Idaho, deflation and answered prayers.

I went to Idaho for Thanksgiving break with my family. Three teenagers, one child and two parents in a minivan for eight hours. Can you spell disaster? No, really it was one of our best trips ever.

I had a lovely chat with Amanda Bizeau, my niece. Please note that this girl can write and I'm going to in her shadow someday. I read a partial of her book Jazz in Nightshade. She's already weaving magic. Cool.

I learned that special potatoes are grown in Idaho for curly fries. Who knew?

Writing is deflated right now. Not clipping along at light speed. Not even moving at the speed of sound. I'm losing the race to some fast snails.

I keep praying and answers keep coming in slow but wonderful ways. I do not like the whole waiting part of prayer.

Tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it.

I Walk The Line and an Accurate HP3 Reveiw

I saw I Walk the Line with Tim tonight. When the Maybelle Carter was out on the porch with the shotgun scaring the drug dealers away, somehow I felt like I was home. This is good movie. I'm too close to Johnny Cash and his music to really buy Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny. Sometimes Joaquin really does catch a inward bit of the Man in Black. I grew up listening to Johnny Cash; he is definitely one of the voices in my head. I'm recommending this movie but I only give it *** out of *****. I remember pulling my car over the day June Carter Cash died and crying. Growing up in my house, Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash felt like real people in the neighborhood. June let us all know what it meant to love somebody until they were real. Johnny let us know what real looked like. Least that's the way it seemed.

My sister called me to tell me that she had gone to the premiere of Harry Potter. She said it felt like it was chopped up. The ticket taker at the move theater said the exact same thing. I'm guessing these two early reviews are more accurate than Ebert and Roeper.

Two days running. A new record?

Peace in the valley. someday.

Popping

The rewrite is popping today, so I'm treating myself to some blog time.

My book has a life of its own. I, apparently, am now only around for the ride. I talked to my sister about this. It's like a book is its own thing. When I step back and look at it, its not me. It's the book, like it has an internal intelligence that is not a part of me. I feel this satisfaction within, but also an awe of a power within the human spirit to create something that is wholly outside of itself.

Are books alive? They feel that way to me. My hope is my story will resonate with others. I've let my words go and they have become a kind of truth. I hope they have a chance to slip inside of others and give them what so many books have given me. Friends, companionship, entertainment, questions.

Now randomly:

I think I missed my calling in life. I was supposed to be a librarian. I think librarians have the coolest job in the universe. I mean, they read children's books and then put them into the hands of children. I just think its cool to spend your life on the inside of the action of information.

I love the A&E Horatio Hornblower series. I don't have massive cable so I'm always years behind the times when it comes to TV. It just makes me want to cheer when I watch Horatio. It appeals to the simple things in me. I like the romantic view of the world. Truth and honor have brought me far. Sailing ships are just hot! Hip, hip, hooray! We could use a lot more of this in the world.


An old Weavers song is bumping around in my head again:

Last night I had the strangest dream
I'd ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war

When I was girl, I loved the Weavers, the Kingston Trio and Jimmy Rodgers among others . I had one of those plastic-cased record players. I'd sit and listen to their records for hours. All of their music is in me, speaking to me.