What I'm Left With

So things have steadily gotten better since my last post. My body has completely healed and my emotions are no longer on that cathartic roller coaster they were on in the days that followed the miscarriage. And this past weekend? I caught myself feeling happy more often than not. (Now mind you, I'm still finding myself bawling at commercials and TV shows and the general uncertainty of life but those tears dry quickly and don't seem to impede my general well-being.... Like a flash rainstorm in early summer.)

But I've done a lot of soul searching over the last 21 days and I've discovered that there are four things I absolutely believe. They include:

1. There is no God.
2. Happiness is a choice we make and entirely independent of the actual circumstances of our lives.
3. The energy--positive or negative--that we put out into this world always gets returned to us...
4. What we believe about ourselves is infinitely more important than what's actually true.

I know it may sound strange--especially to those of you who believe in one of the Big Three religions (Islam; Christianity; Judaism)--but these four beliefs give me an enormous amount of comfort and joy...

And now? Just you watch. This Spring I''ll be a phoenix rising out of her own ashes. This new Minerva Jane will be stronger and more beautiful than she ever was before.

New Publication!

StorySouth was so kind as to publish my newest short story, “Don’t You Want Something New?”

Check it out!

Yes, I've Been Silent

But I needed a break. Stay tuned.

And That's Another Thing

Page 74 folks, page 74....

Just about half way done.

Paying Down the Debt?

I saw an interview with Dan Rather the other day (don't ask me on which channel or show because I can't for the life of me remember) talking about the Summer of Love and the cultural revolution of the 60s era. And he said something pretty funny. How those kids smoking pot openly in the Haight the summer of '69 are now the aging aged adults shopping the organic aisle, checking every last ingredient.

Think that's true? Do you think that the degree that you're into organics is directly proportionate to the amount of drugs you've done? Because even though I'm into the whole organic/local food and yoga and healthy living thing (I'm channeling positive energy as we speak) I have to admit there is a sense that I'm trying to compensate for damage I did to my body in my 20s. (Oh the melodrama of the 23 year-old poet! Red wine and cigarettes and angst galore! I even dyed my hair black and clothed myself in somber colors. Luckily, there are few pictures.)

In Arm & Hammer We Trust

Rod and I have three cats. We used to have four, but we sent Jubilee down to live at my parents farm last Christmas. Still, having three means that litter, food, and feline care are continually fascinating topics of conversation for us here in Brooklyn.

Last month before our trip down to Charlottesville for the Foundation For Cancer Research & Education board meeting we realized we didn't have enough Arm & Hammer specially formulated for multiple cat households (we're a demographic!) and so ran down to the Bodega on the corner of Henry & Atlantic to get a giant bag of Tidy Cats.

Boy was that dumb.

Because this stupid litter has no clumping ability and tracks everywhere so every time one of my long-haired feline babies climbs out of the box they spill the stuff everywhere.

So this morning, at Tazza, over coffee witness the following exchange:

Him: That litter sucks.

Me: I had to vacuum four times yesterday.

Him: Well, now we know better. We'll never buy anything but Arm & Hammer again.

Me: [Nodding but more interested in my Chai latte than the cats]

Rod: The thing is I think the Arm & Hammer clumps even look kind of pretty. They're perfectly round with a little indentation on the top... [Staring wistfully into his coffee.]

Me: You realize that's just hardened pee...

And that right there is one of the reasons I'm the luckiest woman in the world: I've got a husband who can find pleasure in the smallest things and beauty in the strangest places.

Avery Reading At Stain Bar

Some of you may remember that my husband Rod Schecter's short story appeared in the fan-tabulous fiction anthology Avery 1. Well, now there's an Avery 2 and they're having a reading here in Brooklyn to celebrate and raise funds for future issues. Well, I'm assuming they're going to use the funds for future issues. But maybe they're just raising cash for a trip to Bermuda this Winter. Either way, we're heading over to Williamsburg's Stain Bar tonight to listen to some kick-ass readings and imbide some of the borough's finest beer. Fun times, fun times. And I'm bringing my camera so maybe I'll have some lovely pix for you to look at tomorrow.

