This is the time of year when the muse is hungry.  Starved by a summer in Montana where the physical world bullies you to come out into it and join the dance that leads with mountains, and twirls with rivers, and rests in lakes—a spent tango.  And we find ourselves in fall.  The physical dance over.  Time to go home in the dark.  There is a lot of darkness now. 

This morning was the first hard frost.  I could see it on the roof by moonshadow, silver and glinting off shingles.  It was confirmed by the first light over the ridge as I stood at the stove making my first cup of tea—the Mother cup.  The rest will be Writer cups, and there will be at least three more of them before it’s time for another Mother cup.  I drink a lot of tea.

So with tea and the first light, I go out to start the truck.  The frost has covered it, and I rebel against the ice scraper which is lost under life jackets and beach towels—summer things. I sacrifice a bit of tea to get the windshield thinking about doing its job, rock pocks, hairline fractures and all.  I am not ready for winter.  I don’t care how hungry or how thirsty the muse is to dance, in silence and dark, grey by day, and then dark again, for many months; many dark mornings with sacrificial tea rites.  I can feel myself brace against it this morning.  There is something different about this fall.  more...

Recently I was listening to an audio recording of life coach/teacher Mandy Evans* speaking with a man who was in the process of completing an advanced degree. He had a paper due and spoke of his distress over getting it done. He described having to “force” himself to write it and was wondering if there was an easier way.

As the conversation progressed, the man revealed both his desire to complete the paper and to “make it perfect.” Mandy said, “Which is more important to you now – that it’s perfect or complete?” and then asked if he would he be happy completing it by the deadline and perfecting it later.

Completion often poses as a mountain to climb, but in truth it is much easier to go after than to hold oneself back or try to escape. more...

To counteract the obviously questionable and often disturbing thoughts running through my head as this Thanksgiving approaches, I am going to focus on giving thanks for some of the things that we writers (and editors) take for granted. These are important points to remember as you stare into the gaping maw of another Thanksgiving celebration filled with inevitable drunken ramblings and strange third cousins showing up at your door with troubling Jell-O molds. So let’s get to it! Gobble, gobble. 

1. Computers—Okay, sure, writing a memoir by hand might allow future generations to gaze upon your handwriting in awe, dissecting each loop and line in order to see deeper into your soul, but this is a very remote possibility. So for about 90 percent of us, computers are the way to go. Thank you, oh rich nerdy guys who figured out how to turn zeros and ones into the next bestselling biography on some rich nerdy guy.

2. Freedom—Yes, America has some issues. We’re not perfect. After all, Benjamin Franklin wanted to usurp our traditional Thanksgiving gobbler and turn it into the national bird. more...