Book review: The Creative Habit

Whether from laziness, lack of inspiration or the youthful conditioning that made me the cheapskate I am today, it's rare that I will mark up a book.

Unless the book is choreographer Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit and you are me over the past two weeks. If my first pass was any indication, I'm going to need to bust out the box of 64 for subsequent reads. Of which there will be many. Many.

It would almost be disrespectful not to mark up a book like this: a staggeringly juicy and well-crafted manual/bible/first aid kit, bursting with tools and inspiration for creative types, served up in every possible way to serve every possible style of learner.

There are concepts, laid out clearly and logically and in an order that makes perfect sense, and that would be a jumble of chaos in the hands of lesser wranglers*.

There are stories to illuminate and illustrate the concepts, both from Tharp's career and those of the great artistic legends of our time and beyond.

There are pictures, there are (praise be!) lists, there are pull-quotes.

And there are exercises, 32 glorious, immediately executable exercises, that I guarantee you will be all over like white on rice.

One minor quibble? The bulk of the book is rather unfortunately set in Bodoni, a lovely title case, but a bit hard on the eyes as a text case**. On the other hand, it slows you down, which is probably a good thing: I quite often found myself racing through parts, my greedy brain screaming for more, and faster. This is a book to be devoured and savored, and marked up, and discussed, and grabbed for in moments of creative crisis. Of which...well, you know.

Honestly, I don't care who you buy this from. But buy it. It's not a loaner. Not unless you have an extremely understanding librarian.

And then, when you get it, don't put it on your "to read" stack: put your ass in the chair, get a big, old writing implement and commence to reading***.

You can write and thank me later...

xxx
c

• Buy The Creative Habit from Amazon (and I get a few cents, which I use to buy...more books!)
• Buy The Creative Habit from Powell's (and Rian will get off my ass)
• Buy The Creative Habit from Simon & Schuster (and reward a publisher for doing the right thing)

Image by laffy4K via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

*The author credits go to Tharp and Mark Reiter, Tharp's literary agent and a frickity-frackin' Renaissance one at that, he's collaborated on eleven other books! That's the kind of agent I want, dammit.

**Merlin likened it to "reading a 250-page poster for a freshman poetry series." Maybe unkindly, but brother, it's the truth.

***Thank you, Julien. You were 100% right, and I totally owe you a beverage of choice.

Starting to stop, adding to subtract: changing habits the sane way

There's a thing about starting the year afresh with the chronological turn of it; there's another thing about aligning your restart with the turn of your personal turn on the planet, which is often more useful. (There's a third, entirely different thing about restarting wherever you damned well please, but I'm too much of a coloring-inside-the-lines, goody two-shoes for that.)

I've always liked when my birthday fell, in September (yesterday, the 13th), coinciding as it did with the turning of seasons and the returning to school, something all inside-the-line coloring types enjoy. We've been enjoying a break in the heat here in Los Angeles as well, so we can even pretend that our seasons have shifted (although god help us all when the inevitable heat wave that is early October slams us sideways).

So I've been thinking a lot about what I'd like to change, along with why I'd like to change it. Digging in and getting at the roots of things has proven much more useful than anything else for actually changing my behavior. For example, when I quit smoking, my third or fourth round of brochitis was struggling to gain purchase in my lungs; while "health" was a nebulous goal, staying out of the hospital and not feeling like I was being drowned were both wildly compelling. Ditto with getting on the SCD the first time: at barely 90 pounds, having suffered a horrible summer of illness capped by four weeks of riotous fever, stomach cramps and bloody diarrhea, the idea of food I could keep in me long enough to put on the weight that would make me ambulatory again was right up there with no-brainers like oxygen and shelter.

You can't fight City Hall, Mother Nature or your fat ass

At officially-48, I'm dealing with the first serious signs of physical breakdown. My hair is thinner, I tire more easily and, most horrifying of all to me, I pack on weight I can't easily take off. I'm told I still look relatively young for my age and I still feel like a nimrod youngster most days, but the physical realities of gravity and hormone depletion are winning on too many battlefronts. It's time to take action, and that means tying action to meaning.

You'd think that watching friends and relatives start to succumb would be enough, but it's not. Death isn't particularly compelling unless it has its rank breath smack up against your open nostrils. For me, what I want is more obvious and basic: to feel good when I awaken, and to keep feeling that way until I fall asleep. That includes but is not limited to:

• being able to climb the local hills without getting winded
• being able to sleep through as many nights as I can (this getting up in the night and peeing thing ain't the worst, but it ain't fun, either)
• being able to pick something up off the ground without making Old Man Noise
• being able to fit comfortably in the reasonably-sized clothes I already own
• being able to avoid colds, flus and other stress-susceptible illnesses
• being able to get off these goddamn meds for good

A lot of us who use our brains and our extended brains (i.e., The Google) for a living tend to be dismissive of the fact that we are not just a brain, but a body. Forget "spirit" or "soul", we fight the reality that at the very least, the pile of gray goop has to be carted around by muscles, tendons and bones. And that's not even getting into the idea that good food and rest and exercise can keep the gray goop itself functioning at a higher level for longer.

Subtracting from my fat ass back the additive way

Most programs of change seem to focus on the subtractive, talking about how you must deprive yourself of this or that, just like they emphasize Massive Overhaul rather than tweaking. All well and good when, perhaps, you're really up against it, but what about when you're looking at something squishy and less pressing, like feeling better or taking the dog for a walk with more joy or something long-term-good like possibly better hair for a wee bit longer? Then you're looking at implementing the kind of long-term change that takes, well, long.

In his latest newsletter (which you really should subscribe to, it's as good as mine, only different), Chris Brogan talks about a simple reframing that seems to be working for him: adding good stuff in rather than taking bad stuff away. He's lost 20 pounds so far by doing stuff like adding water and adding a higher percentage of greens to his dinner plate. Is he really cutting back on Diet Coke and fatty carbs? Well, yeah, like I said, it's a re-frame. But it's a small reframe that seems to be working.

I've been thinking about how I might use this to get myself back on the SCD. Ordinarily, that means things like "no more pizza" and "so long, cupcakes." But I considered it and wondered if maybe I couldn't start making my way back by doing things like "carry SCD-legal snacks with me" and "switch morning walk to Trader Joe's": the former would likely keep me from falling off the wagon by keeping ferocious hunger at bay, and the latter would mean I could turn grocery shopping (kind of a chore to me) into a normal, semi-fun, fairly regular part of my routine.

