Lent

One March afternoon in my first year of college, I stopped at the school’s theater box office to buy tickets to some nihilistic bucket-o-blood experimental theater production. I had to see it for class credit. I noticed the woman behind the glass had a black smear on her forehead. Maybe she had to do scene painting for class credit. So I kindly informed her of the schmutz.

“It’s Ash Wednesday,” she glared.
“Oh, yes of course!” I apologized. I may have added that I was Lutheran and was on her team. She kept glaring. Maybe she was a staunch Catholic, and viewed my Lutheran people as The First Defectors.

Still, I left feeling elated, knowing there was at least one other Christian in the theater department. One person who was bold enough to say, “Screw you, nihilist bucket-o-blood theater majors! From dust you came and to dust you shall return!”


Growing up Lutheran, we didn’t give up things for Lent. We just thought sobering thoughts. When I reached adulthood, I joined a non-denominational church, threw off the old liturgy and embraced total formless freedom in Christ. I immersed myself in God’s love, disappeared into long rock worship sets, attended healing conference and hung out with Jesus. It was awesome, as my hippie pastor said.

But as I got older, I started to miss the liturgy. (Besides, the non-denom did have a liturgy: 45 minutes of rock music, followed by a 45-minute sermon. It’s still a liturgy.) I wanted less spectatorship and more participation. I wanted to recite the creed. Most of all, I wanted to take communion every week. I would gladly cut 25 minutes out of a 45-minute sermon to make room for communion. So many of those 45- minute sermons only had 20 minutes of content anyway.

Two years ago my husband and I landed at an Episcopal church. We observe the liturgy and the church year. The rectors wear robes and swing the incense ball. We read the appointed scriptures and the pastor preaches on the appointed text. (It’s not all scheduled stuff: we pray for each other, the Holy Spirit shows up, and God is moving on our little parish). Church isn’t always an earth-shattering experience. Sometimes the hymns are dull, dull, DULL! But for some reason – maybe it’s the Age, or maybe it’s my age – the liturgy is working on me.

I started observing Lent a couple of years ago. Lent is the forty days before Easter when we honor the forty days Jesus fasted in the wilderness, and we do this by giving up or adding something to our life. (I’m not really sure how they count the forty days of Lent. I think they skip Saturdays and government holidays). In any event, I decided to go with the liturgical flow and see how Lent would work on me.

This year I gave up facebook and twitter. It was a selfish move, really. I was getting too many updates and the notifications were clogging my email In Box. And facebook sent me four emails for every single event that occurred on facebook that it was getting insane. Besides, I didn’t have time to trade useless factoids or Farmville animals or Monty Python dead parrots. I've already blocked Mafia Wars for cryin' out loud.  Anyway, I needed to spend that time on important things, like writing, my husband and God. Facebook and twitter had to go.

The first thing I did with all that free time was to catch up with “30 Rock” on Hulu, play online scrabble with a friend, and check craigslist for a used IKEA day bed. I also thought about the things I was supposed to do with my free time. (In my defense, my husband was busy updating his status on facebook. All he gave up for Lent was Tostitos Lime Chips.)

Time with God still eluded me, or maybe I eluded time with God. Nature abhors a vacuum, and maybe my human nature abhors silence. But I know better. Whenever I’ve spent time alone with God, I’ve loved it. I’ve even gone on a few silent retreats. The first hour is always excruciating, but by the time the weekend is over, I kinda don't want to start talking. I like the silence.  Well, Lent is not yet over and I hope that I can master some time alone with God.

But there’s something else I feel called to abstain from: righteous anger. When it comes to Fight or Flight: I get my dukes up. I recently kicked a BMW SUV when it knowingly barreled through a crosswalk I was walking in. Yeah: It slowed down, saw me, and then sped up and right through. (The license plate was GRNYMAE. If you know Granny Mae, warn her never to drive through Pasadena. I’m looking for her.)  But even if the driver was jerk, it’s not a good idea to attack a moving piece of machinery.

It’s easy to make a vague promise like “turning the other cheek.” That is until God gives you a specific person to whom you should turn the other cheek. I recently got a specific person. Our dog. Well, Wally doesn’t want to be my dog; he wants to be my husband’s dog. He’s a 9-month old corgi, and corgis are stubborn. In the past month and a half, Wally has decided he needs to push me out of the pack. Because Wally has decided to hate me.

My husband says that’s not true. Wally is a dog; he’s not capable of feeling human emotions like hatred.

“Well,” I reply, “What would you call it if the dog you’ve been feeding and walking and praising and loving on, decides to growl whenever you come near? If he lavishes affection on complete strangers but ignores you? If when you try to pet him he recoils at your touch?

"That's because he picks up on your anger and sees it as a threat," Larry suggested.
“I thought you said he doesn’t feel human emotions!”

Larry suggested I praise him and treat him even more. But that’s what I had been doing all along! Besides, someone told me that dogs can interpret your kindness as weakness, and then try to push you out of the pack! And the Dog Whisperer said I needed to act like The Boss. Which Wally interprets as threatening.

(There are other mobius strips of rationale in the Dog Training world. Like: “Don’t punish a dog. They don’t remember what they did five seconds ago.” VS: “If you punish a dog, the dog will remember that about you and be scared of you.” Which is it? The dog remembers or the dog doesn’t remember?! The dog wants me to be nice or the dog wants me to be tough? Which because I can’t figure it out!! I can’t win. I am a wimp or a threat!)

