A Long Silence

IT SEEMS LIKE A LONG TIME since I’ve been here.  I guess it has been a long time.  I’m still alive, I still read your comments and respond to them…but who said writing a book was easy?  Me?  That’s the way it feels when a book is finished.  In the midst, though, sometimes writing’s really hard!

The process of writing, at least in this book-that-might-be, it feels as if it will take forever to finish.  Whole sections there are that I’ve decided to move into the Won’t Work file, questions: Can I Even Write, Any More?, and something silent that whispers, Forget The Demons, Just Write!

If the words are wrong, I’ll delete them.  If I have to delete everything, I will, and start over again.

This is so hard!  But if it’s ever finished, I’ll say how easy it was.

And I’ll probably delete this entire little cry from the website.

If you’re going through this now, yourself, you have an invisible friend, who loves you for staying with your ideas, no matter how difficult the course may be.  Different seas, different storms, but we choose the same journey.  Bless us all!


(Painting by Andy Simmons)

A Mistake, or Not?

SOME READERS MAY REMEMBER a few comments of mine about being lonely.  According to the demographics of those who had lived for a few years, loneliness was likely to happen for those who had lost intimate loved ones.

Was it a mistake for me to list something so personal on a public website?  Maybe not. Some of you who knew a truth beyond demographics, reminded me that there is a principle that works no matter how difficult I had chosen a life to be found by the one I loved.

Events were all the time connecting, one after another, even though I was feeling lost by my guardian angels in the very days as they worked with my puzzle. It was a path of what seemed to be impossible coincidence, events that I knew could not happen, changes in other minds as well as in my own.  At last, pieces in place, the whole lightning event happened.

I began writing.  Sudden firework events, changing my life, and how could they happen?.  It was such a wild impossible story that I couldn’t write it for this website, it needed to be written for readers who don’t believe in angels, don’t care for the intricate patterns, or chains of miracles around us all.  And a writer’s superstition, too: never  talk about a book before it’s written.

So I’m off to write that story, it will be part of a bigger book that I prefer not to tell you, just now. You are certainly free to imagine what is happening, for the fun of imagining, yet I must not give a hint of what happened, save on the manuscript.  Not a hint.


The Missing Gremlins Post

IF YOU FOUND that post deleted, it wasn’t a Gremlin, it was me.  It began this way:

THEY WERE DISCOVERED before the first years of the Second War, and they were found first in the Royal Air Force.  Aircraft engines would run just fine on the ground, then quit on takeoff; the radios would work well in the hangar, turn silent in the air; brakes would work perfectly, but on the next landing, one of the brakes would fail completely.

They drove ground crews and pilots mad, they did.  Until one mechanic gave them a name: gremlins.  They were so popular in those days, invisible little guys who didn’t mean to kill the pilots, just have a little fun with them.  And there were a few anti-gremlins, too.  Some planes came back from missions in the war with six feet from a wing missing, an elevator gone, three engines stopped and one running just enough to make it home.

When the war quit, so did the employment for the gremlins.  Lucky me, I had a rare team of them in a P-51 I owned briefly.  The supercharger failed at altitude, brakes sometimes stopped, the engine would overheat just after takeoff, to spray glycol over the windscreen so that I had to look past the oily glass to land. Of course the radios were inop in the air. The other planes were fine, the ’51 had this earnest family of gremlins.  It was such an easy aircraft to land until once I put one wheel in the dirt on landing and the ’51 wrecked itself in the sagebrush.  One anti-gremlin felt sorry for me that day…by his courtesy I wasn’t hurt and what was left of the airplane didn’t blow up.

Then, years later, computers came along, and when they arrived, those unemployed gremlins moved in the hearts of some of the young human beings who liked computers.  Their name changed. They weren’t called gremlins, any more.  They were called trolls.

Just like the gremlins, they didn’t intend to hurt people, but to have a little fun with us. Rarely would they damage one’s computer, but nearly always they’d find a public forum, bury it, spangle it with coarse what they thought ought to be adult language.  Nothing much happened, save that people who didn’t care for their black and white words left the fora, turned their attention elsewhere.

Of course trolls don’t often, don’t ever, I hope, find a place on this site.  They try, but so far no luck.  It wasn’t till I looked at the filters that I saw hundreds of spams caught in the spam-webs.  I caught a troll or two…

… and then the post went off where I didn’t want to go, about some plans for the site that I realized did not belong here.  So I deleted the post, and forgot that it would show up on your computers anyway.

