WHY AM I HERE?

I am reading a book about the miracles of synchronicity. I hesitate to give the title or its link on Amazon for fear of turning people off because the author is popular, and you may have preconceived notions about him/her.

I have believed that "coincidences" are the miracles that the Divine doesn't sign their name to for many years. I have watched these miracles come into my life and transform it. Many people say, "Everything happens for a reason." It's true. The trick is to get with the flow and direct the coincidences to be aligned with your intentions.

"Intentions create coincidences," the author writes.

The Upanishads say, "You are what your deepest desire is. As is your desire, so is your intention. As is your intention, so is your will. As is your will, so is your deed. As your deed, so is your destiny."

What intentions do I live with unconsciously, I wondered. Earlier the book (Don't worry, I'll tell you later), had an exercise that was very illuminating. You were to write, "Why am I here?" I listed 15 responses with number one, of course, being to love, with to create, find justice (?), to seek and some other sort of lame ones.

Then you were to do it again. "Why Am I Here"? This time I quickly wrote 28 reasons that were not lame. Some of them surprised me, but all were intuitively on target with my inner knowledge. The began with "to love," and went on with reasons such as: to create, to write, to listen, to understand, to have compassion, to give support, to give guidance, to show the way, to seek oneness, to be God, to gain knowledge, to learn, to gain wisdom, to find joy, to find peace, to find serenity, to radiate light, to inspire, to edify, to lift up spirits and to motivate.

You were asked to see if you saw any pattern or progression in the two responses, and, "What does this tell you about how you see your life?"

The book writes, "Every coincidence becomes an opportunity for you to become the person the universe intended you to be."

"Whatever you put your attention becomes energized. Whatever you take your attention away from dwindles."

"The more attention you put on coincidences, the more you will attract other coincidences which will help you clarify their meaning."

I decided I wanted the highest intentions I could formulate and get behind. They would attract the right coincidences. I would have a better chance of achieving my soul's purpose in life.

I went back to my second list of "Why Am I Here?" I then reworded each response to form it into an intention; e.g., "I desire to love, I want to create, I wish to write, I desire to have compassion, I plan to allow synchronicity to work in my life..."

When I was a young Flower Child in the Sixties, we noticed the incredible amount of "coincidences"--how everything was always all "synched" up. One friend named the force behind this, "Cosmo." I like that. I am going to get out of the way with my limited local mind of rationalizations and unmindful sleeping while awake and let Cosmo work her/his magic on my life.

The book suggests that you journal or keep a list of the coincidences you find. Then add to them the ones that occur that relate to them. You'll find the meaning for them. You will learn what you're supposed to learn.

Okay, cynics, the book is The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire by Deepak Chopra. Did you ever think that he has a large publishing and speaking presence because he has a lot to share?

FREEDOM: CHOOSING PEACE, ABUNDANCE AND JOY

Why I Am Like A Box Of Chocolates

My own dear sister  was the first to tell me that I was definitely like a box of chocolates because (imagine an evil sneer here),  "You never know what you're going to get."  She wasn't just whistling "Dixie." 

When you open up that yummy looking box of Fannie May Chocolates, you might even find an empty box devoid of all but a few crumbs.  That's how I roll.  It's the well-known label you can't trust  when come to town.  "I am large. I contain multitudes," wrote Walt Whitman.  "Hey, beatnik, me too!"

My multitudes are biochemical.  Hey, I'm bipolar.  Life is one big roller coaster ride for me.  What can you expect?   I might be sweeter than chocolate covered marshmallow fluff one day, or as innocent as plain milk chocolate, or as quirky as a piece of covered pineapple.  The girl can't help it!  It's all in the way the brain is wired.  The disorder is marked by wild, cyclical mood swings from highs or mania to deep depressions which include angry outbursts. 

The ironic part for me of being described as being like a box of chocolates  is that it is supposed to be a comfort food.  It is normally ingested to prompt feelings of coziness and security.  We eat it when we are unhappy to cheer ourselves up.  It's as though Lucy van Pelt, Linus' mean older sister, poured fire ants all over his security blanket.  Doubly cruel.

Candy lovers beware!  I may not have taken all my medications lately, in which case I can seem quite nutty or taste like the "mystery" chocolates that no one really is sure of what the contents are,  and everyone is as sorry they ate it as they would be eating a big serving of meat loaf at the Target diner.

Chocolate is unfortunately not the comfort food others think of it as, when it's my personality traits its covering.  It may look enticing, but so does the Venus flytrap to an insect.  My trap slams shut just as quickly,  if I haven't taken my mood stabilizers.   I have had two ex-husbands and some long-term partners who could have attested to that,  if several of them hadn't died from sheer exhaustion and aggravation.  Yeah, they would have told you about the "Days of Wine, Chocolates and Roses."

Look out for that nougat.  You don't know what it's capable of doing inside your mouth.   It can kick back with the recoil of a .458 Winchester Mag. (500 grain, 68.9 ft. lbs.).  It can break your teeth into splinters.   Just call it one of my black moods.