This insanity sent me into fits of righteous apoplectic anger. Which in turn sent my husband recoiling from me as well. So everyone hated me. I wanted to hate everyone right back. Which made me hate myself. If there is anything I am ashamed of about myself, it is my anger.  Anger wasn't modeled well in my household. My father got angry at everything, and when he cursed it felt like I was getting battery acid thrown in my face. Needless to say I don't like getting angry. But people get angry. And I'm a fighter. So when I get angry, it feels like it swallows everything else in my life.  I hate it and then I hate me.

Amazing the amount of drama and self-loathing, launched over a teenaged dog.

The Dog drama did get me thinking about God, in a palindrome kind of way. I wondered how God must have felt when I complained he was neglecting me, or when he brought something good my way and I feared it was a trap. I shuddered to remember the times recoiled from God altogether. And yet God never banished me to the proverbial service porch, as I had done to our dog. or squirted me with a spiritual squirt gun, as I was told to do to the dog to stop bad behavior.  (Come to think of it maybe God had leveled me with his cosmic squirt gun. Exhibit A: The year 2003.  See also opening chapter of Angry Conversations.)

Two weeks ago, before the Wally Debacle hit its peak, we attended the Ash Wednesday service at church. It was my first Ash Wednesday service. I’d never had ashes spread across my forehead. It took me by surprise when the pressure of my pastor’s thumb on my forehead and the words whispered to me made me cry.

“From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.”

To dust I will return. I will not be here forever. It felt like a sobering call to duty: to go out into God’s world and do what he’s called me to do. Go out and live a big story, as Don Miller says. Do something bold and risky and remarkable. Like blessing Granny Mae when she sideswipes me in her car. Or continuing to love a dog that isn’t loving me back. Or something even scarier I haven’t begun to imagine.

But I couldn’t possibly do those things. I wasn’t capable! I was the jerk in my own story!

The other part of the sentence came to mind: From dust I came. I thought of Psalm 103: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” He has compassion because he knows how weak we are.

If only I could extend that compassion to Granny Mae, or to our dog. Or to myself when I get angry.

My husband scheduled a private session with a trainer at PetSmart. I resented it. I had cleared my Lenten schedule to do important things like write (and watch Hulu). How could I take time to see a private dog trainer?

But I went. Well, I protested by spending the day at the library, and met Larry and Wally at the last minute. I was shocked when Wally greeted me with a wagging tail. The trainer said it was because we were meeting on neutral ground, where we’d had no history of acrimony. “Wait until we get back home,” I muttered.

She asked me to remember how much I loved Wally up until a month and a half ago. I wondered just what Larry had shared with the trainer.  Did he come in crying, "my wife hates my dog! This cute adorable corgi!"  I wanted to protest to the trainer, "hey I don't hate this adorable dog! I love him!  But when I thought of how much heartache he'd caused me, I had to stop and think back on how much I truly did adore him before he turned into Iago. It was hard not to remember how much I'd loved him. If I’d never loved him I wouldn’t be so upset over it.

“You can get that happy relationship back,” she promised me. “Just forget what happened before.” I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think Wally would forget. I didn’t think I could forget. Or maybe I couldn’t forgive. Or maybe I couldn’t get over my emotions.

In one hour, she identified Larry’s and my behaviors that sent Wally the wrong message. She told me what to do instead: to react to his growl by staying confident and calm. (Really, squirting him with a water bottle made him more scared? Who knew.) She taught me a new bonding game to play with the dog (Really? So “Let’s Get Ready To Rumble” encouraged competition not bonding? Who Knew.)

I tried her suggestions at home. Wally did react differently. I didn’t want to get overly excited, this would take some time. But Wally had begun to change, and so did I.

Not long after that, we discovered Wally had some smelly open sores on his tail. He’g gotten some flea bites and just chewed his skin raw. We trimmed back his fur, applied antiseptic and some anti-itch cream, and then Larry snapped on the “Cone of Shame” to prevent him from biting. It really is a shaming cone: Wally hung his head, tucked his tail and sunk into a corner. I came over and sat down next to him. And he let me stay there. He buried his nose against my thigh. Isn't that the way: we have to reach total humiliation and pain before we let Someone get close to us.

“There, there Wally. We aren’t going to kick you out of the pack. Don’t be ashamed of your weakness. We love you even more.”

He stood up, crawled up into my lap, sighed, and plopped his head across my legs.
I sat there petting him for a good long while, until he drifted off to sleep.

The Jesus Story Book Bible

My friend Sally Lloyd-Jones is an accomplished children's book author. She's written the popular series, "Handbag Friends;" the hit "How To Be A Baby, By Me The Big Sister" and its sequel, "How to Get Married." I love Sally's quirky, silly and smart humor. Her books are fun for kids, but parents will find them hugely entertaining.

Sally is my kind of gal; just as quirky, fun and smart as she is in her books. Plus she's a Brit. I can do my Brit accent with her, drink PG Tips, make comments about the Queen's Corgis, and she gets it.






One of Sally's greatest accomplishments is The Jesus Story Book Bible: a book of key bible stories, whimsical illustrations and language that will capture a child's sense of wonder. And it's theologically rich. When her pastor, author Dr. Tim Keller, read the book he exclaimed, "This is my life's work!" Apparently Sally was paying attention all those Sundays.

