Hey, You? Universe? Didn't I Make Myself Clear?

On the recommendation of a friend, I recently rented a documentary/movie called "What The Bleep Do We Know?" It deals with quantum physics in a way that even my science-retarded mind can grasp. The whole thing is uniquely presented -- a fictional story plays out that is interwoven with short interviews of scientists and a mystic guru or two. My "beware of flake" warning bell clanged a time or two during some of the mystic dialogue but, determined to keep an open mind, I turned the bell off and listened. (Truth is, I have a bit of mystic flake in me. In my constant quest to "fit-in," I locked her away in my inner basement a long, long time ago as a kid when I discovered her musings were not socially acceptable to the mainstream. That's when I also acquired the warning bell to let me know when my own flake and others were creeping up on me!) One concept presented in the documentary is the possibility that we can affect our futures by our thoughts. So for weeks now, I've been sending the message out there to the Universe...daily...several times a day...okay, every hour on the hour (not really), that I would have a brand new contract to write another book by June 1 -- a story that intrigues me that's been knocking around in my head a while now. Well, here it is June 3 and, guess what? No contract. Not even an offer yet, though I've had hints one is coming "soon." Since I work with words every day, you'd think I made myself clear to the Universe. June 1. I know I said that! But maybe the request was interpreted as "sometime around the first of June," or possibly, "the first full week in June," or even, "the first full moon in June." It's easy to say things in a way that's misunderstood. It's easy to misinterpret. Who knows? Maybe even the Universe has problems with this.

Just yesterday my cosmetologist was microdermabrasing my face. (Yes, I'm still paying good money to be tortured in the name of vanity!) She told me that after returning home from a trip with her husband, she had found her razor in her 19 year old son's bathroom. Fearing he'd had his girlfriend over for the night while they were away, she confronted him. He blushed and told her not to worry, he'd used the razor to shave his legs. Apparently "girls like that," these days. From that conversation we segued into one about my book, My Perfectly Imperfect Life, which she told me she just began reading on another trip. "Did your son go with you on this trip?" I asked. "No," she answered. "He had to work. " A pause then, "Now, if I can just figure out why that black bra was in his pocket..." I burst out laughing. I thought she was talking about her son, and that she was the most naive mother of a 19 year old male on earth! Then it hit me she had switched topics midstream and that she referred to the big black bra discovered by Dinah in her husband Stan's pocket in My Perfectly Imperfect Life!

Haven't reported in on the reading front lately. Mary Alice Monroe's Sweetgrass was a lushly written story about family with a gorgeous southern setting that puts the reader "there." Currently I'm reading an unpublished novel written by a twenty-two year old young man--a friend and classmate of my son's. This is the first novel he's ever written and I predict a bright future ahead for him as a writer! It's wonderful to see fresh new talent, to hear a unique new voice, and interesting to see how a young man's thought processes work. (Sometimes a bit
unsettling, too, since I have two sons!)

Must go work on revising the YA, then I'm off to look for shoes for a wedding!

Happy Reading!

Jenny