A few weeks ago, I'd been thinking of today with a big, heavy red circle around it: Monday Is the Day I Quit Eating Anything Fun and Get Back On SCD. And it may turn out to be; frankly, I've gorged myself on so much sugar, starch and processed crap in anticipation of it, the thought of eating clean is pretty appealing. But as long as I'm still feeling pretty chipper, health-wise, I think I'll try this slow, additive thing first and see how it goes. It's in keeping with my friend, Matthew Cornell's idea of testing lots of small ideas and measuring the results (Matt, if you drop by, leave better links in the comments so we can nerd out, please!)

I also have some thoughts about other small, additive changes that might enhance my life a bit, like the Leo Babauta-inspired music experiment I started (and subsequently stopped) earlier this year. But first this. There's enough other stuff swirling around right now, and the point is to make life easier, not more complicated.

In the meantime, I'm very curious to know what sort of luck other people have had with additive change, and whether it's been easier (and stuck longer) than the subtractive kind. What say ye: yea or nay?

xxx
c

Image by woodleywonderworks via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Referral Friday: LOCAL

Referral Friday is an ongoing series inspired by John Jantsch's Make-a-Referral Week. For more about that, and loads more referrals for everything from cobblers to coaches to gee-tar teachers, start here. Pass it on, baby!

Funny that until I'd actually typed out the name of my new-favorite local eatery here in the Silver Lake neighborhood of Los Angeles, the aptly named "LOCAL", I'd never thought of the potential for shifting the stress to the other syllable and making it "Lo-CAL", a world away in meaning, for want of some punctuation.

LOCAL is about many things: fresh, delicious, simple ingredients prepared with love in novel and exceptional ways; a laid-back, neighborhood-y vibe in which to enjoy your squares; and, yes, hot guys (see above photo for documentation, living in hipster L.A. has its advantages). What it is not about is anything lo-cal, by which I chiefly mean food-esque items that have been manipulated into simulacra of real food, only with whatever extracted so that you don't plump up around the edges. You know: the diet, lo-cal crap you find packaged in stores with labels like "Healthy Gack" or anything with the extra consonants in the word "light" removed.

Then again, LOCAL is hardly a fat-fest, and should you bring your level head along to direct your mandible, I'm guessing you'll come out alright. (Or, if you're local and walk or bike there, you can pig out with relative peace of mind.) But there are things like pig in various delicious forms on the menu, and there are eggs, and there is butter. Tasty, tasty butter, as in "a good pat and a half on my thick-cut, fresh-baked slice of rye toast." Sweet Jesus, carry me home.

There are also plenty of yummy vegetables to balance things out. My dining (or rather, breakfasting) companion had a mind-blowing side of sauteed spinach, yes, spinach, laced with thyme and apple matchsticks. And that was only the obvious and/or visible prep: our host and pork-enabler, Lee, explained the rather elaborate three-step process the spinach went through before things like heat and apple matchsticks were introduced. And something-something locally sourced and organically grown and OH, LOOK, A BUNNY!

Whatever, Lee! Just keep those lovingly-pulled Americanos coming and smile at us with your icy-blue orbs of magical goodness, and we're good. Nay, great.

xxx
c

Local Restaurant, Silver Lake
2943 Sunset Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90026
323-662-4740

Open for breakfast 7 days
Open for dinner Tues - Sat
See site for hours.

Image by steven damron via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

One day

One day
you will be gone
which is neither here
nor there
(much like you will be
on that day)
except to say
this:

Every day
would be fuller
and richer
and brighter
and lighter
if you started it
by thinking
of that other day
down the road.

You not here
has a great effect
on you here, now.

And "them" not here
(whoever "them" may be)
ain't a bad thing
to remember, either
while we're at it.

Because whether it's them you love
or them you do not
none of it matters much
when no one is here tomorrow.

On that one day
I wish you peace
and love
and a rainbow-tailed unicorn
to ferry you
to your final destination
wherever that may be.

But for this day
and every day
in between
I wish for you
and for me
and for "them"
to remember
that one day.

xxx
c

Image by alana jonez via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

When you can't hire me

I raised the price on my main consulting package today.

Well, okay, technically, I raised it several days ago, and then I lowered it slightly to a number that was still higher, but not quite so much. But still, the price ($475) is higher now than it was ($250) a couple of weeks ago. And while I noted it in my newsletter, pretty much the only place I pimp stuff like that, you may have missed the big, fat, hairy announcement.

While I raised my prices almost 100%, the truth is that I just brought the price in line with what it actually costs me to do these things. I started consulting verrrrry tentatively, at the request of a friend who became my first client, over a year ago.

I then created the Main Thing I Offer by way of consulting, the "Full Monty" (still in beta!), as I call it, about 10 months ago, and purposely kept the price low, even as the Monty grew in depth and scope (and goodies, which I've added). I've done a slew of them, and so far, everyone has walked away from the experience ecstatic, unless they're lying to me. They come out of it with clarity and excitement and a plan, and I get to share all this great stuff I've learned and assimilated over the past 20-odd years, and it's awesome. It's a billion times more satisfying, not to mention useful, than writing ads or even acting in them. (And let's not even mention the design, which was an ulcer-inducing year for me.)

Which means that people who need it are happy with it, and I'm happy with it, and it should all be sunshine and roses. And it was, except for what it was taking out of me. Because while I got better and better at doing them, they still require tons of prep. Shit-tons of energy. All good, but completely unsustainable at the old rate.

Problem is, even though it's a reasonable increase given everything that goes into it and still a pretty awesome value considering what you get, it's also a big jump, percentage-wise and I recognize that it's going to put me out of range for even more people than before, an unfortunate but unavoidable reality.

So.

I'm working on some ideas for putting what I do for clients with the not-too-high-priced (but still not cheap, I realize) one-on-one consulting stuff into a do-it-yourself, low-priced alternative. It's a little tricky, but I'll figure it out. This ain't rocket science, and plenty of other fine people have figured it out before me. But in the meantime, until I get these magical, mysterious, as-yet-unknown things out into the universe, what do you do when you can't hire me but you want some help sorting out your marketing messaging, here's what I'd suggest:

1. Comb through the newsletter archives. They're right here. There are a lot of ideas and exercises embedded in the monthly thingamajiggy I put out which, because I am a barefoot cobbler's child and can come up with no better, I call a "newsletter." It is not really a "newsletter", since by weight, it's only about 2% news, if that. (The price hike thingy is news, I guess, as are my occasional "Come here and hear me speak" items.)