The cheaters who pick up a chocolate,  and, thinking no one is the wiser, take a tiny nibble to see what's inside and then put it back, are in for some rough trade action.  They get what they deserve from my box:  mold, decay and hunks of some unknown foreign matter that they'll regret chewing and pull right out of their mean little mouths.  The result of another roller coaster day gone South.

Myself, I naturally prefer dark chocolate.  'Nuff said.

Life is like a box of chocolates because so many suffer from near multiple personalities, as I do.

Psychosis comes in different fillings and flavors too.  I relate to having a wide selection from which to choose:  "Hmmm, let's see.  Today feels like obsessive-compulsive, no, make that paranoid, but I think I feel an attack of borderline personality creeping up. Am I going up?  Down?   Have a chocolate won't you?"

Life is like a box of pre-licked chocolates if you ask me.   Where is the uniqueness and freshness?  Why is it always the same old euphoria or gloom and doom?   Why is it never the middle ground?

Have one with a cherry in it, won't you?  So I can watch as it splashes all over your face and clothes!  Gosh, I needed that laugh.

Today is a nice day.  I am mellow.  I am a chocolate covered jelly piece.  I only get a little stuck in your teeth too because I feel so good.  I like myself today.  Hey, mister, do you like me today?  If not, who cares.  I won't give two shits tomorrow. 

I'm no Rock of Gibraltar which is how one expert with nothing better to do described the appeal of the large rectangles that come in an assorted box.   Far from it, I crumble like a used Kleenex if called upon to take responsibility or act like an adult.  That's why those chocolate covered jaw-breakers will pull your teeth out by their roots.

This same time-waster candy expert says circle shapes are for party animals:  people who don't like to be alone and feel lost without company.  I prefer conflict and chaos myself--it makes me feel at home.  So I make sure that the circles contain coconut for all the people who dislike it so.

Sometimes, due to my personality disorders, and I forgot to mention adult attention deficit disorder too.  I am a piece of a little of everything like the marzipan almonds in my box.  Yes, a marzipan center topped with a roasted almond in a dark chocolate shell--a little bit of everything all rolled into one.  Too much for some, I call it a creative offering.  If I were a candy bar, I'd be a Whatchamacallit. 

And I'm nothing if not creative. I analyze everything.   If a chocolate is not made with the right ingredients, it may not taste right, look dreadful and even lead to illness.  If it is placed in fancy wrapping though it could just as easily be hiding the fact that it is cheap, nasty and inedible.  The burden of consumption is not mine.  The confined enclosure of the box could lead these delicate little gifts  to perish if not presented in the right manner.  Then the world for them would really be a terrible place. 

In summary, to throw my crazy-cone hat into the ring with Thomas Hobbes,* "The life of man (is) solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."  That's why my life and I are like a box of chocolates.  Now you know.  "Want a Prozac, partner?"

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*"Thomas Hobbes (5 April 1588- 4 December 1679, English Philosopher,  remembered for his work on political philosophy.  His account of human nature as self-interested cooperation has proved to be an enduring theory in the field of philsophical anthropology." -- Wikipedia

MS. REFUSENIK TELLS IT ALL: "OH, IT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANYONE.''

MS. REFUSENIK TELLS IT ALL: "OH, IT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANYONE.''

"OH, IT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANYONE.''

I don't think I should be blamed for the little faux pas that occurred on the night of my almost first date with the cat of the walk from work. 

I was trying to get ready for my much anticipated first date with a luscious specimen from work that all the women called "The Prince."  He was the sole embodiment of everything that all the other male worker losers didn't have:  he was intelligent, great looking, and had interests other than bean counting. He had been seen reading Salon.com  at his desk while Forbes were stacked up in the wastebasket.  He drove a hot car.  Okay, call me superficial, but it's been a long dry spell since I've been out on a date.

Oprah wouldn't blame me for what happened, and I don't even think Dr. Phil would.  I have a serious case of adult A.D.D.  And if you do watch Oprah at all, then you know that hoarders have a disease beyond their control.  They deserve understanding and not criticism.

I blame my friends too.  They refused to support me in getting a pet.  They insist that even a medium-sized dog or cat would get lost in my squalor,  and never again see the light of day. I do have a pet, a very good pet, and I hide him if one of them comes over.

Aiden rang the buzzer just as I was wrestling a red leather sandal free from a clump of computer cables, mystery and extension cords and a few belts that got into the mix for some reason.   I got to him on his fourth buzz.  I like impatience in a suitor, don't you?

He looked as if he always wore that impeccable suit coat and lovely silk tie. I tried to imagine him in beat up looking jeans and a torn tee, and I couldn't. He was too perfect, while I was wracking my brain trying to remember if I had removed all of the paper towel I'd stuck in my dripping armpits while putting on my makeup.

I tried not to look at him as he took stock of his surroundings.  The look revulsion which always came over the countenances of all my new guests was just too much for me at the moment.  I had manners though, and  asked if he would care for a cool drink.  He said water would be "grand."  I liked that, "grand."  He spoke the King's English, alrighty rooh.

