One thing I do every day is listen to the Book of Mormon for 1/2 hour. When I’m feeling distressed, it calms me.
If I’m feeling calm it can have different effects. Sometimes I stay feeling calm. Sometimes I get new insights. Tonight I got discomfited.
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As previously mentioned, I’m writing again. I failed to make it clear that I’m writing fiction, not a pin loom weaving book. Sorry if that’s disappointing to my very few fans. Technically I’m concurrently writing an online pin loom weaving book. It’s not exactly organized, but at least I’m capturing and sharing the info I’ve accumulated on the subject.
Writing fiction is fun, funner than nonfiction. Both are a lot of work, both enjoyable. Maybe technical nonfiction has the advantage of being more quickly satisfying (an informative blog post only takes about 100 photos and the better part of a day). Writing fiction places the author in the position of a sort of demi-god. You have to make up a world, characters, and all the weather, laws, and situations. You have to make a lot of choices. And you’re not allowed to be boring.
When I got started on this current book, there was the initial excitement of jotting down all the possibilities—pages and pages of them in my trusty Mead Two-Subject spiral notebook (on sale for $2 because the calendar insert they included expired in 2005—a mistake I’m sure they won’t repeat).
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Listening to some pop music recently, I noticed how little truth or value there is in the words of many of my old favorites. I particularly questioned “All I Need Is a Miracle” by Mike and the Mechanics. It’s a terrific song, upbeat, great walking tempo; not so heavy on Message. I mean to say, “All I need is a miracle, all I need is you”?
I would seriously avoid a person who needed only me.
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“If you could read my mind, love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie…”
Today felt like a scene from a movie.
An absolutely beautiful fall day—not a dark and stormy night. The four perambulatory kids from next door (the fifth is still a babe in arms) secured permission from their parents to go on a walk with me and my two big Labrador Retrievers (Polly and Casey). I strapped the dogs to a leash around my waist; the eight-year-old boy (we’ll call him 8), six-year-old girl (ditto, her, 6), and five-year-old boy (5) hopped on their bike, bike, and trike. 3 was in the house getting his shoes on. He came running down the sidewalk after us—vehicleless. Last time he rode a pedal-less two-wheeler; I paused for a moment thinking he might enjoy himself more on that. Then I thought, “Nah, we’ll get on better without it.” (Last time 5 and 3 kept close to me the whole time, usually holding my hands. It felt like walking in congestion—two big dogs, two kids, two bikes, and me in the center tethered to all of them.) Read More →