The "newsletters" are archived chronologically, with a little description for each. Browse them, see what catches your eye, then pick two or three to work on.

And then subscribe. Seriously. A lot of what I do with my clients is help them apply the stuff I talk about in the newsletter to their specific needs. You won't get a custom fit, but trust me, you're a smart enough cookie to figure it out yourself with a little extra effort.

2. Do the Formula exercise. The Formula kicks ass. Seriously. And it's the foundation of doing ANYTHING right, marketing-wise, on or off the web. Remember: at its core, marketing is the truth of you, translated into the language of them. Here's an example of it in action on my old design website. Here's another one, on Conrad Winter's copywriting site. More as I think of them.

3. Download the DIY version of the homework. Seriously, download it. Won't cost you a cent. No, you don't get me going over it with The Mixmasterâ„¢ (my brain, didn't know it had a name, did you?) Then DO it. If not now, put a time down in your calendar to do it.

BONUS EXTRA: If you want help in any particular area, getting up to speed on social media, becoming a better copywriter, being more productive, check out my copious delicious and StumbleUpon links in your area of choice. Yeah, yeah, there are a lot of tags to sort through. Do a search for what you need, or use one of the bundles I created for delicious. These two spots are where I bookmark most of the truly awesome stuff I find on the web. Again, you'll have to do a bit of the legwork yourself, searching through them, but it's there.

As any real productivity nerd will tell you, a huge part of getting things done is just doing it, starting it. Start with these. Do, read, write, think. See how far along you can get yourself. It takes a while, but it's possible; after all, it's how I learned to do all this stuff.

And if there are specific things you'd like me to address, let 'er rip in the comments. Like I said last week in the Very First Screencast Ever on Communicatrix, I'm looking to do more stuff with audio and video to help share the crazy tricks and tips I've picked up along the way.

Basically, I'm open for suggestions. Wide open. What do you want? What would make your life better/stronger/faster?

If you're just "here for the beer," as we used to say, that's cool, too. But if there are particular things you're looking for, problems you wish I would tackle in my uniquely communicatrix-y way, this would be an excellent time to let me know.

Thank you, and have at it...

xxx
c

Image by sittered via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Limits vs. tolerance: knowing the former and cultivating the latter

I'm perpetually about five steps behind the smart kids like Merlin and Julien, so I'm just now reading Twyla Tharp's absolutely outstanding, OUTSTANDING, I tell you, book, The Creative Habit.* (Julien, if you're reading this, you were 100% right, and I owe you a beer. Or something.)

Since Merlin first started talking about the book some time ago, I've noticed a term creep into his writing more often: tolerance.** As in, tolerance for ambiguity when it comes to approaching the making of stuff, and tolerance for sucking during the process of making it.

Possibly in turn, or possibly because it's part of the zeitgeist I'm soaking in, I've noticed the term floating up into my own consciousness a lot lately. I've worked steadily at cultivating my own tolerance for ambiguity and for sucking, as well; I lump them together as tolerance for "mess," which I've built up a much, much higher tolerance for both physically and psychically.

Interestingly, my tolerance for clutter has decreased as my tolerance for mess has increased. On the surface, you might see them as the same, but I see them as quite distinct:

Mess is the inevitable by-product of creation, the few eggs you're going to have to break to make an omelet (or the few thousand you're going to have to break to make one expertly). Mess is the artist's studio during work hours, or the writer's office halfway through a book, or any creative person's brain at the beginning of a huge, and always scary, undertaking.

Clutter is the crap that gets in the way of creation, the weeds and distractions that keep you from the business at hand. It can can be thoughts that no longer serve as well as tools that are broken or outdated. It's the fat and the noise and the junk that stands between you and your goal: if you're an actor or a dancer, it might be literal body fat; if you're a singer or a speaker, it could be a weak diaphragm or shit habits that are destroying your pipes. It is almost always TV, for everyone, but it can also be any number of bad consumptive habits, from too many beers after "work"-work (getting in the way of your artistic work) to excessive reliance on gossip rags, chick lit or internet forums.

For some of us, clutter is simply too many things we've said "yes" to that we don't really want to do, or that aren't moving us forward in significant ways. I have become much closer to my little friends, No Fucking Way and Not a Snowball's Chance in Hell, although I have to constantly remind them to use their indoor voice and smile politely when out and about in the world. My new-favorite dish is the "no" sandwich: slipping a big, bad slice of Wild Horses Couldn't Drag Me There between two pretty slices of "Oh, aren't you sweet to ask!" or "That Sounds Like So Much Fun" or "I Reeeeeeeally Wish I Could." The point ain't to stomp on someone else's delicate mess with your big clodhoppers, but to recognize what works for them may not for you, and vice versa.

I get a little panicky about how much time I have left to get the music out of me every year about now. And yeah, I realize that worry is a form of clutter, too. Still, addressing what's standing between me and what I've decided I want becomes more and more important as I creep inevitably toward what I hope is a natural and long-off death, but which I recognize could be lying just steps away, up on the fire escape, Acme anvil in hand, waiting for me to turn the corner.

So I say "no", or at least, "let me sleep on it", to more things, that I may say "yes" to the right things. Creating limits, so there's a safe space to cultivate tolerance...

xxx
c

Image by "T" altered art via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

*I'll be reviewing it next week, but feel free to buy it now, even without the review. Because the first 100 pages are better than most of the pages of about 2,000,000 books put together. It's just the best book I've read for working creatives ever. Juicy, full of ideas and inspiration and exercises. Funny. Well-written. No fat. Blowing-my-mind good.

**You can read the central post about it, which also links to a really nice talk he gave at this year's MaxFunCon on dealing with The Resistor during the creative process.

Referral Friday: TextExpander for the Mac

If you're like me, you type the same stuff over and over again, without even knowing it.

• Your name.
• Your address(es).
• Your (too many, and growing list of) phone numbers.
• Etcetera.

I've written before of my awesome and abiding love for TextExpander, the text expansion program for the Mac. After mere hours of use, I wrote about it so glowingly that they used my quote as a testimonial (and an awesome and abiding, albeit virtual, friendship with Smile On My Mac's evangelist, Jean MacDonald, was born). Other people, Merlin Mann, from whom I learned of it (and many other Tools and Practices of Goodness), and Gina Trapani, of Lifehacker and many other flavors of worthwhile celebrity, have done a better job than I've the time or brain cells to pull off (especially since my brain feels like it's permanently expanded, and in the bad way, in this heat.)