Well, The Jesus Story Book Bible is available on Audio! And it's read by David Suchet, who played Hercule Poirot in the popular BBC Series. Read About the Book.

I have a chance to win a whole box of JSBB audio books. And if I do, I'll get to give them away on my blog!

So click through and check out the Jesus Story Book Bible website.

FREE! PDFs and mp3 Downloads.

Loose Blogs Sink Dogs

This was a week of mounting frustration. Our search for a dog had gone on for six months, and culminated in losing a Dachshund we were foolhardy enough to name before we had him. On top of that, and maybe because it, I’ve had writer’s block. I’ve got a 90 minute solo show script that’s overdue. And I can’t write.

I fessed up to Larry and some friends about the writers block, but the confession didn't break my writer's block. Thursday night came along. I got an email from a friend who needed to vent. I vented back, and we laughed about it. I published that vent in my blog.

When you’ve got writer’s block it helps to write to somebody. You have a person in your mind when you write. You know what they like to hear, what entertains them; you're more likely to write with details and specifics, because you know what makes that person tick.

My friend has had her own pet adoption nightmare. She found a cat at a local shelter, but they interrogated her with questions like, “Will you have teenagers visiting the house? Visiting teenagers would be too disruptive for the cat.”

My friend is from the South. She knows how to be polite. So she replied in her kind Southern lilt, “Shame on you, ma’am. This cat is in danger of being euthanized. I love this cat and want to give it a home. And you are worried about teenagers visiting my house? Shame, shame on you.” She got the cat.

So when I wrote her back about my pet search frustration, I regaled her with the details she’d appreciate. As a comedienne, I look for the absurd. I exaggerate. I use details; like saying our friend Doug’s shoes looked like Aladdin and Buffalo Bill had a brawl; or calling the corgi rescue lady, the “Crazy Corgi Lady.” I was just venting out of my id. It felt good. I got through my writer's block. I even posted my email to her as a blog.

Don't ever publish a blog when it's a vent from frustrated id. Because people read blogs.

The next day I thought, “That was not a cool thing to say about Doug’s shoes.” SO I added some important details: like the fact the shoes looked good on Doug. (Doug can get away with extreme footwear because he’s a jazz musician). Or clarifying Corgi lady. We met her the next day at Corgi Fun Day. Turned out she was really Nice Corgi Lady .. and Smart Corgi Lady. she knows important things, like the fact the breed is protective of its food So no, you really DON’T want small kids playing “Tease The Corgi With His Dinner.” SO I added more about her, and wrote more about our search for the dog.

I felt better. Only ..

Well, corgi ladies read blogs too. And she found mine. Needless to say, she was not happy with what I wrote. And she was not interested in letting Bitchy Blog Bitch adopt one of her corgis. Would you, if Blog Bitch just called you crazy?

I was mortified. I wrote her back and apologized. I explained as a comedienne I exaggerate things for comic effect, it came out of my id and all that. But you know, it wasn’t cool anyway. It wasn’t cool at all. She was still not comfortable in having us see her dogs. And I hardly blame her.

When I told Larry his eyes welled up with tears. He knew I was just being a comedian. He had to delete his entire blog, because employers read something in it and took it the wrong way. So he didn’t fault me.

But I did. And not just for losing out on a dog or seeing Larry so sad. But because I hurt a really nice lady. Really, for the sake of a funny blog piece? It was so not worth it.

Corgi Lady was crazy enough to forgive me. She noticed on my blog I’d said Larry had his heart set on a tricolor male corgi. She saw one at a shelter in the central Valley and sent me a link. I called and the dog already had two people fighting for it.

We saw another tricolor male corgi at a shelter about 25 miles away. It goes up for adoption tomorrow at 10am. And wouldn’t you know, my agent calls me with an audition: in Santa Monica at 10:30. An hour away. I’m going to the shelter anyway. I’m getting that dog. I’m doing it for Larry. And for the corgi lady.

Sometimes getting over writer's block just isn't worth it.

ACwG at the PATH train bookstore

My friend Kevin Gosa snapped a pic of the display at the PATH train bookstore. (PATH train connects New Jersey with Manhattan) Not sure which stop. But I'm keeping good company!



I wonder if Kevin snuck my book there or the bookseller just put it there. Either way, still a thrill!

Bad Marketing or Clever Counter-Programming?

The other day I looked up my book on Amazon. I try not to do it too often; my sales rank can jump or drop by ten thousand points in a week. Probably based on a dozen book sales.

But I noticed something last week, and so did a friend: My Book Pairing. Amazon has a sales feature in which they pair one book with (their idea of) a similar book, and offer you a discount if you buy both. You know, you're looking at "The Betty Crocker Cookbook" and they suggest "The Betty Crocker Cookie Book." Or, "Mere Christianity" paired with "The Screwtape Letters." Books that share a subject. And point of view.

I don't know what data mining robot came up with this pairing, but Amazon is suggesting you buy my book along with "God is Not Great: Why Religion Poisons Everything" by atheist-fundamentalist Christopher Hitchens.















At first I thought it was funny; especially when I clicked on his book and found my book was paired with his on HIS book's page. Just sitting there, daring the atheist readers to buy it.