Of course there wasn't a single clean glass in the house.  I found one less filthy than the others, rinsed it out and filled it with cold tap water.  Then I set it down the only place where there was room:  on the floor.  It was a wide-mouthed empty jar but it would do.  

I ran to the bathroom to check for stray paper towel bits and to wipe the sweat off my face.  Then I returned to get the glass which was now a bit opaque thanks to the three pieces of ice I had pried up off the bottom of the freezer.   I handed it to Adien with all the grace I could muster as I climbed over a very tall stack of yellowed newspapers to reach him, nearly tearing the hem out of my skirt with my high heel.  

And then the man proved that he could pass an audition as a screamer in a slasher flick.  I swear the effeminate, high-pitched wail he let out had to wake not just the dead, but my zombie neighbors who were usually transfixed in front of the tube hypnotized by game shows, sit coms and fried pigs feet or some other disgusting slop.  I saw him throw the offending glass on my pile of last spring's vacation laundry, where it ricocheted off unharmed.

I was confused at first.  I thought he was some princess and the pea type who had spotted my spit-and-a-promise washing job on the pickle jar. I waited to take my scolding, as he continued to cough up sputum from the bottom of his lungs and spit the crud on my floor.  Uncalled for I say.  I don't care what kind of dive you live in.  You can't just go around spitting on people's floors!

"Did you put that creature in my glass on purpose?" he managed.  "Is that your idea of a practical joke, because, listen you bitch,  there's nothing funny about passing on germs, disease and God only knows what kind of infections."

I walked over to the glass, curious,  picked it up and yelled to my little reptile buddy, "Timmy, how did you get in there?  Did I forget to change your island home again?  I am so mean.  You just needed some clean water to get you going again."


Sure enough the high-strung little Map turtle, needed water to duck into because he felt afraid because we had a guest.  Map turtles became especially aquatic when they felt nervous or fearful.  I had neglected to provide enough water for him to cover himself.   Thank goodness he was an independent kind of guy who could look out for himself.  But being thrown across the room couldn't have soothed his nerves any.

Aiden found his way to the bathroom.  I heard him gargling with my Listerine like a row boat with a tug boat engine.   I owed Timmy some peat moss, wet sand and a little ivy plant for saving me from an evening with this hysterical neurotic.   I had a new mystery I wanted to read anyhow. So much for dating.  I think it's overrated.  Too much trouble and too many changes to go through, if you ask me. 

A TOTAL OF FOUR ROADS, TWO TAKEN, TWO NOT, by R. Frost and Me

 The Road Not Taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Copyright © 1962, 1967, 1970
by Leslie Frost Ballantine.


 
The Street Not Taken, by MsRefusenik (with apologies to R. Frost)

Two streets forked in a bad slum.
I didn't want to go down either one.
I stood there trying not to look too dumb.
As far as I could see all was scum.
If only I had carried a big gun.

I chose the one without the dead rat,
Too late, I saw it had all the crack dealers.
When they spoke to me I sure didn't chat.
Could the other have been where it was at?
Next time, I vowed, I'll first put out some feelers.

I had a choice and I chose Crack Lane.
No wonder I didn't see many people walking here.
If I ever make this trip again I'll take a plane.
Or maybe I could hire me an Andy Frain.
I won't come back because I feel too much fear.

I'll be home soon and here I come.
The guys in the bar will buy me a drink.
Two streets forked in a bad slum,
And I ran before I knew what from
It very nearly sent me over the brink

(fish surrendering) haiku

fish surrendering
their flesh to man's foul contempt

an ocean of shame

I TOUGHT I LOST MY BLOG TONIGHT

You know my Mac is hacked.  I say that because it is true without a doubt.  The a-hole took over my little 17-inch iMac 5,2 and turned it into a Leopard server.  I read that Tiger 10.4 Macs made very good servers.  I won't go into all the torment, persecution, money and jobs lost, sanity threatened, well-being undermined, etc.  You can guess if you have half an imagination.

I got desperate to get rid of this guy the other day, not that I'm not always desperate, but now he's used up all but a whif of memory and the poor thing is dying.  I went to the Ethical Hackers Network forum and posted my problem looking for advice.  What I really wanted was for some good soul, some once black hat and now white hat hacker to come forward and tell me he'd hack my Mac back.  But instead I got two replies telling me to pack it up and move on.  The one reply suggested that I might try not broadcasting on the Internet or something like that.  I didn't know what he was talking about until I saw the link there.  I clicked on it and was staring at MsRefusenik's 400 Google mentions, many of them taken from private sources.  I flame across the Internet and I guess now I am paying the price.

I checked my Gmail account today and happened to notice a lot of drafts--over 220.  That didn't look right to me.  I started opening up the ones that said "no subject."  They were all scripts--probably Trojans he put there.  I began to delete and there were so many I just got overwhelmed and gave up.  I had to get out of there.