Still, I'll share what have become my favorite uses for TextExpander snippet storage:

• Email signatures (I have many!)
• Amazon affiliate links
• Evergreen frequently-linked-to stuff (my newsletter signup page, my filthy motivational song, etc.)
• Evanescent linked-to stuff (PresentationCamp, the workshop I did with Pam Slim, etc.)
• Etcetera (biggest category, always thinking of new uses)

Bonus screencast of TextExpander in action, communicatrix-style

Regular readers have likely noted (I hope) that at the top of most posts, I use a carefully chosen photo from the Creative Commons Attribution-Only pool on Flickr to illustrate my posts. Extra-careful readers have probably also noted that there's a line tucked into the bottom of those posts that looks like this:

Image by CrazyFlickrName via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

That's two links and a bunch of italicized text every time. Or, it's three keystrokes, f-f-l (without the dashes), that invokes all this data:

<em><a href="%|">Image by  via Flickr</a>, used under <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en">a Creative Commons license</a></em>.

The super-magical part, as Merlin explains in his post, is that there are some nifty shortcuts built into TextExpander itself, like the "%|", which is a command for the cursor to travel back from the period at the end of whatever your long text thread is to the place where the "%|" resides.

Here's a little screencast I put together to show you how it works:

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=6391559&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1

In case the video doesn't play, you can click here to watch it. Also, you might want to embiggen it via the button with the four arrows in the lower right-hand corner, since it's all about the minute details. Still working on the encoding and such, but this is at least legible.

Let me know what you think of the video, okay? And TextExpander, if you buy it!

xxx
c

• Buy TextExpander for the Mac (only $15, half-off!, until September 9!)*
• Buy TextExpander Touch for the iPhone (only $1.99 until September 9!)**

• Read Merlin Mann's tips on using TextExpander
• Read Gina Trapani's tips on using text expansion software (includes a link to free utility for Windows users)

UPDATE (5/27/10): If you have to suffer through a second computer running on the Windows platform, check out Breevy, by Patrick McCann: it also invokes text via self-designated shortcuts, and you can import your TextExpander snippets directly or via Dropbox. And let me know how you like it, okay?

*For any of you especially hawkeyed viewers, that long-ass link is not an affiliate link, but it is the one they sent me in the email this week. As someone who obsesses over my own stats, I can totally appreciate this desire to know from whence come the links. But no, not making an effing dime off of it.

**Ditto on this long-ass link. Also, it takes you straight to the iTunes store, don't freak out! Just breathe!

Poetry Thursday: The small, still voice

On the nose
or off by a mile,
you know.

You always know.

Your head will scream otherwise
because of what it wants,
a word of praise,
a veil of darkness,
escape,
assurance,
a parallel universe
where, apparently,
the clocks run backwards
time is infinite
and downsides
are all up.

Your heart
does not whisper
but neither
does it scream.
It speaks the truth
in simple terms
and waits.

And when you screw up
and give voice to the head
yet again
it remains
the small, still voice,
never angry
never loud
not even mocking.

Just a touch
of gentle bemusement
to color
the infinite love
you know exists
below
under everything
you know...

xxx
c

Image by Editor B via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Break out of the mold

It can be terrifying to put yourself out there. I know: I've made a living at it, and it's still hard.

Acting. Writing. Just showing up to a networking event, or posting a profile to an online dating site, much less walking up to your hero/dreamboat, sticking out your hand and introducing yourself.

And what I'm gathering, as I slither on up the mountainside, is that no matter how good you get at whatever, that "whatever" just gets scary in new and significant ways. In other words, the Thing We Must Do is always mildly terrifying for some of us: it just becomes terrifying more in the good way, like how skydivers must look at things like hurling themselves from aircraft 10,000 feet up, or Olympic gymnasts must look at hurling themselves over whatever in front of ever-more judgmental people (they're judges, for crying out loud) for ever-greater record-breaking stakes, or other aficionados who manage to get really, really good at what they do, throwing off the feeling of "easy" when really it's more like "habituated."

This is my truth: every new hand I reach out to shake mildly terrifies me. Every room I walk into, every stage I step onto, every camera I step in front of sends a wisp of a thread of fear through me. Pray for me when it doesn't, while we're at it; the worst you can hope for as a performer is that you sleepwalk through a performance, that the thrill doesn't scoop you up in its palm and rattle your insides a wee bit.

Here's a short list of what scares me right now:

• Succeeding.
• Failing.
• Succeeding again, then failing.
• Losing my friends.
• Losing my limbs.
• Losing my glasses and having no pair handy and having to drive somewhere blind.
• Auditioning for something I really, really want and not getting it.
• Or getting it.
• Meeting Barack Obama and having to explain why I gave money instead of campaigning for him.
• Meeting Michelle Obama and having to explain why I gave money instead of campaigning for her husband.
• Meeting my Maker (I'm really, really hoping the atheists are right on this one) and having to explain everything.
• Losing my rent-control apartment here in a tony section of Los Angeles.
• Never leaving my rent-control apartment here in a tony section of Los Angeles.
• Letting people down.
• Dying with the music in me.
• Being poor.
• Being rich.

With the possible exception of the apartment and Barack Obama (okay, and "being rich") this is a list I could just as easily have scribbled into my freshman-year journal (I couldn't have predicted such a long-term stay in Los Angeles nor a black President). In other words, nothing really changes, as my first shrink-slash-astrologer said a long, long time ago, you just get better at doing an end run around yourself.

I did three terrifying things between yesterday and today. When I think about it, that's kind of my prescriptive for getting out of most dumbass, self-induced jams. Terrify yourself, mildly to wildly, situation-dependent.

Extend yourself, emotionally or financially (this, assuming you generally have your head so firmly affixed you run for the hills rather than do either as a matter of course).

Or extend yourself physically. Or hey, pull way the hell back, if your default mode is extension.

You know. You know better than I ever could.

It will keep you alive. It will keep you raw, and on your toes, and in the joyous, explosive, terrifying, exhilarating game of life.

Extend. Withdraw. Switch it up.

Plug into the juice. And go, baby, go...

xxx
c

Image by woodleywonderworks via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Book review: Trust Agents

Anyone who's been in shouting distance of me since I tore through the first 75pp of Trust Agents, Chris Brogan and Julien Smith's hot-diggity-damn-dog book on the wherefores of social media already knows that this is the one book I'm recommending to anyone who's trying to wrap their head around the web.