But when I went to Hitchens' book from scratch, he was not paired with mine but with other popular angry atheists like Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris. Oh well. Time to call amazon and let them know my conversations with God aren't that kind of angry.

Q&A with Author Don Miller

This past weekend Larry and I went to Portland, Oregon. I did a reading at Imago Dei community. Author Don Miller did a Q&A with me afterward. It was a blast! You can listen to the Q&A here.

We hung out afterward, and I finally got to meet my fellow Burnside Writers Collective writer Diane Nienhuis, who I feel liek I already know so well just from emails and skype chats. Penny came down from Seattle, Aaron drove up from Eugene, and Kathy came in from Nashville. Saturday a bunch of BWC writers and readers met for dinner -- people I've known through blogging and faith and circumstance. Larry and I felt like we were really "home:" Home with the kind of people we'd call our tribe. It was a perfect PERFECT weekend. But it was also sunny in Portland. That didn't hurt.

Life won't always be this idyllic. But when it is like this, I'll smile and say "yes please" and "thank you."

Anyway make sure to listen to the Q&A with Don Miller
Or, my radio itnerview with Canadian talk show host Drew Marshall
Or you watch my appearance on ABC's AM Northwest .

Susan on CNN, On Radio three times!

So I was on CNN Sunday morning. It came up very quickly, and unfortunately it was live from Atlanta. SO unless you were on the east coast, and up on the first day of daylight savings, you didn't get to see it. I'm trying to procure the footage or at least a link.

Meanwhile, I have two radio interviews scheduled, talking about my book, "Angry Conversations With God." Listen online at these links!

Tuesday March 10
1) WFMP 107.1 Minneapolis, the Ian & Margery Show, Hour 4. Listen at to my segment Here.




Friday March 13
2) Word FM Pittsburgh, the John Hall Afternoon show
4:15 pm Eastern Daylight time (1:15 pacific)
Listen Live Online. Or to John Hall's page and look for "Listen Live" button/

Tuesday March 24

WNIV 5:10pm Eastern Time
Host John Hall

Angry Convos in New York

I hate using "convo" as a contraction for "conversation." But convo is easier to type. So there it is. Last weekend I had the good fortune to present my book as a solo show in New York. Well I am working on a solo show, something i can tour in lieu of just showing up at a book store and signing books and reading a chapter.

My friend Christy Tennant lobbied to have me present at the IAM Encounter in Tribeca. Also in the line up were Nicholas Wolsterstorff, a braniac who teaches on Philosophical Theology and Art at Yale. Billy Collins the erstwhile poet laureate, and Helen Sung, a jazz pianist who's won Kennedy Center awards.

Can you say, Freak OUT! I was pretty freaked out. I would be trying my new material on them. Taking a 65,000 word book and putting it into a 40 minute show was gonna be tough. It's not just paring words; they are two different genres. Like for a solo show, you can't go on for days describing a house. Unless the book is "Gone With The Wind." But no one has done a solo show on Scarlett O'Hara. Uh oh. Now someone is going to do that.

Anyway, the transition between talking narrative to dialog between two characters (and when you re playing them both) ... it feels like you're jumping over a crevasse, and you may just fall down into that ice canyon and never be seen again. Only you do it on stage in front of hundreds of people and you'd wish you cold be unseen.

I had a great audience, the material worked, and I got to teach a class on non-fiction writing the next day. That was blast.

And then Billy Collins read the following evening and pretty much blew everyone away. And he both shamed and inspired me. Shamed me to think what I'd done the evening before approached poetic; and inspired me to feel some kind of lyricism toward the wet quiet streets I passed by on the way home.

Here's a little Billy for you. Oh to write that succinctly and well.

Galley Ho!

Saturday morning a UPS delivery guy brought me the galleys to my book. The galleys show you how the book is going to appear on the book actual page, as opposed to staring at a computer screen or 8 1/2 x 11 sheets of paper for a year. Very exciting. I love what they did with the titles, using the conversation bubbles that are on teh front cover, and i love the typefaces they are using for the top of the book page (I'm sure there's a technical name for it). In any event, I love how it's coming together and everyone's creativity in the process.

My editor, as well as a professional proofreader, will be reading the galleys as well, but this is my last shot to make changes: correct awkward sentences, missed words, I already did spot a few when reviewing a chapter last week. I thought, "wow, I skipped over a few words. Yeesh!" But the Editorial Director me it's par for the course. So it was good to know that kind of thing is normal. Here's what two pages look like.

















Now, Of course I can't go and rewrite an entire chapter; or insert or delete massive amounts of text. But it's one step closer to being finished. And one step closer to feeling like it's really happening. That part is very exciting. It brings up all sorts of other fears like, "no one is ever going to read this book." Followed by, "I will be a legal secretary for the rest of my life." Followed by "Until another Great Depression hits (because no one read the book and got encouraged) and I end up working at Pup N Taco, until the grease fire scars my face beyond recognition and so Larry divorces me and I have to move to China and work in a plastics factory.












Oh, where was I? Book galleys arrived; very exciting. Book is on they way. Please buy one when it comes out so I don't end up in a Chinese assembly line.