Then tonight I went back to pull the plug on Buzz.   I had just read the above article, "Top 10 Privacy Tweaks You Should Know About," by Kevin Purdy,  originally published in Lifehacker.  It's a really good article and one you should pick up just for the links on how to do a background check on yourself if nothing else.

I had just been wondering last night what this Buzz was that has appeared on my Gmail page.  I read somewhere on Google that you would get more traffic for your blog by linking to it, so I did.  Kevin says no, no, no.  It's the last thing you want to do.  Buzz exposes parts of your e-mail; namely your contacts and a profile page, and I'm not sure what else.

So I'm there to try to get Google to limit my public exposure, and lo and behold, I see above all my mail a huge banner with a picture of me, parts of profile taken from my blogs, and a bunch of personal info.  They wanted me to give out my e-mail address too.  All of this was going into Google pages I read.

I could not believe it.  Without reading the whole thing, I just checked where it said "delete."  The last line I saw vanishing said that my blog was attached.  I was outraged.  How could Blogger do this to me?  I have about 50 posts in this thing, and there's some sentimental value as an online journal.

My heart was beating fast as I jumped all over the help pages looking for how to undelete it.  I searched the topic in the help forum and was relieved to learn that some people actually got there's back.  I followed one suggestion and went back to my dashboard and just kept clicking on the "Save All" or whatever it says on the bottom of the page to bring up the extra blog there's not room for which is always the only one I still use.  I kept pushing that sucker and suddenly as if  by magic my sweet blog reappeared.

I still am angry at Google and Blogger.  Don't they know that we don't live in a world where we can afford to advertise ourselves anymore?  I'm re-thinking Facebook even though two good friends just re-entered my life after about a thousand years of being gone.

I have been a bit publicity hungry because I like traffic.  I like to have readers write to me, and I write back.  I think I've learned my lesson.  When will Google?

Anyhow I get to Gmail tonight

I OUGHT TO BE IN PICTURES

I was whining about my hacked computer over at Ethical Hacking Network Forum, and looking for some advice and help tonight. Now he has locked me out of the computer which sits on my desk. I have been through so much with this hacker that I believe I have to write a book to adequately outline all of my unbelievable adventures as a hackee.

Anyhow, I only got two replies from my plea. One man strongly suggested that I might want to change my screen name, you know, MsRefusenik. He included a link. I clicked on the link and came to Google's lengthy spread of MsRefusenik's embarrassments, exploits, writings and misadventures. There are something like 437 of them. So I guess it's safe to say that I haven't been a real private person--at least MsRefusenik hasn't been.

But I found the coolest thing while I was scanning what all is there. There are pictures of Refuseniks from all over the world. I was beginning to feel like the only one. No, there must be hundreds. I saved the best ones I saw, and I didn't even even go through them all.

So if you've ever wondered why she (me) calls herself "Refusenik," know now that she is in good company with courageous people.

Here now is a gallery of some of my fellow Refuseniks:

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Mafia Refusenik

I HAVE A BOOK OUT! (Oh, I am so grandiose. I contributed an essay to an anthology.)

Of course, the theme of these non-fiction, true essays is that when a door is shut, a window is often miraculously opened for us and we continue on--even if perhaps we find ourselves on a whole new path.

My essay is "The Transformation." It's on page 130. Here is the blog page the editor keeps us about the book's progress:


ANNOUNCEMENT to Family, Blog Readers, and Friends:

Friday, March 12, 2010

The book is here!
When One Door Closes
Reflections from Women on Life’s Turning Points


On behalf of all of the authors in this book, I am happy to announce the publication of this fascinating collection of diverse stories by 53 remarkable women from the U.S, Canada and The Netherlands!

Every book purchased will help women and girls facing difficult transitions in their lives. Sugati Publications is donating 35% of all profits to five non-profit organizations that assist women. For more information about the designated non-profit recipients, go to the Reflections From Women website.

When One Door Closes brings forth genuine and heartfelt accounts that offer readers an opportunity to make a connection, to engage in reflection, to find encouragement on their own journeys, and to discover that even in the most difficult of circumstances, compassion, hope, forgiveness, and peace can be found.

To see previews of each of the stories or to provide comments on any of the essays/poems, visit the blog at: ] Consider leaving a comment if an essay or poem calls out to you. The authors will appreciate your feedback.

Thank you for your interest in this book and your support of the 53 authors. May you find peace on your own journey and at every turning point.