And the reason why is exactly because it's a book about wherefores, not "do these!" (although there are plenty of actionable tips and explanatory sidebars; they just manage to be supportive and unobtrusive, not glaring and Dummies-like). The authors finally wrote the book I've been praying for when I'm met with the hungry eyes ringed ever so gently with panic: that look that says, "Oh, god...I'm really going to have to learn about this Facebook/Twitter/LinkedIn stuff, aren't I? Please direct me to some real help and/or a spoon with which to gouge out my hungry, gently-panic-ringed eyes."

The full title of the Brogan/Smith opus is Trust Agents: Using the Web to Build Influence, Improve Relationships, and Earn Trust, and right there, you have your main wherefore. The web does not exist for you to sell yourself; it exists to facilitate connections and communication. To initiate them and to deepen them, in tandem with real-life meeting-up-in-actual-person, not to do drive-by shilling or scoop the digital equivalent of a fistful of business cards into your pocket. One of the more delightful parallels the authors draw more than once is that of the social web meeting to the real-life, business networking event: don't be "That Guy" on the web, glad-handing and hard-selling and speed-networking your way through life.

Almost everything about this book is an unqualified surprise and delight, from the bazillion-notches-above-your-typical-business-book quality of the writing to the examples Chris and Julien use to point out right (and very, very wrong) use of the social web to the actual structure of the book. It's carved up into six main chapters, each of which explores a different characteristic of what they've dubbed "Trust Agents" (i.e. people who are using the social web the right way, to do the stuff they break out in the book's subtitle). About the only part I took any issue with at all was a mercifully brief foray into the ethics of paid blogging, nothing (thankfully) that most people who need to read the book even need to read about, and a reasonable discussion of which is simply beyond the scope of the book. And in the interests of 100% disclosure, any book (or post, or article) that looked at posts-for-pay on 99.99% of blogs as being okay I'd most likely look at with suspicion at best and loathing at worst. Commerce is cool, but only within very, very narrow and well-defined parameters for this stinky hippie.

A quibble, really. The book is outstanding. It's not a web book so much as it's a marketing book, which is why I love it so (well, that and the great writing, which I'm a sucker for, I admit). Every speech I give, every client I advise, every line about so-called social media that I write, I do my best to tie to the underpinnings of the works, which is marketing, baby.

So if you're looking for a great book about marketing, buy Trust Agents. And if you're looking for a great book that will explain how to do (some of) your marketing on the web, buy Trust Agents.

It's the book I'd have written if I'd gotten there first...

xxx
c

• Buy Trust Agents on Amazon (affiliate link)
• Join the Trust Agents fan page on Facebook
• Follow Chris Brogan on Twitter (warning: he's noisy!)
• Follow Julien Smith on Twitter

Photo of Julien Smith & Chris Brogan by ambernaslund via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Heat sink

Several miles to the north and east of me, the hills are literally on fire, outing my complaint about high temperatures and no air conditioning for the pansy-lightweight-whinerfest that it truly is.

And yet.

There are realities to every season, turn turn turn. And one of the realities of Southern California from late August to late October is that it can be unbearably hot for large chunks of the day over great swaths of time. Add to that some big commitments I've just wrapped up, a few that are ongoing and some mamalukes, as The Chief Atheist used to call them, coming up, then subtract the number of sweat glands it would take to bring me up to the normal cooling powers of your average sweaty bear, and it's no wonder I'm feeling a wee bit weak right now.

I'm not exactly Spanish yet in my commitment to the siesta, but I'm almost overly proud to say that yesterday, when the heat and smoke were at their worst, I had enough good sense left in me somewhere to retire to the one air-conditioned room in the house and lie down. And I'm not a napper, there's this horrible, residual-only-child thing in me that always feels like the real fun happens as soon as I leave the room, but once I got horizontal with a little snoozy reading material, my body took over and just conked me on the head. I awoke three hours later not exactly perky, but far, far less cranky than I'd been for the bulk of the day as I hauled my overheated carcass from here to there on even the abbreviated schedule I'd planned for it.

So here is my pithy thought for the day: there will always be a party going on as soon as you step out for a breather. You will always be missing something groovy and awesome. You will think wistfully of the good times you might have had as these groovy and awesome parties are recounted for you later on.

Also? There are only so many hours in a day, and you only get to be awake for so many of them at your peak energy. Choose wisely. Then stay well hydrated during them, especially during your hotter times of the year.

Also-also? My old shiatsu bodywork instructor used to carry around a teeny-tiny pocket calendar. Think those ones the banks used to give out for free, then cut in half. We're talking microscopic.

After each session, when we'd set our appointment for the following week, we'd each whip out our respective scheduling devices: her teeny-tiny one (and, like, a golf pencil), my ginormous, Filofax-clone-of-the-moment (because, ever restless and in search of the Perfect Solution, I would change it up periodically). I had a slot for each fifteen-minute segment of my apparently very important days in one incarnation.

Anyway. One week, I couldn't take it anymore. "How," I asked, "can you possibly cram all the stuff you need to do into that teeny-tiny calendar entry?"

She looked at it, then up at me, and shrugged. "I can only do three things in a day; this means I can only schedule three things in a day."

Now, this was a gal who did shiatsu and was a working actor; she could have more going on in an afternoon than a suburban mother of five did in a week. But there were only three things she would schedule; the rest, well, they happened. Or not. That was free time, during which she worked on any (or many) of her other myriad projects.

Three things today: a little meeting, a little shrinkage, a little accountability action. And yes, a lot of driving in between (not such a hardship when it's the only other place you can enjoy a/c), plus...whatever.

And three things tomorrow, regardless of how finely I can carve up my calendar. And maybe three things daily until this heat breaks. Might as well make something pretty out of this mess, right?

Stay cool. Stay rested. Stay hydrated.

And if it fits your mood (and/or your calendar), let me know how you're carving up your day during this hot, hot end of August...

xxx
c

Image by Joe Lanman via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Referral Friday: Barbara's at the Brewery

Referral Friday is an ongoing series inspired by John Jantsch's Make-a-Referral Week. For more about that, and loads more referrals for everything from cobblers to coaches to gee-tar teachers, start here. Pass it on, baby!

One thing that drives me batty about Los Angeles is the paucity of excellent, low-key, non-gross hangs for a nice-sized crowd.

I hail from Chicago, you see, where the hardest thing about picking a place to meet is choosing which one to meet at. Maybe it's because the rents are cheaper; maybe it's because the people are.

