Nature and Nurture Trump Nitwits

When driving, I mutter and mumble about other drivers' lack of skills and use an antiquated vocabulary particular to people who grew up in a certain place and time. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," pops out of my mouth most often.  "Nitwit," the ultimate insult, is reserved for the person who cuts across four lanes of traffic without signaling.

I prefer to watch televised sports with the sound muted, Why? Some broadcasters are nitwits.

A cardigan sweater is a wardrobe staple.

The quintessential summer cocktail is a gin and tonic. I'd never make one for myself, though, and wouldn't ask my husband to make one for me. The world's best G&T is made by a particular individual. 

The ultimate accolade for a restaurant, cafe, or bar is to call it "a good stop." 

Oatmeal is the perfect breakfast food.

The best family vacations involve water: a lake, a pool, or the Jersey Shore.

When forecasters predict a storm, I make sure I have at least half a tank of gas in my car. If I have less, I drive to the station and fill 'er up. 

The list above shows the influence of my dad, Joe O'Dea. His greatest gift may be that I, deep down, believe I'm his favorite--and my sisters and brother would say the same about themselves. 

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

Time Keeps on Slippin'

"Next time will be different." I make that vow whenever I find myself in a huddle of strangers in front of a painting, sculpture, or piece of history at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. Crowds give me the shudders, and I hate the feeling I'm holding up the line when I peer at a brush stroke or stare at portrait that speaks to me. Why oh why do I hit exhibits on their dead-last day or uncomfortably close to it? And why do others do the same?

In late May, on the last evening showing of the Picasso Black and White exhibit at MFAH, I edged around the clumps of headset-wearers who'd stopped dead to listen to the exhibit's audio tour, skirted the couple who couldn't keep their hands off one another, but got stuck in a pack of strangers. When that happens, do I rejoice in Picasso's relevance? Do I give the MFAH props for mounting a popular show? No. I decide I don't like people very much.

Picasso Black and White ran from February 24 until May 27. That three-month window means I could have circled a date in the middle of March, ordered tickets, shown up and had Picasso, Olga, Jacqueline, and Woman Ironing to myself. Was the window too wide? Nope. My focus is too narrow, and I suspect yours is, too.

Every person in that last-Thursday-evening-of-the-exhibit crowd put off their visit until it was almost too late. We delay gratification and turn desired outings into rewards for work completed, tasks finished, chores done. But when is work ever completed? As soon as we finish one chore, another pops up. 

If we can schedule work meetings weeks ahead of time and hold them sacrosanct, surely we can do the same for leisure activities that lift our spirits and help us see differently. A Picasso exhibit may not float your boat, but a concert might. Maybe it's time for you to dance, take a ferry ride, go kayaking, or pick up the guitar that's missed you.

Next time you type an important work assignment or appointment into your phone's calendar, set a play date for yourself. The play date's not a reward or carrot, mind you; it's a scheduled break you get to enjoy whether or not the assignment's going well. (When the assignment's cratering, you really, really need that play date.)

Did you mark a fun activity on your calendar? Good. Now I've got a question: Do crowds energize you or make you cranky? 

Links for Writers: The Things We Do for Love

If you awaken at half past dark to squeeze in an hour of writing time, scribble in a notebook at Little League games, or hash out plot points with a friend while commuting to the day job, you're my kind of person. But how do we keep going in the face of rejection? 

Torre DeRoche, The Fearful Adventurer blogger and author of the memoir Love with a Chance of Drowning, has the answer: "Forget the stats, the numbers, the wealth, the prestige, the popularity, the things you imagine to be waiting for you on the other side of ‘success.’ They’re not there, and if they are, they won’t stay long. Instead, work tirelessly to make your soul happy. Keep going until you’re standing before a big, glorious creation made by you, for you. Your baby—made of cells, or paper, or clay, or words. That’s yours." Read more here. 

Think you need long, uninterrupted blocks of time to write anything meaningful? Jo Eberhardt accomplishes LOTS in sixty minutes a day.

There's no secret handshake that will transform a struggler into a published author but I perk up my ears when a writer offers to share her twelve-point writing plan. When will I learn? Here are numbers eight and nine of author Deborah Moggach's twelve-point plan:

8. I have to know the ending before I can begin. Map out as much as you need but don’t over-plot or you can constrict your characters. Let them change it as they go along.

9. You don’t have to know the ending.

She had me going for a minute. That said, her advice, especially, "There are no rules to break" speaks to me. If you only have time to read one writing-related article this week, make it Moggach's. 

On Memorial Day, I spoke with a thoughtful young man whose employer soon will send him to three countries for training. The Asian location hasn't been identified yet. 

"Does it make you uncomfortable that you don't know and can't make plans?" I asked.

"Not at all," he said. "I'm flexible. I have to show I'm flexible."

Writers need that young man's attitude plus the flexibility of Gumby. Here's agent Rachelle Gardner on what has changed and what won't alter in publishing.

Happy writing, friends!