Terri Spahr Nelson, Editor

Check out this review!
I found "When One Door Closes" powerful. I think it should be required reading for all men. The complexity and depth of the experiences, emotions and wisdom captured in these essays is amazing. --Greg Flannery, Editor, Street Vibes

So dear MsRefusenik Readers, if there are any (blog stats say there aren't), if you do get a chance to pick up the book, I hope that you will find as I did that it empowers your feminine spirit that knows it can overcome any hardship and achieve a life of greatness and giving. If you benefit from what you read, please be so kind as to take a few minutes and write a review:

In the meantime, I must get started on revising my novel that I wrote in 90 days for

I Wrote A Novel

I did it. I wrote a Novel in 30 days with support and encouragement from people at NaNovWriMo. I have my certificate to prove that I am a winner. I have wanted to write a novel since I was first old enough to read one. It has been on my goals list for the past umpteen years. And I finally did it. I'm not saying it's a brilliant novel. I'm not saying that it will be published and become a bestseller. It may sit forever in my desk drawer, but I'll know that I wrote a novel. I am very proud of myself. I can't wait to get started on the next one. But that will have to wait until I finish revising this one and sending it off to get printed as a book. I have a lot of editing to do. I learned how to write a novel as I felt my way along the process. I made tons of mistakes. I figured if I waited to write one until I knew exactly how to do it perfectly, I might never write one. NaNovWriMo seemed a great opportunity to just go for it, dive in and get the deed done. I'm so glad I did it. I even sort of kept up with my freelancing work. I was late on a couple of deadlines, but I still got perfect evaluations from project directors. My apartment was a disaster and I did no laundry or dishes, but that's nothing new. Neither was the mountain of unopened mail left for me to sort or the pounds of magazines and newspapers to sort and recycle. It was all well worth it.

Walt Whitman's quote from the preface of "Leaves Of Grass:" A Call To Free, Passionate People

"This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body." - Preface to the 1855 edition of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass I have loved Walt Whitman since I first was introduced to him in high school. His poetry is full, authentic, passionate, dangerous and courageous. He is never afraid to be himself and to say exactly what he feels and thinks. Yes, "stand up for stupid and crazy," I'm sure there wasn't a large following behind that exhortation, and yet it is so disarmingly candid and innocent. "Take off your hat to nothing known or unknown to any man or number of men." Stand tall and proud and be counted as an authentic, noble and proud person who knows who he or she is and need not bow to anyone. I love it that he asks the readers to "re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book." Learn to be an original thinker. Trust your own judgment. Don't believe everything you have been spoonfed. Don't take second-hand information to heart as truth until you have sieved it through your mind for its purity of truth. "Dismiss whatever insults your soul." It would be fair to guess that some of what insulted Whitman's soul might have been narrow mindedness, judgmentalism, puritanicalness, false morality, hypocrisy, phoniness, bad poetry, hurting the environment, looking down on the common man and the like. This is only a small part of the long preface. In it he writes about his love for the United States of America and his love for poetry that sings. He says about poetry: "The poems distilled from other poems will probably pass away. The coward will surely pass away." How accurate his views. Whitman's poetry is still powerful because he had the courage to show his whole authentic self in his poems. His poems were as unique and as original as he was. The imitators' poetry we do not still study in high school and college classrooms. To me this quote is electric in its vibrancy and power. It rings with the truth of a man's heart and soul. It is a prayer for every man, woman and child. It is a spiritual meditation on originality, art, nature, simplicity, simple people, the poor, God, the uneducated, mothers with families, and for our human frailties and strengths. Author Notes Walter Whitman (May 31, 1819 - March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist, journalist, and humanist. Proclaimed the "greatest of all American poets" by many foreign observers a mere four years after his death, he is viewed as the first urban poet. He was a part of the transition between Transcendentalism and Realism, incorporating both views in his works. His works have been translated into more than twenty-five languages. Whitman is among the most influential and controversial poets in the American canon. His work has been described as a "rude shock" and "the most audacious and debatable contribution yet made to American literature."

HE WAS JUST A POOR MIXED UP MISUNDERSTOOD KID

Why are they selling Michael Jackson's 911 tapes? And crowding at the hospital where he died? It's another media circus run by apes. For voyeurs who have absolutely no sense of pride. He was society's monster who never got to grow up. Dragged too soon, too fast into the sickly green of the limelight. Too much fame, way too much wealth, power not meant for a pup. He was seen in every kind of pose, lit from above, and in backlight. An aging child with no one to play with that was like himself. He got in trouble for trying to spend time with his real peers. He didn't mean anyone any harm. He was just a little elf. It was hard to know that he had grown up over the years.

101 BEST WEBSITES FOR WRITERS IS OUT

The 11th annual 101 Best Websites for Writers is out courtesy of Writers Digest. Hooray for them. This year they say they went through 2,700 nominations and got the best of the bunch for the listing. This year's list features more blogs and free market listings than in previous years. There are eight sections: Creativity and Challenges, General Resources, Agent Blogs, Publishing Resources, Jobs and Markets, Writing Communities, Genres/Niches and Fun for Writers. It's easier than ever to scan for what you're looking for--blogs, chatting, critiques, classes/workshops, contests, forums, jobs, markets, e-newsletters, podcasts and content for young writers.

