-ex-husband and the necessity of taking on more debt to free herself of the situation. The upshot was, she took a second job. Because she already had a full-time, career-path day job, the second one had to be at night. So, she would work at the day job until 4, go home and sleep a few hours, go to the night job at 11, work until 7 in the morning and go to the day job.

Right: grueling schedule.

But, she only had to do it for a while. The night job at the hospital paid very well and her debt melted away. When she finally finished paying everything off, she went shopping. I know, because I went with her and she bought all new furniture. A gift to herself.

And now you can quit the second job and get some sleep again, I said.

No. She had more things she wanted the money for. She couldn't give up the second income just yet. Just a little while longer.

After a while, she became so accustomed to this grueling schedule that she no longer notices the sleep deprivation. Right – the frog in the boiling water analogy.

To this day, she still does the night job a couple times a week

Yesterday, Angela James wrote on the Carina blog about the dangers of becoming obsessed with our jobs. She talks about overworking and taking time to relax, too.

Her post came at an interesting time for me because the other day, I mentioned to one of my CPs that I wanted to be full-time writer girl. She asked if it really would make that much difference for me, because I rarely seem to exceed about 2,500 words/day, even if I have all day to write. Glumly, I acknowledged that she was correct.

Then I realized, what it would mean is I'd no longer be working two jobs. I've been doing really long days for so many years now, that I'd kind of forgotten all the ways I've tightened my daily schedule to make this work. Even something as sleeping an hour later and going to the gym I like better but would add 1/2 hour to the time allotted for exercise would make a difference.

Several people commented on Angela's post that her quip about having a goal of writing a book a month made them choke. It scared me, too.

It helps to adjust my goal, that I want to be a full-time writer, not necessarily to write more, though that would be nice, but to better enjoy my life.

Make it so!