Fortune Cookies to the Rescue!

Like all authors, I keep a quote file. For today, I'm sharing a bunch of fortunes that I have saved.

Why fortune cookies? Well, I'm in the middle of a love scene for my work in progress, Curse of the Spider Woman, and I can't think of anything more creative. Sorry!

Pull the universe inside you. Make it your own.

The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention.

Your enthusiasm inspires people.

Your sparkle will never fade.

Lastly:

Smile if you like this fortune cookie.

Random photos from New York City

 I was shuffling through my iPhone pictures, and decided to post some things that I liked. Just because. :)

The Footed Bowl from the NY Metropolitan Museum of Art. I have a replica in my house, because this is one of the coolest pieces of pottery ever.

 William, the Blue Hippo, the Met's unofficial mascot, and the inspiration for my first tattoo. I admire hippos' strength and ferocity.

 Hatshepsut, the female pharaoh.

 This is Lucy (Austrolopithecus). I wept when I saw her. It was like looking at the mother of us all.


What random things cross your mind?

Overheard in the Charming-Mercury household:

Me to The Charming Man: "I know you are a keyboard slut. And I'm ok with it."

More stuff from my bizarre brain.

I was singing along with Michael Jackson's Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough in the shower.

Instead of the chorus:

Keep On With The Force Don't Stop
Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough

I sang:

Go on, to the Post Office
Don't stop 'til you drop it off....


Keep on dropping it off, folks!

Linda Mercury

Dracula's Secret - to buy, click here
Dracula's Desires- to buy, click here

Quote of the day

The final line of an IM conversation between The Charming Man and myself:

"Cannibalism can be freeing!"

Curses, foiled again!

The Charming Man just shot down my idea of turning the interior of the house into a bouncy castle.

I think my brain is going.

My very weird brain.

There is a downside to growing up in a family of clowns. Today was a great example.

This afternoon, I treated myself to lunch at the yummy Davis Street Tavern. To my left, a gentleman was interviewing a lady for some kind of tech/design position.

(first off, can I just say "Euuuwww" to interviewing someone while they are trying to eat? In public, where strangers can listen in? Isn't the lunch portion of an interview supposed to be a break so the interviewee can relax and let their personality emerge?? Sheesh)

The gentleman (who looked like he was about to mow the lawn - I mean, come on, dude! She's interviewing you, too) said something that went a little something like this:

"You are in a meeting with a client. You've done your research and come up with what you think is the best proposal. I come to the meeting and I completely disagree with you. My proposal is the exact opposite of yours. What do you do?"

I had to clap my hand over my mouth because I wanted to answer that question for her. And I wanted to say, "Well, naturally you stand up and scream:

'WRONG! YOU ARE WRONG, WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING???'"



Lord, I crack myself up.

Working hard on Book Three

Yes. This does count as working.

John Frame

So I went to the Mark Rothko exhibit expecting to be overwhelmed and moved to tears. But for some reason, I wasn't feeling the magnificence I had before when I'd seen his work.

That's ok, though. I'm allowed my moods and you can't force emotional catharsis. So it was with great surprise when I wandered eerie yet excellent music into a mysterious area of the Portland Art Museum. and found a dark wonderland.

John Frame creates sculptures out of wood, glass eyes, found objects, and clockworks to tell a non-linear story he has titled Three Fragments of a Lost Tale. 

Included in the exhibit is the stop action movie he created with his articulated figures.

Out and about.

I'm the sort that needs a lot of intellectual stimulation, or my brain goes crazy with the self-criticism. I finally remembered that in the midst of a crisis of confidence last night. So today, I took the light rail into Portland, along with my journal and camera, and took a day to remember the outside world.

My feet and the poem to former mayor Bud Clark.

Pasta, tea, and writing at the Davis St. Tavern.

Some of the best hot chocolate around! With cardamom whipped cream, even.

Wandering around the Chinese Garden. The sun came out occasionally, too!

These frozen yellow flowers smelled like love -sweet and unending.

Outside the Tao of Tea

I adore this little waterfall.

Next to the waterfall, there's this little mysterious cove. I imagine tiny pirates in there.

Stepping stones.

Fu dogs are joy.

Stopped by Oregon Leather to be amazed at the colors and creativity of leather working.

The coolest thing about writing?

Is the odd-ball stuff my brain throws at me.

I've had this beginning rolling around in my head for a while:

“Get a load of her,” a man’s appreciative voice came across the bar.

Rod Wachowska looked up at the entrance of the club. And trouble brought all his carefully constructed fictions tumbling down.

Rachel Albin stood in the doorway, her black tuxedo jacket cut to her navel and her skirt up to her butt cheeks. And just like he had twenty years ago in high school, Rod got a present in his pants.

And from here I have some vague ideas about a reckless woman with a secret deathwish and the By-The-Book man who yearns for her. 

Branching out a little.

I'm the Wednesday blogger over at the Cascade Literary Agency blog. This week is everyone's introductions.

Not my strength, but I did get to indulge my love of parenthetical statements.

What I'm up to.

(about 5'10" ha ha ha haaa)

Writing writing writing writing sleep laundry eat kiss writing writing writing FREAK OUT writing writing eat kiss repeat.

At this moment, I am freaking out, but I'll get back to the revisions in bit.

As an antidote, how about something pretty?

I'm full of good ideas.

When it takes you five times to spell the word "quiet", it's time to go to sleep.

Whew.

I feel much more like me. Yay!

Today, I will attempt to write as poorly as I possibly can - I want to create the worst, on-the-nose, overblown, rambling crap ever placed on the page.

Mostly because that's what happened yesterday, so I might as well roll with it.  Life is short, after all. It is better to write very very badly than to not write at all. :)

Ick.

I have managed some sort of throat/upper chest infection, with a dry, hacking cough that really really sucks. I've got my cough syrup with codeine, and I'm going to bed.

Almost, but not quite there.

Here's a poem I've always liked and I think it's pretty good. It's just not...right yet.

Any thoughts?


My grief breaks me, I will not bend.

Really, what’s wrong with breaking?
Maybe the mighty oak was destined to break,
instead of bending like that stupid willow
(or reeds or whatever it was)
in the irritating fable we get
nagged with when sorrow strikes.

Breaking, the oak is transformed
to warm and cheer a dark night,
provide rest for the weary or
a place to meet and nourish the lonely and hungry.
The willow (or reeds or whatever) just wavers
unchanged, unusable, useless.


The oak and I will break and we both will be created anew.

Hope.

Emily Dickinson said
hope is a thing with feathers,
delicate, light, and small.

I think hope is giant beast with
fangs, claws, and fur.
It crashes into your life,
mauls and
remakes you in a form
unrecognizable, never before seen.
Then, with a final brutal, ravenous bite to your
mangled face,
sends you out stronger than you were.


c. Linda Mercury

Feminism for the day!

A new blog, Contestations: Dialogues on Women's Empowerment, has a fabulous first issue about feminism and Islam. Rock on!!

Also dealing with feminism and Islam -a Saudi woman literally strikes back against the Hai'a, the virtue police. Time to remind Saudi Arabia that their limitations against women are unjust and against the basic Islamic tenets of mercy and justice.


Note: I have to mention that I'm not Muslim - just someone with a background in Middle Eastern history.

Ick.

You know you are sick when watching Julia Child cook makes you want to throw up instead of cook.