MY WILD LIFE IN TEN LINES, SIX WORDS EACH

1. Born breached-- had to be different 2. Wore a mini-skirt to senior prom 3. Flowers in hair in San Francisco 4. Hitchhiked naked and studied Shakespeare's sonnets 5. Paris--Tried to drink like writers 6. Illinois--tried sobering up like secretaries 7. Fiction and Poetry Editor, Dialogue Magazine 8. First child at thirty-six; second forty. 9. Decade being lied to for living* 10 Following my bliss as freelance writer Author Notes *Working as certified substance abuse counselor, I used to tell my kids, "Don't lie to Mommy. Mommy gets lied to for a living." Indicating the amount of fabricating alcoholics and addicts in denial do.

10 WAYS TO LIFT YOUR SPIRITS AND GET HAPPY

"Most folks are about as happy as they make their minds up to be." --Abraham Lincoln

That quotation is often repeated because there is such profound truth in it. What mood did you make up your mind to be in when you woke up today? The vicissitudes of life come and go and life goes on. Why not decide today to let it flow on for better?

Here are ten great ways you can lift your spirits right now, today. The only thing that can stop you from feeling alive and at one with the universe is you. Don't get in your way today and you can be euphoric.

#1. Begin this day on a positive note of gratitude. Get a notebook and a pen and your morning coffee or tea. Now write down everything you are taking for granted this very moment that you are truly grateful for when you think about it.

"Just think how happy you would be if you lost everything you have right now, and then got it back again."--Frances Rodman

When you finish with today's gratitude, start on yesterday's.

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"Happiness is what happens to us when we try to make someone else happy."--Tom Bodett

#2. By now you should be ready to give a little back. Think real hard about who you can reach out to today. Is there an invalid in the neighborhood? Is anyone you know in a nursing home or hospital? Bet they'd like a visit from you. Bet that neighbor who has given up driving would appreciate a visitor popping in to ask if she needs anything from the store or if she would like her lawn mowed. There are so many things you can do for others. Go ahead. It will make your whole day.

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"We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about."

#3. Do you remember how to be enthusiastic? The next thing you should do is take a trip to a local playground. Watch those kids. Did you ever see such enthusiasm over playing on swings, slides, and teeter-toters? How do we manage to lose all that zest for life as the years go by? We should study at their feet.
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"Personally, I experience the greatest degree of pleasure in having contact with works of art. They furnish me with happy feelings of an intensity such as I cannot derive from other realms."--Albert Einstein

#4. When was the last time you spent a few hours just strolling through an art museum? You think you know what you like or don't like, but today is a new day. You may fall in love with a painter or sculptor that you never even imagined before. Stay until you find a work of art that brings tears to your eyes because it is so uncommonly beautiful.
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"A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes."--Albert Einstein

#5. Use your new attitude to appreciate the beauty of nature. If you live in a city of any size there should be a zoo. a children's museum or some place that has a living butterfly collection. (If you live in a rural area, you know where to go.) Google butterflies, grab your camera and go.
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"Act as if you were already happy and that will tend to make you happy." -- Ernie Banks

# 6. What kind of artist were you going to grow up to be? If you're not already an artist, it's time to get out the wood-working tools, paints, paper and pen (or computer) whatever. Write a poem, story or song about your happy day. Build a birdhose. Paint a picture of how the butterflies made you feel. You'll think of something if you let yourself.

#7. Prepare a dinner fit for nobility. If you don't cook, go to a nice restaurant. You deserve it.

#8. Put something on the CD player that all of you will respond to. Don't be surprised if it's something classical and you normally listen to rock. Make up your own dance.

#9. Call a friend to tell them about your extraordinarily joyous day. Invite them to hear about it while you go for a moonlight walk. The night air will feel wonderful and your body will thank you for the exercise.

#10. It's bedtime and you managed to keep your spirits high. Now complete the day by finding an uplifting. inspirational book. Or maybe you'd like some good laughs. Get a book by somebody who's genuinely funny and laugh yourself to sleep. Then have exotic and sweet adventures all night long in your dreams.

The next day repeat with variations.

"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."--Dale Carnegie

Technorati Profile

HITCHHIKING NAKED

You must believe that I wouldn't tell a lie Because the tale I'm telling here sounds insane But it really happened in the Seventies... days gone by Back in the days when flashing and streaking raised cane. A friend and I hid stuck out our thumbs on the main college drag We were trying to get to a party we'd heard about. We were both stark naked and it wasn't some gag It was just the way things were going on that route. And sure enough, a car stopped and let us in. There were four naked jaybirds to join us The driver had on a hat but the rest of him was all skin. No one uttered a comment about our nudity or made a fuss. We were in good, decent company in our indecent exposure They were going to the same party we were trying to crash. There was no need for name exchanging or other disclosure. We were all just flashers out to make a most public splash. We piled out of the car when we got to the party. And went inside the house exploding with loud rock. There we were met by forty naked people so hearty, They all seemed to be a wholesome, hale unique flock. We all danced our naked booties down. No one seemed to notice the lack of clothing after a while. Some would-be prom queen came in wearing a gown But quickly disrobed when she saw she was out of style. It was a naked hoedown, a nudists' bash. A few clever men wore top hats and ties. Some prudent girls wore sneakers in case they had to dash. But the strangest thing was where people kept their eyes. Everyone looked at the faces of everyone's spaces. No one was caught in open-mouthed stares. It was like we were all children living under the graces Good children dancing who all had said their prayers. It was a naked rock and roll party for dancing And everyone got into the spirit of the thing. Of course there was some subtle glancing But no more than any dance floor party would bring. We went home the same way we came. Hitchhiking naked down the college streets. Getting picked up by naked drivers seemed tame The only complaint was the hot leather seats. The next day we had to put clothes back on And give up our childlike state of purity. Our wilder, younger selves were gone. Hiding behind our newfound clothed maturity.