Regardless, when you find a great venue to host a crowd, one with terrific draft beers and tasty food at reasonable prices, plus a big comfy space in which to hang, you must note it. And cherish it, and tell others, the right kind of others, hopefully, so that the cash will continue to flow its way and the vibe will persist in its awesomeness.

Barbara's at the Brewery scores on all the above counts, and it's easy to get to, and it has copious free parking on site. What's more it's the hang of choice (for obvious reasons) of the very nice tenants of the Brewery Arts Complex, an off-line brewery that was converted to artists' lofts long ago, and which is the place for the twice-yearly, super-crazy Artwalk at the Brewery.

They're even the unofficial headquarters of the KERNSPIRACY designers' list, meatspace division: I've enjoyed many a glass of Cab mingling with designers, photographers and other delightful creative folk.

If you live in Los Angeles and you're not a tool (sorry, tools, nothing personal!), please consider having your next party at the awesomely accommodating Barbara's.

And tell Mike that Colleen said to say, "Hi!"...

xxx
c

Photo © 2009 Aaron Wulf.

Barbara's at the Brewery
The Brewery Arts Complex
323-221-9204

Poetry Thursday: All of it

All the joy
all the love
all the sunshine
and sodas
and puppy dogs
would mean nothing
without the rest of it.

All the work
all the tears
all the mistakes
and gaffes
and outright fuck-ups.

Sink through the floor
if you must
but remember
when you can
what put you on that floor
to begin with.

Then go find a ladder
and climb a little higher...

xxx
c

Image by fotologic via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

What's up and what's gone down (Aug 2009)

A thus-far monthly but forever occasional round-up of what I've been up to and what I plan to be. For full credits and details, see July's entry.

Colleen of the future (places I'll be)

• The Creative Freelancer Conference in San Diego (August 26 - 28) Technically, this is going down now, as you read this But if you live within shouting distance of San Diego, come anyway. Read what I have to say about it here, then sign up immediately. Additional $25 off with my special fairy pixie dust code, "CW9"
• The Ojai Women's Business Social (September 9) Run by my pal, Jodi Womack, this is always worth the drive so I always try to do. Free!
• WordCamp Los Angeles (September 12) If you liked PresentationCamp, you'll love WordCamp. Probably. If you like WordPress.
• The Monthly Los Angeles Biznik Meet-Up at Jerry's (Wednesday, September 16, 5:30 - 8pm) Every four weeks, some of L.A.'s finest independent biz folk gather for cocktails, conversation and oversized plates of deli food. It's awesome, and it's free. (Well, not the drinks or the deli food.) Just register (free!) to become a member of Biznik, then sign up (also free!). Easy-peasy, Cousin Weezy!
• TC 140 (September 22-23) Another Twitter conference? Yup. I'm not even speaking but I'm going: too many cool people I wanna meet.
• ...finally, for actors only, Karen Kohlhaas's Fearless Cold Reading Workshop. Karen (whom I adore) will be handling the audition part; I'll be doing my patented social-media-for-actors song & dance. Fun will be had. (Hey, it's actors!)

Colleen of the Past (stuff that went down)

• New interview! Er, Twitterview. What can I say: it's a brave new world. Me and fabulous HOW magazine editrix Bryn Mooth mix it up on the Twitter about...the Twitter.
• World Domination comes to Los Angeles! Haha, not really. But Chris Guillebeau did, and I helped to organize one of the funnest meetups ever for him and his considerable peeps. Follow him on Twitter and subscribe to the blog so you don't miss future meetups coming to an area near you. (I mean, dude travels!)
• The Escape from Cubicle Nation Workshop in Chicago Can I say how awesome this was, working with my gal, Pamela Slim? Doubtful. Just do yourselves a favor and go to the one Pam is doing in New York on September 12 with our mutual friend, Jonathan Fields. I am jealous I cannot be there, too.
• ...finally, I changed my tune. For the time being, anyway. Which is to say that I was so moved by Mark Silver's Heart of Money course, I am an affiliate for the first time ever. Only one product so far, and the only affiliate links you find here will be clearly marked. The above link takes you to a standalone post I created outlining my experiences with and love for the damned thing. And that's the only way I roll: no sidebar confetti for me. That's a promise.

Colleen of the Present (ongoing projects)

• I asked for something! Specifically, for you to nominate one of my 2009 posts for acceptance to Creative Nonfiction. I assembled what I think are the best candidates, to save you time, but hey, whatever you want to nominate is fine by me! By August 31, though. And thank you!
• The Virgo Guide to Marketing I'm just over halfway through a year-long project where I work on my marketing daily and blog about it weekly. People seem to dig it, as well as the podcasts I record weekly. Go figger.
• communicatrix | focuses My monthly newsletter devoted to the all-important subject of increasing your unique fabulosity. One article per month (with actionable tips! and minimal bullsh*t!) about becoming a better communicator, plus the best few of the many cool things I stumble across in my travels. Plus a tiny drawing by moi. Free! (archives & sign-up)
• Act Smart! is my monthly column about marketing for actors for LA Casting, but I swear, you'll find stuff in it that's useful, too. Browse the archives, here.
• Internet flotsam And of course, I snark it up on Twitter, chit-chat on Facebook, post the odd video or quote to Tumblr, and bookmark the good stuff I find on my travels at StumbleUpon and delicious.

Please let me know if you find this kind of curation at all useful, and/or if there's a better way to handle it. Thanks!

xxx
c

Photo of Arno J. McScruff housed on Flickr, where I also occasionally stick pixels.

Book review: The Little Book of Moods

One of the saddest things about loving books to death is finding that someone else has actually killed them off.

I feel crazy-mad in love with a little "snack book", my beloved paternal grandfather's term for them, way back in 2004, when it caught my eye on an impulse-buy shelf at some local booksellers' shop.

I'm rather, er, frugally-minded, so I tend to wait before buying. But I kept coming back again and again to read Jane Eldershaw's delicious, compact, textbook/diagnostic of the things what ail us, The Little Book of Moods: 101 Ways to Identify and Deal with Any Emotion.

It offers exactly what it says on the cover: a quick way to identify what sort of a mood you're in, plus a handful of prescriptives for handing it. "Sulky," for example, is a place of withholding or withdrawing: "an attempt to punish someone or try to make her care by demonstrating your unhappiness without putting it into words." Well, Eldershaw put that into words, and not very many, and very well chosen. There follow a quick series of illuminating circumstances, thoughts and how-tos for starting to find your way out of it.