Everything’s fine, this was just a mistake of mine, which happen so rarely they they seem to be the work of gremlins.

Thank you for your patience.

Is Television Good for Me?

AT FIRST, DECIDING ABOUT television was a simple matter of thoughtful grading. A slow matter, too, as I had been watching television for all these days and never thought of grading it.

How I grade: Every news event in a half-hour newscast, would earn a grade from me, its viewer. There may be fifty events or more: a newswriter’s few sentences about what she feels is newsworthy, that’s one event; some sentences she finds tragic is another; that she finds funny is another; a story about a person; about nature; about entertainment; about the weather; a commerdial: each scrap of video is an event.


If my spirit is lifted by what I’ve seen.   Score = Plus 1

If my spirit is unaffected.                       Score = 0

If my spirit is dragged down by this.     Score = Minus 1

I’ll note these numbers on a piece or paper, then add them up to get a Plus (Pleasure for my spirit), a Nothing for it, or a Minus (Empty place where my spirit used to be).

At no time in my life did I respond in any way to a news event on television. It would be nice or not-nice, but never once did I write letters, mix in street demonstrations, never voted for or against, never gave or asked for money.

I planned to do this test for a few days, since I knew the results of my scores before I began. I knew that my spirit would never be lifted by news programs, by all but a few well-written and photographed programs. If my grades were deep in Minus Territory, why was I wasting my spirit on television? Wouldn’t Quiet be a better background for my life, than some vast Minus television score?

Better I use a video screen to see videos, knowing I have to choose them first, and they’ll matter to me, and most likely be positive.

Then before I began my grading began, something happened that confirmed my grades. The World Trade Towers collapsed.

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THIS LITTLE CHAPTER WILL BE the shortest one on the website.

When I was a child, I decided to live a very simple life, to find easy, obvious answers for questions that may have stumped me for a minute or two.

My writing is as simple as my mind.

If there’s any idea that puzzles you, about anything I’ve written in any book (this probably won’t happen), ask me here and I’ll answer with a few short words. There’s a small possibility that you may not quite agree with every step of my guileless mind, but at least you’ll find how easily this one lifetime has been to live.

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Autographs, and the Complete Jonathan

TODAY IS THE PUB DATE of the New Edition of Jonathan Livingston Seagull.  It’s the complete edition, now, since it includes a Part 4, that I had written immediately after Part 3,  years ago, but never published with the first parts.  It didn’t get published since I thought it was just not proper at the time, it was something in the future of the flock (and in the world of humans), that would never happen.

I thought I had thrown Part 4 away.  But a while ago, Sabryna was going through old files and she found a fading old typewritten Part 4.  She visited me, asked if I knew what she had found.

I said no.  Then I couldn’t stand her silence, “What did you find?”

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An Odd Feeling…

HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED to you?  For years my Shelties have been sweet little dogs. They’ll bark, of course, since they’re so good at watch-dogging, and you love them for that.

Yet little Lockie, grown now from a puppy to a powerful dog, sometimes in the night, I’ll be typing on my computer in bed, like now, and something strange happens.

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The Leaf Who Touched Madrid

IT HAPPENED THREE YEARS ago, in October.  I was walking with Zsa-Zsa, or rather I was walking down a grassy road on the property and she was being a Shetland sheepdog exploring the lefts and rights of the road, checking to make sure the  squirrels were properly where they belonged, in the trees instead of on the ground, that the sparrows were in the sky and not resting on the grass. that all the mice had their little passports to travel the covered mini-roads over the meadow.

Winter would be here, and ZZ would soon have to taste the snowflakes, check out the footprints of raccoons, watch eagles shake their frost and fly from the tallest trees.

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Roofs and Stars

DO YOU KNOW how hard it is to live in a house?

Difficult, very difficult.  If you want to see the stars, your problem is the roof.  The roof will cover just about any star in the night sky.  A roof is very nice if its raining, or snowing, but when you want to see the stars, a roof is a considerable bother.

I went onto the Internet, of course, and began planning.  If I’m in my bed at night (and there’s Lockie, too (though he doesn’t spend much time looking at stars when there are pillows to be shredded), what are my options?


(My ceiling, pre-screen)

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Teaching the Person We Used to Be

I’M NOW READING a book which suggests that life creates the universe, not the other way round.

I wrote a book like that years ago, in three pages.  It’s in the story of my friendship with the me when I was ten years old.  It’s about my discovery of why things work in space and time.  The reasons for the book don’t matter here, but the conversation does.

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