HEALING THE INNER CHILD WITH HIS GENTLE TOUCH

Healing the Child Within With His Gentle Touch I would trade all the kisses swept with passion Of deep-breathing lip-locks, I'd give up my ration And you can have the deep-diving tongue dances too. I'd give it all up for one last gentle touch I once knew It wasn't a tight embrace that touched my soul. It wasn't a soul kiss that made me feel whole. My true love had a touch like the breath of a child. It was so sure, so gentle, so kind and so mild. He would take my small face in his large and sturdy palm Smooth my hair, let loose a strand, and let me feel that balm. Rub his hand across my cheek with fingers softly floating Tender as a mother moving a curl on a child upon whom she is doting. I would feel soft and small and fragile. His loving hands were so agile. He never failed to let me be his own loving child for a while. I let all the love in without seduction and without guile. Then we kissed and became man and woman, lovers again With a secret knowledge of what we had just shared then. I knew the gentleness beneath the steel. He knew the way to make the child in me heal.

THE ECCENTRIC HOLDS A FREE YARD SALE

"I stay crazy to keep from going insane. Those were the words of a song, but I believed that phrase should be my motto. If I could handle getting a tattoo that I would like for the rest of my natural born days, I guess I'd have that phrase tattooed on me somewhere. People just don't always get that about me. I have to stay crazy--call it eccentric, but please don't call me normal--that way lies real sickness. You know wearing polyester blends and keeping a day planner and all. "If I couldn't act out, dress crazy, act crazy, and just plain be my good old, let's say "eccentric" self, "I know I'd be locked up somewhere. So what if people in fancy cars stopped for a red light when I'm standing there at the curb reach over and push down the car door lock. Let them. I'd rather be living my life of freedom than their constipated lives of "I should, I should, I should." Just don't should on me I want to tell them. "But don't give away this jazzy paper umbrella. I love it. I just found it the other day. I'm keeping it for at least a week or two. Did you notice my Pippi Longstocking tights? I just found them recently too. Can't give them up yet either. "So anyhow. It's like I told that kid who asked if he could cut through my backyard. "Son, what is the use of living in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with a waterbed in your backyard if you have to let kids cut through your yard? No, I don't think that's gonna happen." "He seemed to get what I was saying. Glad I didn't have to spell it out for him. "I am having one of my free yard sales today. I have about one a month. I've got too damn much clutter accumulated. As I tried to explain to one of the folks who came really early, if you have too much stuff you're likely to start thinking like your materialistic. Then you get greedy to get more stuff. You want it. You got to have it. Maybe you get some useless job to better afford to buy junk you really don't even want or need, you just think you should have it because everybody else has it. You're selling your precious time for junk. Why next thing you know I'd be buying a cell phone or some other damn fool worthless product that I have no use for. I really, truly believe that. "Here take this big hunk of amethyst, mister. Somebody, I won't say who, told me you are a stoned alcoholic. This amethyst will protect you against the state of drunkenness. Just keep it with you. Keep it close to you. What do you mean you don't want it? It's free. Take it. "People are sometimes suspicious if you just give things away, but why would I charge anything when they are doing me the favor of keeping me from getting materialistic?" "Oh, you like these beads I have on? Well, then you have to take them. I have been getting too attached to them. Next thing you know I'll want more. I really believe that. "Excuse me, are you going to be here a while looking at the books? I need to go check some dumpsters now. Could you just sort of direct people who don't know what to do or what not. Just encourage them to take stuff and remind them that it's all free. Thank you, miss, thank you very much. "Yeah, I got to go. It's garbage day. I have to watch my neighbor's like nobody's business. They are likely to throw out brand new clothing, living plants, good food, books in good condition, you name it. They can't even be bothered to put the stuff in recycling. Right into the dumpster it goes. Talk about waste. Never saw anything like the waste in this neighborhood. Why don't you come help me if you're not doing anything right now? We can bring the stuff right back here and give it away. "Are you hungry? We could hit Trader Joe's dumpsters too. They always have a lot of nice fresh stuff to eat. I'm in the mood to find some citrus. "No, the police hardly ever bother me. They stay away from me because they think I'm just nuts. Crazy like a fox, I say. Whose nuts? The ones doing the 9 to 5 to accumulate more worthless junk, or me with all my sweet free time just working a little to get rid of the stuff before it grows and festers and tries to take over my life? I really believe that. "Course I work, when I want to. I work for myself as a writer. I write about any freaky old thing I want to whenever I take a mind to write about it. I follow my bliss and my bliss is my art. Everyone needs art in their lives. Everyone needs to have something in life to do that brings them joy. It's hard to call it work when I would pay to do it, but the truth is