Art, Dogma

Tonight I went to see my friend Erik's play, He Asked For It, a "frank and eye-opening view of contemporary urban gay culture that's hard-hitting, funny and tragic." (from the theater's website). Erik is such a gifted writer. His play was at places hysterically funny, yet he pulls no punches when dealing with the dark side of addictive sex, AIDS, death and forgiveness. I left the theater in tears and the last play that moved me that much was "Terra Nova," by Ted Tally. I can think of only a handful of films in the last few years that have moved me: The Lives of Others, The Station Agent, and my recent favorite, Lars and the Real Girl.
I was listening to a podcast in which Don Miller talked about story: the elements that make a good story are the same elements that make for a good life: a strong character, a deep desire, and of course conflict. Conflict shapes our character; joy and peace don't so much. And I mean conflict over high stakes issues, not getting a massive apartment or lots of Jimmy Choo shoes. Don quoted screenwriting guru Robert McKee. McKee is an agnostic and anti- religious, but he writes the following in the preface of his book, "Story."

"The final cause for the decline of story runs very deep. Values, the positive/negative charges of life, are at the soul of our art. The writer shapes story around a perception of what's worth living for, what's worth dying for, what's foolish to pursue, the meaning of justice, truth -- the essential values. In decades past, writer and society more or less agreed on these questions, but more and more ours has become an age of moral and ethical cynicism, relativism, and subjectivism -- a great confusion of values. As the family disintegrates and as sexual antagonisms rise, who, for example, feels he understands the nature of love? And how, if you do have a conviction, do you express it to an ever-more skeptical audience?"

How many movies have you seen that have presented that kind of story without preaching at you? Or boring you? Or going in the opposite direction and trying to convince you that the answer to your longing is in a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes or a sexual conquest? And how many of us try to manipulate God into giving us what we want so that we DON'T have conflict? How many of us settle for a goal like a house or a Volvo, Don put it in this podcast.

Larry and I got invited to a literary 'salon' put on by a church known for its theological rectitude. The quote at the top of the evite said, "if Christians attempt to approach culture from a human, cultural standpoint, they will be acting in disobedience to God." (The evite also stated that "all food will be put away at 7pm ... All eating will stop at 7:00pm until after the discussion.) I understand, they don't want distractions during discussion. But it reminded me of Nurse Diesel in "High Anxiety": "Those who are tardy will not get fruit cup."
I couldn't help but notice the contrast between the scolding tone of the evite and the vulnerability of the play. Perhaps it's not fair to compare. One was a play; the other a discussion. But I don't understand how not to approach culture from a cultural standpoint. Isn't that like saying you shouldn't approaching sailing form a sailing standpoint? And how can I not talk about humanity in human terms, when I am human? Of course my perspective is limited and 'broken.' Of course I need to look at life through God's truth. But even God didn't sit up there on high; he ultimately became human to relate to us what it is to be truly human, full of grace and truth.

I've got to knock it off. I let certain language close my ears, I get defensive, and I start thinking I'm better than others; which is just the kind of exclusivity I despise. It reminds me of what author Sara Miles said in an interview: There’s something I need to learn from a relationship (with other Christians) that I didn’t choose. …That the Spirit has something to offer Pat Robertson through me, and has something to offer me through Pat Robertson. It’s precisely the non-exclusive welcome of Jesus that’s the most interesting (if the most difficult) thing about the faith. The thing is, I want to see everything. I don’t want to just see the parts I like.

So really maybe I need to be at that salon. Maybe I'll find it inspiring and wonderful and it will humble me. But I better get there before 7pm or I won't get any fruit cup.

Things You Do when You're Done Writing

Obama

I remember some relationship person said that women tend to stay in a relationship too long, and men duck out too quickly. Which would explain why Mitt Romney ditched his presidential bid as soon as his momentum slowed; and Why Hillary still hasn't officially called it off. I was listening to NPR this evening, some Clinton campaign staffer was upset at the democratic party hadn't voted for her because "they just don't get it." And I thought, "no YOU don't get it." They need to watch that Sex and the City episode, "He's Just Not That Into You." We're just not into her, that Hillary. And I voted for her in January by mail, before Obama fever took over. I voted for her because I thought she had the best experience on the Democrat side. Well the country wants change over experience. So let it go, Hill. I hate politics.

SATC

Speaking of Sex and The City, I didn't go see it this weekend. I called two of my friends with whom I watched many SATC episodes, seeing if either of them would want to go see the 2.5 hour film. They'd both seen it already. I'm thrilled that my friend Lori is coming back down to LA this coming weekend, because we can go see it together. I'm already expecting to love AND hate it. That's how I reacted to the series. I loved the friendships because they felt so real. I hated the sexcapades because I'm sorry, women can't jump in and out of bed and not be scarred by it. I don't think men can either, but it's even more evident with women, because sex is tied to community and nesting and feeling safe. But enough about sex in SATC. The clothes? If Carrie Bradshaw took all the money she spent on shoes, she could feed Darfur for a year.

Extras

I've been using my free time to complete my 2007 taxes, catch up on some netflix and podcasts. If you haven't already discovered Ricky Gervais' show Extras, put it on your netflix list. The backstage talks are as fun as teh show. Here's a favorite clip with David Bowie:



Well that's it. Another great thing about being done with a book. You can stop when you're ready.

DONE and DONE

The book is done! Done, turned in, and signed off. Now it goes to a lawyer for vetting. Then to the copy editor. And from then, I'm not sure.