Oh, and the reading starts at 8pm. If you're in the hood and want to head on over to show your support.

The Big Plunge: National Novel Writing Month

This year I swear I'm doing it: writing an entire novel between November 1 and 30. And by posting about it now I'm relying on all of you to call me a big fat loser if I don't complete 50,000 words in 30 days. Hopefully this little endeavor will knock the bitchy over-critical Editor-MinervaJane right out of my head. Because how can it possibly be any good if I spill words at that rate? So: can I write a shitty meandering novel in that amount of time? You bet I can.

Some Days When I Close My Eyes

I can just see the life I've been imagining for myself all along: filled with color and art and giggling babies and boisterous friends, scented with flowers and cooking food and the growing earth.



I've been wishing so hard for so long I'm not sure I know how to just be anymore.

Maybe I'll be ready to share more on that next week, but for now I just need to marinate on how to get back to a place of balance. How to not want so much that I can't see what's in front of me.

Ah, the cryptic nature of Minerva Jane shines through once more.

The Eerie Accuracy Of My Google Homepage Add-ons

I’m pretty much convinced that the folks over at Google either have a T3 to God himself or are somehow psychically eavesdropping on my life.

As if Google Earth and Google Reader weren’t enough, they now have Beta versions of Google Transit and Google Mars (which is going to be TOTALLY useful).

All of which was sort of big brotherish and strange enough until I started noticing something funny about my Google Homepage add-ons.I have customized it just the way I want it: Daily Einstein quotes, Quotes of the Day, Horoscope, Buddhist Thought of the Day, Weather, Recipe of the Day. Yada yada yada.

All good add-ons great for a few minutes of diversion while I transition from morning blah to powerhouse Minerva Jane.

The weird thing is over the last few days the content of these add-ons have all strangely coincided with the tenor and current of my life.

An example? Last night I write an email to my friend, long known to readers of this blog as SFMark, about the fact that I want to make apple pie during our Friends Thanksgiving next month in the Catskills and what should the recipe o’ the day be this morning? Apple pie.

But wait. It gets stranger. More complicated even.

My horoscope today said, among other things: “You stand to gain much in your casual relationships now, but you'll have to go out of your way to be a part of the group, rather than remaining outside of the castle.” Now I have a long history of letting my shyness and naturally reserved nature isolate me. And since we moved to NYC I’ve made a few friends, but not a whole lot. We’ve got our own media company, headquarted on the sofa with satellite offices in local coffee shops like Tazza, Tea Lounge and Think. It’s been great and business is actually growing at a pace we never thought possible, but it means no real colleagues and office friendships. Rod, since he grew up on Long Island, has a ton of family and friends and while I love them all, they’re still a part of his past, his world. I need my own realm so to speak. And it’s just been pretty hard for me to move outside my comfort zone.

Saturday afternoon on our hike in the woods back behind their Virginia farm, my Dad and I talked about this at length. About how I tend to hang back. About how that might not be good for me in the long run. And then, this morning, on my Google home page, there’s that prediction: you'll have to go out of your way to be a part of the group.

See?

But the clincher was the Quote of the Day, as follows: “When a man is wrapped up in himself, he makes a pretty small package. - John Ruskin” Which was exactly the point I’d gotten myself to by the time I opened up my laptop and clicked on the Firefox icon. All this talk of confidence and introverts versus extroverts and social networks and feeling isolated and wishing I was more—I don’t know—more some how had tornadoed in my brain to something more intense than it ought to be and I was feeling more than a little obsessed with my own schtick . But that quote snapped me back. In the end, being wrapped up in yourself is worse than being a little shy and feeling a little lonely in a city as vast as NY.

The bottom line? I need to get over myself. That and chill the fuck out. Easier said than done, but there you go.

A complete existential crisis resolved in the course of a few minutes, courtesy of Google.

Which begs the question: who the hell are these guys?