instead of coordinating it!
Last year at this time, co-coordinating the Pennwriters Conference nearly cost me my sanity and definitely lost me five pounds (okay, that was an unexpected side benefit). This year, I’ll actually get to enjoy the fabulous keynotes and workshops. And the drinking will be social instead of self-medicating. So sign up and I’ll see you at the bar!
The 25th Annual Pennwriters Conferenence, May 17 – 20 in Lancaster, PA
Here’s a sneak peak at this Sunday’s episode of Oprah’s Next Chapter: America’s Most Unusual Town. The show is about Transcendental Meditation in Fairfield, Iowa — the real town behind my novel, Maharishiville. Tune in and let me know what you think!
As I took down my birthday card shrine from the kitchen window sill (the annual exhibit officially closed March 5) I noted something troubling. The level of mockery inherent in the choice of greeting card grew in direct proportion to how long the sender had known me.
So while I received this lovely card from Patty, my friend of two years:
I am extraordinary
My friend Traci, who has known me for 25 years, felt the need to give me this (in person, no less, so I could witness her laughing hysterically at what a brilliantly dead-on description of me it is):
I am a bunny, not a badass
And lastly, my older (take that!) sister Susan, who’s known me all my life (notice how I sidestepped my age), sent me this little reminder of my early childhood:
I am the girl who ate dirt. And dog food.
In case you can’t see it, she has crossed out “dirt” and written in “dog food” because one time — ONE time — I accidentally ate a couple of handfuls of puppy chow. It was in a cereal-shaped box and I couldn’t read yet, so give me a break. But will I ever live this down? No. It is now family legend, passed down to future generations with glee.
In closing, I’d just like to say that I know these cards were sent with love because, as Elbert Hubbard said: “A friend is someone who knows all about you and loves you just the same.” So watch out, friends (and family), because your birthdays are around the corner.
Just to recap, Exhibit A was the fact that I’m missing this gene. Instead, I have a little too much of the Midwestern gene (Exhibit B):
The first time I took my husband (a Californian) to Iowa to visit my extended family, we stayed with my cousin Brad and his family. One night while all the kids were goofing around, Brad’s oldest son locked his little brother out of their bedroom. Brad parented the situation by saying this: “You know that door is not supposed to be locked but you locked it anyway. You know what that tells me? You were just showing off.” His contrite son hung his head in shame and apologized. My husband turned to me and said, “Wow. That explains a lot.” He meant about me.
Showing off. Perhaps THE worst thing you can do as a Midwesterner.
Mom bought you new school clothes? Don’t wear them right away. That’s a little show-offy. There are girls whose mothers can’t afford to buy them clothes. Slowly ease that new top into the rotation, so if someone asks if it’s new you can honestly say you’ve had it a while. (This strategy, by the way, did not go over well when my husband — then my high school sweetheart in CA — gave me a nice jacket for my birthday and when he picked me up for school I was not wearing it. It took me weeks to convince him that I really did like it, I just didn’t want my friends without boyfriends to feel badly.)
Likewise, if you are a Midwesterner and you have a talent, you are humble about possessing that talent. Never, under any circumstances, do you toot your own horn. You go about your business and hope someone notices what you’re doing and likes it and they toot your horn. It’s a multi-step process that is feels antiquated in today’s I-wrote-a-book-so-I-selfpublished-it world. But it’s all we Midwesterners have to work with.
Exhibit A and Exhibit B help explain why I had such trouble writing Oprah. How I finally worked up the gusto to do it is a tale for another post.
Leap and the net will appear. — John Burroughs
This extra day on the calendar seems the perfect time to do something daring. Or exhilarating. Or at least outside one’s comfort zone. What do you say, are you with me?
I stalled so long in writing the letter, that my friend Mary insisted I send her photo proof when I'd completed the task.
For my leap, I finally sent a letter to Oprah, explaining how our lives have overlapped now that she meditated in Fairfield, Iowa, my hometown and the setting for my novel, Maharishiville.
It took me a month to write that letter. If you’re wondering why, a good place to start is my post “Why I Suck at Self-Promotion, Exhibit A.” (The SNL video is hilarious. And so true.) Instead of a that gene, I have a different gene, one specific to Midwesterners (Exhibit B will featured in an upcoming blog).
Will Oprah care about our newfound connection or my novel? Will she herself even read my letter? I don’t know. But those are worries for another day. Today was for leaping.
How did you leap?
I don’t remember this tradition, but I think it’s awesome:
This is Future Farmers of America Week and holding with tradition at Fairfield High School, FFA members drove their tractors to school. After school, the tractors will parade around the square. Addison Taglauer, standing, drove a circa 1940s homemade tractor that was built at the county yard by his great-grandfather and great-uncle. Taglauer explains how to drive the mini tractor to Justin Godwin who drove a much bigger tractor today.
Photo and news from the Fairfield Ledger, serving Fairfield and Jefferson County, Iowa.
Because I’m missing this gene:
If you want a nap right now, the most intelligent thing you can do is to take it. — Martha Beck
For nearly two weeks I had this cold/sinus bug. Like most hardworking Americans, I spent the first few days ignoring it (“Mind over matter: I’m not sick!”), and then switched to muddling-through mode (“I’m sick, but it’s not stopping me!”), and then finally, when all else failed, I gave in and rested for a day. Actually, two. Then I muddled through to the weekend, when I could rest some more. And then for several nights I went to bed early and allowed myself to sleep until I woke, which was usually between 8 and 9 hours.
I’d been feeling a bit guilty about how much rest I seemed to require, until I read the quote above from Martha Beck. It was part of her post, A Resting Revolution. Martha always makes me feel better. Martha, and sleep.
Illustration courtesy of wickedneuron via flickr.
So after my initial shock over Oprah practicing Transcendental Meditation (TM) in my old hometown, I looked for news coverage of the event. It was picked up by the Associated Press and the Chicago Tribune. I found a short piece in The Huffington Post, and a great article on Yahoo: Voices. But my favorite media coverage by far is the article in the hometown paper, The Fairfield Ledger.
Back when I was first began researching Maharishiville, my novel based on Fairfield, I used to get the paper mailed out of state to my home. (I even culled a couple of quirky plot points from actual riffs between “Townies” and “Roos” — short for gurus). I love the local paper. You can’t beat it for the details that provide a true sense of how news unfolds in a small town. Reading the Ledger feels like going home again.
To read the entire article about Oprah’s visit you need an online subscription, but I will share a few paragraphs for you (as written by Ledger staff writer Diane Vance): Continue reading
My not-yet-published novel, Maharishiville, is set in a fictionalized version of my old hometown of Fairfield, Iowa. Fairfield is a small town nestled in the middle of farm country, and it just so happens to be the center of the Transcendental Meditation movement (TM). A third of the town’s 9,500 residents practice TM, causing evening traffic jams as they head off to meditate in two Golden Domes (one for women, one for men).
Outside of Iowa, I’ve come across exactly two people who know about the emergence of New Age in this old town. So imagine my surprise when I opened up the February issue of O magazine, turned to Oprah’s column on the last page and saw this (click on the photo to read the column):
Oprah not only knows about Fairfield — she’s been there!
Julie Long is a freelance writer and published author.
She's also co-chair of the 2011 Pennwriters conference.