sometimes I get paid to do it by others. And the kick is I'm just doing what I want to be doing. I really think it should work like that. It was Joseph Campbell that advised people to "follow your bliss". Nobody thought he was nuts though, did they? "Drugs? Oh I used to take drugs. Didn't like them very much. They made me insane. I couldn't be wild, crazy and free on drugs like I am naturally. I was always paranoid, greedy for more drugs, and worrying about getting busted. Yes, drugs make you kind of an ugly person. I'd rather be naturally eccentric, know what I mean? "Okay, I'll take this dumpster. You can check that one. What to look for? Just anything that is still good. Don't let anything worthwhile get wasted by going to the dump when someone could still use it. There's too much poverty and lack in this country to be so wasteful. I really believe that. "Would you look at this. Do you believe they are throwing out these perfectly good children's clothes? This is a crime. There are poor children who have no clothes to wear and they are just putting them in the dumpster instead of giving them to Good Will or some place like that. What did you find over there? "Come on. Don't be shy. Nobody's watching us. They probably just think we're a couple of old bums if they are. (Laughs long and loud.) Don't you think that's funny, no? Well, it really doesn't matter what people think. Better to be yourself and be free and be happy. And serve the people. Yeah, that's it. You gotta serve the people. Bob Dylan wrote a song about how you're gonna have to serve somebody, remember it? Alright, get out of my way. I'll do that dumpster. Then let's go up to Trader Joe's. I'm really hungry now. I didn't get any lunch. "No, keep your money. I don't need to be going to any fast food joint. There's nothing they're serving that I can't find later in their dumpsters, so don't spend good money on that crap. Besides, Trader Joe's is much healthier. They throw away things that are still good and that are wrapped. It's just like going out for dinner, I guarantee you. You won't come with me then? Suit yourself, but you're missing out. "I think I'll grab a few of those homeless people who hang out by the 7-11 and get them to come with me. Those idiots don't know how to feed themselves if somebody doesn't give them a direct handout on the street. It's not always going to come as easy as that. You have to be self-reliant. You have to know how to take care of yourself. It can be a cold, cruel world. Not everybody is willing to help out their brother, you know. It's a rotten shame, but it's true. "I just about got evicted for bringing one of the homeless people home with me one night recently when it was really cold out. I knew there would be trouble with my neighbors. I was trying to get her to sneak, but she was too damned worried about leaving her cart with all her junk in it outside. We couldn't get it up the stairs between the two of us and we ended up making all kinds of noise. The neighbors all ran to their doors and got a good eye view of us working that dirty cart up the stairs. Of course, they felt obligated, just obligated, to call the landlord and tell him what I was up to. He called me and told me I had ten minutes to get rid of the woman or I would be evicted. What could I do? I was so mad and so sad, but I had to ask her to leave. I can't be looking for another apartment strange as I am. I'm lucky this guy rents to me with some of the crazy stuff I do like my free yard sales once a month. I really felt like I was backed into a corner. It was terrible. I felt just awful. "I plan to make up for it by volunteering for PADS, that's the neighborhood program that provides shelters in churches for homeless people. At least then I can tell homeless people where to go and not just walk by them like I don't see them or some damn thing. 'Let it begin with me' that's what I always say. If everyone believed that and acted on that we might just save this planet yet. I truly believe that. "I guess I'd better be getting back to my sale. I have found you have to push stuff off on people. They're reluctant to take it when its free. They think there are some strings attached or the stuff is stolen or something. You know one of the hardest sales I had was just after my wedding. I wanted to get rid of everything I had gotten for my wedding shower and from my wedding. You wouldn't have believed all the useless junk: ironing boards, wall plaques, Cuisinarts, you name it. People were afraid to even touch the junk just because it was brand new. I knew I sure as hell had no use for it. The old man and I were headed for San Francisco to hang out in a commune. What were we going to do with all those middle-class trappings? I know people meant well and all, but gee whillikers. "I'm going to go into the house and get my stereo. We need some music out here to liven things up. People aren't funky enough for this sale. That's what the problem is. I'll be right back with some George Clinton and the Parliament Funkadelics. We need to get down. I am going to turn that mother up to 11. "Here plug that in for me, would you? That's good. Who do you like to listen to? How about some Super Furry Animals? Do you think the neighbors would like that? Up to 11? What do you mean I'm nuts? I all ready told you I'm eccentric. Like this hat? It's my pimp hat complete with feather. I might as well wear it a minute before I give it away. Somebody will want it, just watch. "You want that CD? Take it please. CD's grow like dust balls. Put two of them together in a box, come back and you've got three. Don't you think so? I really believe that.