She does the same with, well, 100 other moods, among them: "frumpy", "ineffectual", "apprehensive" and "vengeful". We're talking way beyond mad/sad/glad, here. When I first picked up my copy, I was in the throes of a bloody breakup, the most challenging theatrical role of my career and the beginning stages of Crohn's. God knows what kinds of moods I was in at any given moment; the only thing I knew is that they were flitting through me like cards from the shoe of a particularly robust blackjack table. For a spinning top like me, The Little Book was a small miracle, something that would shut down the voices in my head and give me something to actually do, that I might keep them quiet a while longer.

It's no longer in print (F&W, my homies! what's up with that?!) and Eldershaw seems to have moved on to making jewelry from junk, but The Little Book lives on in extant copies available at low, low prices from resellers on Amazon, ALibris and Half.com. Nothing would make me happier than to have a run on them, as it might convince the publisher (F&W! my peeps! come on!) or Eldershaw to revisit the book, and/or perhaps put up some nifty, sortable website with the amazing technology that's evolved over the past five years. Content with the shit tagged out of it would help you more readily suss out your awful mood (let's face it, the good ones are easy to grok, though still fun to read about) and do something about it. Make the world a better, happier place. (Seriously. Can we get Gretchen on this or something?)

Regardless, I highly recommend you snag your own copy. Mine has been my constant, if sometimes neglected, companion for almost five years now. I can't help but think you or someone you love wouldn't love one, too...

xxx
c

• Buy The Little Book of Moods on Amazon (affiliate link)
• Buy The Little Book of Moods on ALibris
• Buy The Little Book of Moods on Half.com

Image by allyaubry via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

The Resistor, and what he has to teach you

After almost 48 years on the planet, many of them splashed over with big, fatty dreams, I know this: the more you want something, and the more it is the Next Right Thing for you to be doing, the harder you will push away from it.

It's sort of a glorious indicator, really. I mean, if you want to take the Pollyanna/Rabbi Yehuda Berg angle on it: (1) Pinpoint what it is you're trying to avoid; (2) then go, baby, go!

I've been gearing up for the Creative Freelancer Conference this week in San Diego. And by "gearing," I mean, "alternately sweating every moment of it and avoiding the hell out of it." It's not like this is a brand, new thing for me, I've given many, many talks on Right Use of Social Media, i.e., using it for good (like a non-tool), not evil (like a latter-day gladhander), in the year since I spoke at the last one. I know and love the people who are putting it on, and, unless they're a bunch of lying pirates, the feeling is pretty much mutual.

And yet, I've found myself putting off putting on those finishing touches I know I want to. Somehow, there's always an email that needs answering or a request that needs tending to, or or or.

This weekend, a half-hour into plugging photos into my address book application, yes, really, I stopped myself. As in, "STOP. Now. Close this application. Finish what needs to be done, then go to bed, so you are fresh tomorrow, and the next day, and this next week, when you will need every bit of energy to vibrate at the ultra-high frequencies being in the presence of so much awesomeness demands of you."

Amazingly, I obeyed myself this once. (This is me, obeying, how does it look? Also, don't get too attached to it, I'm not so much with the obedience in general.) Here is the last part of it, for now:

1. Think of the thing you really want, that you really, really want. More than a scoop of ice cream, or an hour vegging in front of the idiot box, or what have you.
2. Now, think of the one, next thing you need to do, that you really, really need to do, to get there.
3. Do it.

We will get there together, you and I.

And the Resistor? Well, a bad guy's gotta do what a bad guy's gotta do. Nothing personal...

xxx
c

Image © Erin Watson, via Flickr.

A small favor, from you to me

I had a long talk with an old friend of mine several months ago.

We knew each other back in college, when we both had our heads stuck pretty far up our asses. And then, over the years, we kind of lived on parallel tracks: getting into advertising, learning to be grownups, forming decent relationships, rekindling our secret interests in writing, getting published,

Oh, wait. He got published.

A short story, in a little literary magazine called Salamander. (It's good; you should buy it.)

As he said, he may or may not have been more talented than the other people in his writers' group, but he's the only one who submitted his stuff. And you know what? Like they used to say with the Lotto, ya gotta be in it to win it.

I am not ready to submit a poem to Salamander (yet). But when I read the tweet from the wildly talented Alice Bradley, whose writing* I adore about Creative Nonfiction looking for submissions from bloggers, I had two thoughts:

1. Hey, I'm a blogger who writes a lot of creative nonfiction, the fancy new word for essays!
2. Why bother? They'll never pick mine. (Wah wah. Sad trombone.)

This kind of crap has got to stop.

They might not pick mine, but you know what? They definitely won't pick mine if I don't submit something.

So here's what I've done: selected what I think are the best posts that fit the criteria for submission, written in 2009, and that will stand alone (e.g., not too insider-y, not part of a series, etc), and collected them here.

I would love for you to read one or two or however many and submit them yourself. Or read them and tell me in the comments which I should submit. Because hot damn on a stick, I am entering this contest. Yes, I am.

And if I enter and you enter on behalf of me, maybe I will have a better chance, so I am asking for that. Yes, I am.

And if you tweet about it or put it on the Facebook or tell your mom, maybe I will have an even better chance, so I'm asking for that, too.

YES, I AM.

I thank you for your time and attention. I thank you for being here, just reading this blog, because no matter what, you reading is a big part of what's kept me writing.

Now go forth and put yourself out there.

And me, too, if you would...

xxx
c

• Junking Jumbrage About fairness and letting go of needing it so much
• Why We Go Back and Look About fear and forward motion and the healing power of time
• Why People Hate Oprah About being true to yourself, damn the torpedoers
• Change and the Kitchen Sink About change. And the kitchen sink, non-metaphorically
• Why I Wasn't Colleen Wainwright (and why I am now) About getting down with identity

The deadline for nominations is August 31, 2009, but why tempt fate or failing memory? Vote now!

*And whose hi-larious site on motherhood she co-writes with the equally wildly talented and marvelous Eden Kennedy you should jump over and read immediately upon finishing this. Because I'm pretty indifferent to the topic and boy, howdy, I laughed my doomed, hateful, non-breeder ass off at this.

Poetry Thursday: Gaping maws

The attack of the blank page
of time
of the endless rabbit holes of possibility
is merciless
is sneaky
is eternal.