Honestly I don't quite know how I made it. Besides the hard work and prayer and encouragement of friends, and a husband who's supported me the entire way.

My editor gave me some very daunting notes in mid-April. All great notes, but with only four weeks to go I didn't know how I was going to accomplish it all. Then my computer died, then I got sent to NYC for that lunch ... Which was great, but it took a few days out of me. I'd originally thought I'd have a few days to play in NYC, but things changed, and so I sat in my friend Mim's apartment and wrote for about 36 hours straight.

I turned in Draft Six on Monday May 19. I wanted to continue working on the therapy sessions, but my editor wanted to look over the draft. We were running out of time. I waited for my editor's notes, and in four days turned them around. I had time to clean up the therapy sessions. Turned it in and Bob's Your Uncle, it's done and everyone is thrilled.

My editor was a loving slave-driver. Her notes were brutal in the nicest way. She didn't let me get away with shallow moments or brevity when elaboration was required. Or vice versa. When you've been working with material for so long, you may think you've communicated, say, the emotional impact of an event, but you've only detailed the event itself. I had a way of doing that, detailing the events and then moving on to the next event ... Without conveying the emotional impact. A screen writing teacher called it "preparation, event, aftermath." I was good at events. I also edited out emotional impact because most of my emotional aftermaths consisted of WHINING.

So anyway, Anne had a brilliant way of finagling those things out of me, all the while finagling the profanity out of my manuscript. That sly girl!

Like, I had a line in which I called (a certain atheist) an an angry, arrogant mofo. She suggested I think of another word.

Really? Mofo was bad? Okay so I wrote, "angry arrogant turd." Isn't that a great word? TURD? Turd is in, but (the certain atheist's actual name is out because he could sue me for libel.

I also tried to use the word FUBAR three or four times. First I had the almighty saying it. But Anne thought that wasn't a good call. So then I gave it to myself when describing some church experiences. She wrote, "my instinct tells me you might want to use another word to describe a church."

In the end, FUBAR does appear, but not in describing the bride of Christ. (GOOD CALL, ANNE!)

Anyway, I am still pinching myself, marveling how I made it. But I know how. Lots of prayer, lots of encouragement, from wonderful friends. And of course, the best man in the world who's carried me through this whole escapade. LARRY. Oh, no I meant God. God first. Larry second.

Anyway I just wanted to THANK all of you who read my blog and who've cheered me on. The book is on its way!

If you'd be interested in getting me to come and speak at your church or a local coffee house, internet café or bus station, let me know. The book and solo show tour is coming. Maybe to your town!

Susan

Book Cover Art

My publisher put the cover art online at buy.com, so I think it's safe for me to put it on the blog. I'd originally envisioned the Creation of Adam from the Sistine chapel, except in Adam's place, a woman was giving God the "Talk to the Hand" gesture. Independently, Hachette's art department came up with the bride figurine and the terrific conversation bubbles. So they added my Sistine God, and voila! The background may lose the clouds, but this is how more or less how it's going to look. I think they did a fantastic job. (Allen, I swapped the artwork. They did add my middle initial, not to confuse me with the already famous author, Susan Isaacs.

New York Lunch with Carmindy, Kristin and Dr. Diana

Last week as I raced to finish my manuscript revisions, my publishers sent me to New York for a magazine editor's lunch. The publicity team sets up a swanky lunch for various magazine editors, while a few authors talk about their upcoming books. The goal is to generate interest in the books, get a magazine or TV interview, or a review, etc.

I was stressed out with my looming deadline--I had hoped to be done with the revision before the lunch, but my computer died only a week before, so I was behind schedule. But to be chosen for a lunch like this was a boon for the book. And, they flew me to New York! I was honored to be in the company of the other authors. Carmindy is best known as the makeup artist on the show What Not To Wear. Dr. Diana is a relationship guru and appears on lots of TV shows; her book is about techniques and disciplines to help you find finding love in 90 days. You know who you are. Kristin Armstrong is best known as cycling champ Lance Armstrong's ex-wife. She's authored a few devotionals about divorce recovery and is a beautiful woman, inside and out.

The night before the lunch, the FaithWords publicity team took Kristin and me out to dinner. I was so impressed my publicity team, they are funny, real, women of faith. And Kristin? Well she is prettier than Sheryl Crow (if that could happen). And after spending just an hour with her, I saw how beautiful she is on the inside too. She's got so much grace in her life, grace and forgiveness. Here's a devotional she wrote about divorce recovery. She's got another book coming out next year called, "Work In Progress: An Unfinished Woman's Guide To Grace." Hers is being released the day before mine. So buy them both.

I'm great in front of a theater crowd, I know how to perform and entertain. But this was a totally different venue. A chichi restaurant, thirty sophisticated magazine editors, three already-famous authors, and me. Then Carmindy walked in. She's bubbly and gorgeous and wears so little makeup. We all turned the other way and tried to mute our eyeliner. Carmindy’s upcoming book is called, "How To Get Positively Beautiful." She refused to do celebrity interviews for this book. “This is a book for real women.” You go, Carmindy.

The other women went first, pitching their books over the salad or the entrée. As they spoke, I started to panic. Wow. They are beautiful, famous, polished, experts, polished .. and I'm .. who am I? Nobody! But I got over it. I got laughs, always a good sign. They went home with the first four chapters of the book, and I know they're strong.

The publicity team gave away swag bags, and this is the item they put in for my book. It’s a Jesus compact mirror from BlueQ, the people who bring you miso pretty and other snarky, spiffy stuff. Their website is a riot.
Check out their "About Us" Page and find out why their products aren't available at the "Mega Crap Mart." They rock.

I had originally expected to be done with the manuscript and was going to meet friends. But had no time to visit! I just holed up in my friend Mim’s pad. However I did make a pit stop at Fairway, where I got into a long conversation with a really cool lady named Judy. We stood out on the street and chatted for a half hour. I love that about New York.

My brother Jim’s girlfriend happened to be in NYC at the same time. I wasn’t going to leave the apartment, but Annkatrin was on her way back to Switzerland. If Jim doesn’t marry her I’m going to kick his butt. I went back to my apartment, wrote all night, went to sleep at 5:30am, and woke up at 2pm, just in time to wake up and get the subway to JFK. The one good thing about being that stressed, was that it didn't allow me time to miss Larry, until I woke up and it was time to go home.

My editor got my new draft. She loves it. I still have several things to clean up. Then the manuscript goes off to the Legal Deparment to be vetted. I’ll probably have to lose the line about Jessica Simpson’s dad being a skeevy youth pastor. Ahh too bad.

Why It Matters

I'm nearing the end of my rewrite, the last rewrite before the end. Sometimes I feel like I'm rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic ... or on a gorgeous cruise ship to Alaska. The chairs are all gonna sink or they'll all get there. So why rearrange? Larry told me to fight against ennui. Well he didn't say ennui or weltschmerz or blasé-faire. I think he said fatigue. Fight fatigue. I'm trying. I've got Red Bulls in the fridge.

My friend Traci applied for a job she really, really wants. We talked about it yesterday: the enormous desire that threatens to dash our hopes if we don't get it ... 'hope deferred makes the heart sick.' There's an urge to go buddhist and kill off our desire. But I thought of what Henri Nouwen said: "Desire is the atomic energy of the soul." Desire for change motivates the political landscape. Desire to help the poor sends us to the inner cities and Africa and even Myanmar -- where other desires try to stop the help from reaching those who need it. Yes, desire creates unhappiness and evil. But it also motivates the best in us.

Traci sent me this quote of Frederick Buechner: "We must be careful with our lives, for Christ's sake, because it would seem that they are the only lives we are going to have in this puzzling and perilous world, and so they are very precious and what we do with them matters enormously."

So maybe I'm not rearranging deck chairs as much as I'm actually steering the ship. Or leading the charge. Okay then. Once more into the breach...

Sad Mac, Dead Mac

First let me say, my book deadline is 11 days away. So, four days after my Apple Care expired in February, my computer started having problems burning DVDs. Yes, four days after Apple Care expired. I've been giving my computer a lot of hard work with this book. But .. in the last month I started getting the "kernel panic" sign. Of course they don't tell you that's what it is, they just say, in four languates, YOU NEED TO RESTART YOUR COMPUTER. If they added the ACHTUNG, BABY, then it would really make my kernel panic.

When we were in Philly a week ago, I left my computer bag on the train platform and got on the train. I went into my own kernel panic, but GOD BE PRAISED, the train conductor called the next coming train, told the conductor to look for my backpack. During that epoch 30 minute wait, I had the chance to think: Okay, my editor has my latest draft. I sent a copy to a friend to look at just a day ago. I backed up all my files onto an external hard drive a month ago. I backed up the most recent files just days ago, onto my iPod, which is also in the backpack.Worst comes to worst, I'll buy a new computer. The next train arrived and they had the bag! NOTHING MISSING. But it got me thinking.

Three days later, back at home, Larry's computer went black. He took it into Apple store in Glendale. The guy at the Genius Bar may have been a genius at tech support but he was a Ree-Tard in his social skills. "Don't hear nothing. 50/50 chance you'll get your data back. Ten days, two weeks repair wait." And off he went with Larry's computer. His eight month old computer. Which IS under warranty. I tried to calm Larry. It was probably the mother board, not the hard drive. They can replace that and the hard drive may be OK.

"Unless there was a power surge and it fried the hard drive," our friend Matt said. He's in our small group. His PC is totally DONE and it's only like a year and a half old. "What I REALLY want is a macbook PRO," Matt drooled. When we closed our small group in prayer, our small group friend Traci prayed for Larry, Matt and Mandy, that their computer issues would be resolved. "Don't say that too loud," I said to Tracy. "Ask not for whom the PC bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

Monday night I got the achtung baby sign, and restarted my computer. I backed up my Book folder. I was working until 4:30 am, and sent my latest draft to my friend Mark in NYC.

12:30 Tuesday the bell tolled for ME. my hard drive shuffled off this mortal coil. I walked into the Apple store in Pasadena and walked out with what Matt has been drooling over. A macbook pro. And a dent in my wallet.

I used the Migration Assistant to transfer old files from my legacy ibook that originaly came with like OS 8, or "Calico."
Problem was, it also brought some old software codes so thing were wonky. I spent two hours reinstalling the system software. Matt sent me back my most recent copy of the book. I got all my files copied back onto my computer. It's now about 1:30 am and I'm starting to lose it. My cat is meowing and trying to sit in my lap and get me to feed her whipped cream and I about lose it.