The two thousand contacts
waiting for you to connect
somehow

The two hundred ideas
competing for pole position
in your cranium

The two roads,
this one
or that one,
neither one saying
which one should be
the one not taken.

How do you begin
to address such abundance?

There will never be
enough time
enough energy
enough attention
to satisfy them all
to satisfy you at all

So don't.

Open your heart
with rest
or sound
or light
or anything handy,
really

And let it guide you
to the perfect spot
for setting down
your blanket
and unpacking your basket
and staying awhile.

There is all the time in the world
for the one thing
that you must do
now.

xxx
c

Image by sam crockett via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

New passport photo, or "How to go about actually crossing stuff off your list"

I'm accommodationally bifurcated these days, dividing my time between My Country House (aka The BF's spacious and bucolic Actual House with Lawn, Patio & Dog) and my bachelorette pad (aka Rent Control Central, "Colleen's Stubborn Handhold on Freedom," or, during certain parts of summer, "The E-Z-Bake Oven"), so I can't tell you how long ago my previous passport expired.

So let me just repeat: my previous passport expired.

In my 36 years of international travel, this has never happened. Never ever ever ever never. Not. Ever. And I'm horrifically embarrassed about it having happened this time, one or possibly even two years ago, extenuating circumstances* or not. Because in my family, no matter what, you had a passport at the ready, even if you had zero intention of traveling for the foreseeable future.**

The truth is this: every time I looked in the mirror over the past two years, I recoiled a little. I may joke about being a ladygeezer or (not) going gray or fettering certain protrusions that were heretofore unfettered, but a part of me always hurt a little bit. I'm not crazy about my eyes starting to get that tired look or my hair thinning or the weight that now gently encases my middle, and so far, I've been dealing with them all by compartmentalizing and ignoring or leading with a joke: the latter in public, the former in private.

I'm not fishing for compliments (although hey, I won't reject sincere ones if you're compelled). This is not about anyone saying, "Hey, you look great!" or even "Hey, you look great for your age!" It's me, dealing with mortality (which we all must) and advancing invisibility (which most of us must, although women, even character actresses, deal with it first).

I'd think about getting my passport photo taken, the first step in crossing "Renew (expired) passport" off my list, and then I'd think, "Well, I'll just wait until..."

Until my hair was freshly colored.

Until my hair was having a good day.

Until I'd figured out an outfit, and bought some makeup, and had had enough sleep.

Until, that is, monkeys flew out of my ass. In formation. Typing Shakespeare.

I'm almost 48. My hair will never be the hair of a 28-year-old, or even a 38-year-old, again. I haven't worn makeup (well, excepting a little eyebrow powder, for definition!) since I quit acting, three years ago. I try to be interested enough about clothes to shop for them, but I'd rather write. I try to think about parting with Big Bucks for the clothes I would love, but I would rather blow the money on hardware and books. I will have fewer and fewer Good Hair Days until I am rich enough to hire a stylist and patient enough to let him do my hair everyday.

In other words, this is me now; this is who I am, inside and out. It's not just okay, it's the truth.

I promised you my big secret for actually crossing stuff off your list, and here it is:

Get down with where you are right now. Get down with the thing that needs to happen next.

I want to go to Vancouver to see my friend, Danielle, and maybe do a workshop. I want to go to Spain some summer while my friend, Jared, is doing his month abroad. I want to drink wine with Valeria in her native Italy, and visit my grammar school friend who lives in the countryside while I'm there. I don't necessarily want to be my delightful friend, Chris Guillebeau (he's filling that job rather handily), but I would find it great fun to schedule a trip sometime to coincide with one he was making. I want to stay with my high school friend, Betsy, at her palatial estate in France (oh, BOY, do I want that) and visit my friend, Michael, in Germany, and travel with my friend, Andrew, and his wife, Alex, to his native Ireland (which, if it's as full of awesome Irish folk as their dinner parties are, may be my final resting place as I expire from happiness.)

Mostly, I want to be able to say "yes" when someone invites me to come and speak or teach or otherwise share what I know when they ask. This, finally, was the truth that was more important than the silly fibs I was wasting away my days with.

Life is so short and filled with so many things to do.

And so I go, go, go about doing them...

xxx
c

Photo of Colleen Wainwright by Lily at the Mailbox Shoppe via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license. (For more silly fun, click on the picture.)

*Circumstances including, but not limited to falling ill with a major chronic intestinal disorder, starting a new business, traveling extensively continentally for tradeshows/conferences/etc., massive economic collapse and, this one is the hardest, embarrassment of being ambassador to a country whose leadership and choice of same deeply shamed me for eight years.

**Possibly a Jewish thing, possibly an aspirational-cosmopolitan-type thing. Not sure. Maybe both.

Book review: Life is a Verb

As further proof that the most inspiring and joyous of art is often born of the most dire and dour of experiences, I give you Patti Digh and the magnificent, powerful, astonishing collection of stories she has written on her blog, 37 Days, and compiled as a book, Life Is a Verb: 37 Days to Wake Up, Be Mindful and Live Intentionally.

The project began when Digh's beloved stepfather was diagnosed with lung cancer, and died a mere 37 days from diagnosis. She devoted herself to him in that slim slice of time, then devoted her time from that moment on to answering, both in words and actions, what she would do were she herself given a mere 37 days to live. The mother of two young daughters, her own answer was both simple and profound: share what she would want her daughters to know, about herself and about what she'd learned it took to lead a happy and loving life.

The result is sublime. No, "sublime" is overused and inadequate: the result is an astonishing, rich, gorgeous collection of beautifully written essays that simultaneously make me want to keep reading (faster! faster!) and throw down the book and have at it myself. They're livable lessons that don't feel preachy, complex ideas rendered wondrously clear.

And delight. This is a book chock-full of delight, serendipity and joy. It is a book you want to eat, almost, and a movement you want to be a part of. Passionate readers from all over started sending Digh artwork and stories of their own, and much of the art contained in the book was created by fans and friends of the 37 Days blog. (You can check out the Flickr pool to see samples.)

For those of you who like this sort of thing, there are also exercises to help you dive in yourself, both immediate, actionable stuff and longer-term project-type exercises. For me, the stories, wonderful, wonderful stories, are more than enough, all by themselves.

xxx
c

Image ©2008 Paula Bogdan, via Flickr.

• Buy Patti Digh's Life Is a Verb on Amazon
• Read Patti Digh's blog, 37 Days
• Watch the illustrated video: "Why 37 Days?"
• View the 37 Days Challenge image pool on Flickr