NO, I will not let the Enemy grind me down. I just won't. You aren't going to win, Satan. You can go F yourself. In the Lord.

I got all the software reinstalled. Wednesday morning, iTunes wouldn't play. Went to the Apple store. The guy at the Genius bar said I didn't do a clean install. I need to totally wipe out the computer. Again. Long story short, by 3pm on Wednesday i am back. And I'm not going to let this stop me.

And Dianna, please PLEASE don't tell Joe. You just can't. It's not right.

My Mighty Mice

Reports of my literarydeath have been widely exaggerated. By me.
First, I talked to my agent, (who shall be Super Agent). She contacted my editor (who shall be Mighty Mouse) who got on the phone and got me an extra ten days on the deadline. They also cleared up some of the issues that prompted my disco freak out.
1) The ENTIRE book is not going to be disseminated on at the magazine editor's lunch on May 15. Just the first three chapters.
2) While I've only got ten more days on the deadline, there will be a month for tweaking, before it goes into production in New York.
Ten extra days to revise, a month of editorial tweaking, and then the book into production in New York. Into production, what a wonderful sound. Not to mention, they're throwing a magazine editors lunch! My agent and editors rule.
If you don't hear from me it's the usual. I'm writing. And praising my Mighty Mice.

Overwhelm

Got notes back from my editor. A couple sweeping-issue notes. I'm totally up for doing it. But the book's got to be in final draft in three weeks. THREE WEEKS!
I had a nervous breakdown over it this morning with Larry. "If the book goes to the printer in three weeks it'll all be a waste of time. I'm going to fail."
Larry tried to comforted me. "In time, you'll have a different perspective."
(Poor Larry, what could he say that I wouldn't misinterpret?)
"Like one day the failure won't feel so... failuresque?"
"Well all you can do is what's in front of you."
"I've got to rewrite the first three chapters by Monday."
"And what needs to happen in those first three chapters?" He sounded rhetorical, like it was some famous Aristotelian question every writer knew.
"What Needs To Happen In The First Three Chapters?"

"They need to be different." I ran off to my room to cry.

Not long afterward our friends called. They're both book editors. Heather gushed, "your manuscript is great. This book is going to be great. It's a book people will talk about. Yes there are issues, but you can fix them. Don't despair." Until I told them about the three weeks. THREE WEEKS? Well, three weeks are coming whether I like it or not. So here we go..

Meanwhile, I listened to Mark Heard "Tip of My Tongue" is a rockin-out song but the lyrics are kinda brilliant.

There's an oasis in the heat of the day
There's a fire in the chill of night
A turnabout in circumstance makes each a hell in its own right

I've been boxed-in in the lowlands, in the canyons that think
I've been pushed to the brink of the precipice and dared not to blink
I've been confounded in the whirlwind of what-ifs and dreams
I've been burned by the turning of the wind back upon my own flames

Knock the scales from my eyes, knock the words from my lungs
I want to cry out, it's on the tip of my tongue!

I've seen through the walls of this kingdom of dust,
Felt the crucial revelation
But the broad streets of the heart and the day-to-day meet at a blind intersection.

I don't want to be lonely, I don't want to feel pain
I don't want to draw straws with the sons of Cain
You can take it as a prayer if you'll remember my name
You can take it as the penance of a profane saint

Knock the scales from my eyes, knock the words from my lungs
I want to cry out, it's on the tip of my tongue

There's an oasis in the heat of the day.
There's fire in the chill of night
And when I know them both, I'll know your love - I will feel it in the twilight

As circumstance comes crashing through my walls like a train
Or like a chorus from the mountains of the ocean floor
Like the wind-burst of birdwings taking flight in a hard rain
Or like a mad dog on the far side of Dante's Door

Knock the scales from my eyes! Knock the words from my lungs
I want to cry out, it's on the tip of my tongue!

Anne Lamott said just to do it, bird by bird.

Off to write. It's on the tip of my tongue.

Another hurdle, the race keeps running

I passed a second hurdle on my book. I turned in the revision on Monday. There were some significant changes, I had to add new material at the end of every chapter. From here my editor will look it over, give me ediorial comments on the new and old stuff ... so it's not in final draft. I'm not sure when that happens, since the book is coming out in March 2009. That's only 11 months away.

I've caught up on a few DVDs and am reacquainting myself with the American institution called "filing one's taxes.''

"Who Killed The Electric Car:" good film, hard to watch. You'll get angry. Well, that and the fact that the oil companies are making huuuuge profits.
"Arsenic And Old Lace" dated but funny
"Death At A Funeral" A slapstick farce. A nasty poo joke and it takes a while to get going but the payoff is funny.

Also recommend: Fresh Air, the NPR program hosted by Terrie Gross. If you have a computer you can subscribe via iTunes for free. She interviewed a guy on the state of the American Economy and the tangled web of home foreclosures. Credit card and student loans are next.

I think I'm taking my savings and investing in India...

One Man's Bitch is another man's Virago

I subscribe to Dictionary's word of the day.
I found today's entry rather ironic

virago \vuh-RAH-go; vuh-RAY-go\, noun:

1. A woman of extraordinary stature, strength, and courage.
2. A woman regarded as loud, scolding, ill-tempered, quarrelsome, or overbearing.

So ladies next time you're extraordinary, strong or brave, beware someone doesn't label you a loud, overbearing beeotch.